As a specialist in aberrant sexuality and perversions, I have met many beautiful, innocent young girls whose lives have been nearly devastated by cruel and abusive use of the enema bag. Their girlish bodies tremble with rueful recollection when they confide their shocking stories. Often the horrid episodes of their humiliation are too painfully traumatic for them to describe.
For this book I have selected the most shocking cases I have been privy to in my career.
Isabella Q., 13: "I was a virgin when I met Kevin, but the first time I saw his cock I knew that I had been wasting my tight little girl hole. I could not get enough of him in my pussy. When he asked if he could shove his hard meat in my asshole, I was only too glad to sacrifice another cherry for his pleasure. His huge cock was heaven at first, but I soon learned that he had other plans for my little shit box."
Lana T., 17: "Mr. Pointer was such a famous acting teacher that 1 would have given anything to be in his class, but when he told me that my acting was constipated and gave me an enema of ice-cold Vodka, I wondered if maybe I should just become a secretary, or something."
Terry S., 16: I always tried to please my Daddy, because he was the most important man in my life. But he was accused of raping another little girl and had to go away to prison. When he was away I had to console myself with other men. He came back and said that I was a little slut and needed to be punished. I would have taken almost anything from him, but not a enema bag full of his urine!"
Joan A., 15: "Mark said he was tired of my cunt and wanted to fuck my asshole. When I tried to fight him, he said that my ass did not deserve his cock. Imagine my horror when he filled an enema bag with scalding hot water and pushed the nozzle up my tight shithole."
Diane Joan F.,17: "I didn't believe it when I heard that Daphne, my best friend was fucking Egor, my husband. But I saw it with my own eyes. When they caught me staring at them through the window, fingering myself in excitement, they decided that I had not suffered enough humiliation. Daphne and Egor filled an enema bag with shampoo and shoved it up my helpless asshole. While I suffered in discomfort and torment, Egor rammed his cock in Daphne's ass, while my disloyal friend made me eat her pussy.
Nadine C, 14: "All the girls at school hated me because I was beautiful and rich, except Jacqueline, my lesbian lover. But even she betrayed me when she joined the other girls in tying me to my bed and giving me an enema.
CASE HISTORY ONE
SUBJECT: Joan A. AGE: Fifteen
INTERVIEW ONE
When Joan A. came to my office for her first private session I automatically assumed her to be an ordinary high school student with ordinary adolescent problems of adjustment. I fear that I even expected her to be a boring patient. She an attractive young girl with long and luxuriant red hair, beautiful green eyes, superbly developed breasts for a girl her age, and long shapely legs. Her physical pulchritude was extraordinary, but her background was not. Her parents were responsible citizens, hard working people who neither smoked nor indulged in alcohol, and their marriage was free of tension or strife. Joan A. came from an altogether typical American family, a background which is not likly to produce interesting neuroses.
However, after only a few minutes of listening to this beautiful young girl's story, I realized that I had presumed erroneously. Hers was a gruesome tale of unspeakable sexual depravity. The poor innocent girl had been horribly abused and tortured by her high school sweetheart. I became fascinated by Joan's narrative of the young man's aberrant behavior.
The following is an unedited transcript from our taped interviews.
I know what you think, doctor. You took one look at me and decided that I was just another pretty young teenager who is having difficulty adjusting to the shocks of becoming a woman. But I assure you I am not just another pretty body who worries that she might be a lesbian, or something. I'm sure you get quite a few of those. You probably also have many young patients who are shattered by bad experiences with drugs, or who have become teenage alcoholics. I wish that my problem was that simple. If it were I would really have no need of this consultation, because I can take ordinary troubles in stride. I have never had any experience with drugs. I've never even smoked grass, doctor, and my parents never drink or entertain so there has never been any liquor in our house. I've only tasted liquor once, at a slumber party. All the girls were drinking Gin and tonics, so I tried one. It made me sick, doctor. I retched all night.
Certainly I never worry about my sexual tendencies. I don't doubt my heterosexuality and I never fret about being a lesbian. I'm more or less an innocent young girl, in terms of vices, I mean. But I am not a virgin. I've always thought that I was a good girl. I deny myself drugs and liquor, and I don't even smoke cigarettes, so I suppose I've always thought that I was entitled to have sex more or less when I wanted.
I don't mean all the time, and certainly I don't mean anything ... well, you know, kinky. I was perfectly happy just having ordinary, healthy, all American sex, if you know what I mean. Just boy and girl, cock in the cunt, pump, hump, come.
Mark is the only boy I have ever fucked with, doctor. I know that sounds unusual, and maybe a little hard to believe, but, I swear to you, it's the truth. Mark and I started fucking two years ago, when I was a freshman in high school and Mark was the handsomest boy in the sophomore class.
The first time I saw his cock I thought I would just die in my pants. I mean, it was so enormous. So far I haven't been able te compare Mark's cock with other boys or men, because I have not seen any other cocks. But I'm sure that Mark must have one of the biggest pricks in the world.
When he pulled it out that first time and made me take it in my hands, I knew that my young little pussy would suffer unbearably when he stuck it in. But I wanted it. I felt my hole getting hotter and wetter than it had ever been. Even though I was convinced that his cock would kill me, I felt my cunt dripping and swooning in anticipation of the delicious death that Mark alone could give me. But he poked it in my hole and gradually eased it all the way inside me, and to my surprise I did not die. In fact, for the first fuck of my life it went amazingly well. I had my first real orgasm with a felicitously full cunt. It was heaven on earth, and it was the start of a glorious relationship.
Everything went marvelously for the longest time, doctor. Mark and I would meet after school or on weekends. We would go to each other's houses when our parents were away, or we would go to friend's places. When we couldn't find a house and a bed, we would rub our wits together and come up with alternative places to delight in our young bodies. We couldn't get enough of each other, and we let nothing stand in our way. If we could think of no other place to go, we would go into the woods. If it rained we wouldn't care; we'd just bump our horny bodies together, fucking in the storm and coming in the mud.
I know that Mark's big cock was on my mind every minute of my life, and I'm just as certain that he couldn't get my tight juicy cunt out of his always horny thoughts.
It was only a few weeks ago that things started to become strange. Mark and I were in bed at his house. His parents were away for the entire weekend. We had already enjoyed the most glorious Saturday of out lives, and were half way through Sunday, blissfully exhausted from hours and hours of feasting on each other's hot flesh.
We had awakened in each other's arms sometime in the early morning, probably around six, or so. I remember that the dawn was coming up and the sky was mysteriously grey outside the window.
Mark pushed my head down between his muscular thighs and made me suck his morning hard on.
I didn't mind at all. I was only too happy to take his huge swollen thing in my mouth and suck it for all I was worth.
He was a little rough with me, and this was unusual. Our fucking had always been sweet and slow, a little on the gentle side. But I always liked it that way. I liked it any way that Mark wanted to give it to me. I only wanted to make him happy, because the happier I made him, the happier he made me.
That morning he pulled me by the hair and forced his cock in my mouth, all the way, deeper than it had ever gone. I felt his huge stick stretching my cheeks apart as I sucked eagerly, and the head of his thick long rod went down my throat. I could hardly breathe, but I didn't care.
No, doctor, I had no objections, although I was a little surprised, of course, at the change in Mark's behavior. His cock seemed bigger in my mouth than it had ever seemed before, and each time he pulled at my hair, dragging my face down to the huge throbbing base of his rod, he seemed to swell in my mouth to even more formidable proportions.
To tell you the truth, doctor, I was more delighted than concerned. Mark and I had indulged in so much sex the day before, and Mark had shot so many hot sperm loads in my cunt, each one hotter and harder than the one before, that I had been afraid that he would have fucked himself out. I had not expected to have much sex on the second day of our weekend, so I was overjoyed when he started to fuck my face at dawn.
He forced his way into my mouth and began to hump my tight sucking lips. I could not believe how hard and powerful he was, especially after the debauchery we had already enjoyed without shame.
When he began to strike my soft young breasts with his hands, I felt tides of excitement rushing through my flesh. At first the slaps were light, and I was more titillated than frightened. When Mark struck my little tits with his hands I felt my nipples harden and my pussy began to drip. I wanted his cock in my cunt, although I was ecstatic to have his potency in my mouth and did not for a moment want him to take it out. Mark's cock is so big that I have often wished it could be divided in two. If it were half as big as it was there would still be plenty for any girl's hole, and if he had two cocks instead of one he could fuck my mouth and pussy at the same time. Believe me, Doctor, were this little wish to come true Mark's two cocks would more than fill my hungry holes.
I kept sucking tightly on his hard cock, contracting my cheeks and working with my tongue to give Mark's fuck rod the most pleasurable thrills. Mark kept spanking my darling young tits, forcing his meat into my mouth, feeding me more than I could swallow and making me gag with utterly rhapsodic contentment.
From the way his body tensed and the way he began to pound his humping cock into my wet mouth, I could tell that Mark's orgasm was building in his big, cum-filled balls. As I felt his heavy bag of nuts banging hard against my chin my pussy began to flood between my legs, and my sweet little clit throbbed with the quivering ecstasy that was surging through my over heated blood.
At that point, Doctor, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life, although I didn't realize it then, of course. It was only after the horrid events that I could trace the beginnings to my next move. I really should have known better, I suppose.
I opened my mouth, more or less interruping my expert cock-sucking, and begged Mark to ram his stiff dick deep into the ditch of my wanting pussy. I could feel my juices boiling in my snatch, and I knew that cock was exactly what my hole needed.
"Please, honey," I whimpered, "fuck my cunt with your big cock."
From my pleading voice Mark could surely tell than I needed him desperately, but for some reason he did not want to give me the total pleasure on which my life seemed to depend. My cunt was making me suffer hideously. It needed so badly to be fucked by Mark's pulsing meat.
I cajoled Mark and he became terribly angry. The slaps on my breasts, which had been playful until I groaned my request, became harder and more violent. He struck my tits with more force, even hurting me. I cried out in pain, but Mark was relentless. He seemed not to care about the feelings of my body. He was utterly absorbed in the sensations of his cock.
Forcing his meat brutally down my throat, he lowered his strong hands and began to slap my tender buttocks. I could feel his cock throbbing in my mouth as his hands stung my soft white asscheeks.
I resigned myself to the apparent situation. It seemed clear that Mark was going to fuck my face until he shot his spermy fireball into my mouth, down my throat and into my body. Somehow my mouth would have to transfer its own pleasure to my aching pussy and my needy clit, which was striving with my empty but Doiling cunt towards climax.
Although I was resigned in my mind, I was less resigned in my cunt, which nagged at my consciousness between my thrashing legs. The mind, as I am sure you know Doctor, is more apt to acquiesce than the cunt, which is not a pragmatic organ.
Once more I mumbled through my mouthful, begging Mark to take his cock out of my mouth and shove it in the wet female cave between my thighs. I yearned to feel his fat rod in my hot oasis.
Mark did indeed take it out. He held the thick root of it in his fist, and my eyes sent a telepathic telegram to my cunt, telling it that the tumescent tool was coming to the rescue.
I remember the tremors of bliss that galvanized my cunt when I saw the enormity of Mark's fat pulsing dick.
But my hot pussy was overly optimistic.
Mark held his huge cock tightly in his fist and proceeded to slap it against my wet cheeks. He was not gentle at all, Doctor. He was angry and rough, and I was alarmed by the sinister expression on his face.
Slapping his iron-hard fuck weapon against my tender cheeks, Mark began to slap my delicate ass with both hands. These were not playful spankings; they were brutal and violent.
And they hurt.
"Greedy cunt!" Mark hissed at me, "you should be grateful that I fuck your stupid face. I'm tired of your cunt. I can't go on fucking it forever. My cock wants something different."
I could see Mark's giant balls swinging as he used his cock as a whip on my face. His fat hard rod struck my left cheek, then my right. Then he began to slap my eyes. He stabbed them with the purple head of his blood-engorged prick, and I was terrified that he would poke them out of my head. I felt my body trembling with revulsion and fright.
I felt my heart leaping in terror inside my chest as a wave of fear splashed through my hot body. I was excited, terribly excited, but I was also numb with panic. I was so frightened I could not enjoy the heat of passion that lingered in my pussy.
Fright overwhelmed my body, and I struggled, stupidly and futilely to escape. Under the bulk of Mark's strong body I writhed and trembled, fighting to get away. More than anything I wanted to get out from under Mark's weight, out of the room, out of the house and to safety.
Of course, Doctor, I could do nothing. Mark was sitting on my body, his bulk burdening me. The hard muscles of his hairy masculine buttocks pressed painfully against my tits. I was paralyzed under his dominant bulk.
Mark was enraged by my vain attempts to escape. He would tolerate no resistance to his masterful domination.
Angrily, he stuffed his enormously swollen balls into my mouth, making me massage them with my tongue. Mark has often fed me a mouthful of his sperm-filled nuts, and I have always loved it. But this time I felt myself revolted by the taste of their massiveness. His attitude altogether disenchanted me. Even if he had put his cock in my cunt, where only moments before I had wanted it so badly, I would have been unable to enjoy the thrills in my hole.
But, of course, an orthodox fuck was the last thing Mark had in mind.
Keeping his huge balls in my gagging mouth, Mark pressed his groin harder against my face and slapped me ruthlessly with his huge cock.
"Trying to get away, bitch? How stupid are you! Can't you see that there is no possible escape for you. I'm going to make you suffer, you stupid cunt. First, you dare to instruct me where to put my cock, which hole to shoot my load in, as though the pleasure of your cunt were my concern! Secondly, you try to escape from the discipline you deserve. For that you will have to be punished even more cruelly than I had planned. I have to make you regret your female stupidity. You will be lucky if I ever fuck your cunt again. Your hole hot only bores me, it stinks. I'm going to fuck your asshole." Mark shouted obscenely, slapping my asscheeks with his brutal hands.
Knowing that I would attempt escape again, Mark looked at me without pity.
"Don't try to move, bitch. I don't want to see a muscle twitch. I don't want you to move as much as one hair on your cunt. Stay perfectly still while I get the things I need to teach you the lesson you have coming.
Then Mark shifted his weight, relieving me of the terrible burden of his bulk. He left the bed, and for a split second I did debate whether or not I dare flee. His voice had been so harsh and angry, and my body froze so totally with terror, that I decided to obey, no matter what.
Mark opened a closet. I lay on the bed, shuddering with fear, my naked body trembling and sweating on the rumpled sheet.
At first I could not see what Mark was taking from the closet. I knew it would be something dreadful. Then I saw the leather cords in his hands, and I knew that he was going to strap me to the bed, making me defenseless.
INTERVIEW TWO
Unfortunately, Joan became far too distressed to continue our first session. She had been quivering with emotion during most of our interview, but when she began to tell of her reaction to the cords, her quivers became trembles. Her steady breathing gave way to gasps and she began to weep uncontrollably. I have rarely seen a patient in such an agitated state. It was necessary to give Joan a sedative before she left my office after our first session.
A week later she returned for a second interview, in which she told the horrid conclusion of her grim tale.
I am sorry that I lost control last week, Doctor. But it is still painful to recall the shocking episode.
Mark walked back to the bed, his stiff prick protruding ominously from his coarse dark pubic hair.
Mark seized my hands and tied them together in one of the leather cords. I felt the leather digging into the delicate flesh of my wrist, cutting the circulation of blood to my hands.
"Please," I begged, "Mark, don't do this to me. I can't endure it."
But Mark had no sympathy. It was as though he did not care about the fear and revulsion that throbbed in my aching body.
"If you don't shut your mouth, bitch, I will have to shut it for you. Your voice annoys me, so keep still and be quiet!" Mark hissed vindictively through his teeth.
Then Mark seized my ankles and made me lift my legs. He pulled me by the feet, bending my legs back so that my knees pressed against my tits. I could feel my stiff nipples rubbing against my knee caps, and Mark tied my ankles to the head of the bed.
Both my hands and feet were bound to the bed and my ass was raised high in the air. My body was contorted for his attack. It was a most uncomfortable position to be in, especially as I was powerless to move in any way. I was totally powerless to resist, Mark had my body fully in his command. I have never been subjected to such hideously inescapable authority. I was a helpless slave.
Having tied me firmly to the bed, Mark opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out a jar of lubricant. At first this did not cause any extra terror. Mark had often rubbed this on my tits while we fucked.
"This should get your hole, ready," he said.
I was baffled by this, because my cunt was already moist and juicy, and he had just said that he had no intention of putting his cock in my pussy. So, I did not know what to think until I felt his finger stabbing the sensitive opening of my tights little asshole.
Mark greased his fingers and plunged them into my ass, causing me a discomfort such as I have never known. He poked deep into my asshole and moved his fingers around, making wide circles, stretching my dark hole and making it ready to receive the invasion of his cock.
Doctor, I had never been so horrified. Mark and I had spoken of sodomy before and I had always told him that I found it repugnant. He had always said that he was happy fucking my cunt. We had agreed never to engage in this unspeakable practice.
He had said that he did not want to put his cock in my cunt, claiming that the delicious fragrance of my pussy was unpleasant. How much sweeter could as asshole smell, Doctor? Obviously, Mark was not being honest with me. Knowing that I could not longer trust him distressed me as deeply as the knowledge of what he was about to do to me.
I thought that getting fucked in the asshole was the worst treatment Mark could possibly give me. Little did I know that he had worse evils in mind.
Mark greased my asshole and smeared some of the lubricious slime on his great thick fuck rod. I felt my body trembling with fear, but fear was quickly annihilated by agony when Mark stabbed my tight asshole with his huge angry cock.
I screamed in pain, begging him to have mercy. My ass could not possible take such violation. But Mark was ruthless. He banged his dick all the way into my hole, not caring about the pain he caused me, not caring about anything but the sensation of my delicate ass tissues wrapped tightly around his rod.
As he punched his hard meat into my wounded asshole, I felt his cock ripping me apart. My vulnerable sphincter muscles were torn by his massive prick, and when he pulled his cock out of my hole I could see little beads of blood clinging to his hard shaft.
Mark must have seen them too, but he didn't care. He banged himself back into my hole, fucking me excruciatingly. He kept forcing himself in and out of my hole, fucking me brutally, banging back and forth in my sore ass. I knew that he could cripple me for life if he didn't spare me some of his power and fuck my little hole with some caution, courtesy and finesse.
But Mark spared me nothing. He fucked my shithole like an animal, pounding his cock into the most sensitive part of my body, killing me with his male rage. I felt myself swooning under his thrusting body, dying with each humping of his hot meat into my hole. I must confess, however, that I felt some pleasure despite the agony. My tiny hole stretched to accommodate the lethal cock of the boy I had naively trusted, and after a while I could feel peculiar thrills in my cunt as Mark fucked my ass. It was still painful, but the pain became mitigated by confusing pleasure. It was as though my pussy echoed the sensations in my asshole, and my clit echoed my cunt, and I felt orgasm begin to build in the abused zone between my legs.
I suppose that Mark could tell that I was beginning to enjoy it a little. He did not want me to enjoy it, I guess, because he began to fuck me faster and harder. It became almost unbearable. He humped and hammered his cock into my hole, racing towards his orgasm.
He banged himself into my asshole, and I was certain that he would dump his hot wad in my ass any second. But suddenly he pulled all the way out of my ass, leaving my hole empty and my body suspended in a limbo of dispair.
Mark held his cock tightly in his fist, as though restraining the sperm that burgeoned within.
"You don't deserve my cum in your ass, bitch," he said, "fucking isn't what you need."
Writhing in the bondage of the leather straps, my ass arched high in the air, I watched Mark walk out of the room. He went into the bathroom. I wondered what he was going to do. Had my asshole so disgusted him that he had to clean his cock of my anal goo, or had too much fucking made him need to piss? I honestly had no idea why he had stopped fucking my ass.
But I soon found out. I saw Mark emerge from the bathroom, his hand full of the most ghastly thing I have ever seen.
At first, Doctor, I did not know what it was; I only knew that it was hideously ugly and unspeakably sinister looking.
"What your need is a good enema," Mark said, grinning lewdly.
I had never in my life had an enema, but I had heard of them and I felt horror surge through my blood. I knew that I would vomit if Mark made good his threat.
I writhed in torment as Mark walked back to the bed, holding the ugly enema bag in one hand, his stiff cock in the other. All I wanted was to go back to where we had been, just two nice kids who couldn't get enough of each other. Why did Mark thrive on this depravity, why wasn't nice healthy fucking good enough for him?
I saw the loathesome rubber bag, filled almost to bursting. I knew that I could not withstand this gruesome indignity.
"Mark, please, put that back where you got it. I don't want an enema, honey. Don't do it, Mark. It's so vulgar!" I whimpered, knowing that I was pleading in vain.
"Shut up, bitch," Mark growled, "don't get me any angrier with you than I already am."
"Mark, I will not tolerate this. You have no right to humiliate me in this contemptible way." I protested, not knowing how big a mistake I was making.
"You filthy cunt! I have every right to treat you in whatever way I like. I've given you the sweat of my balls, bitch, and I can do anything I like to your weak female body. If you don't shut up, you'll be sorry."
I was too frightened to think, Doctor. Stupidly, I tried to reason with this fiend who had suddenly become such a stranger to me.
"Don't be idiotic, Mark. You do not own me. You have no right to treat me however you wish. You cannot do anything to me without my consent. It isn't human."
"I warned you, cunt," Mark said.
Mark pressed the tip of the vile enema nozzle against the puckering opening of my asshole. He pressed it into my dark cavity. It was plastic, sharper than his fleshy cock, and it hurt me hideously. Even if it has not been sharper than his cock, I would have been wounded by the obscenity of it; even had it not been physically agonizing, the humiliation would have pierced and wounded my emotions. Emotions, after all, are as sensitive as an asshole, aren't they, Doctor?
He rammed the plastic hose into my ass, pressing brtually into my secret depths.
"NO! I beg you, Mark, stop!!" I shrieked in agony.
"All right! That's it, bitch! That's all I'm going to listen to! I won't have anymore noise from your stupid mouth.
Mark pressed the nozzle into my ass all the way. Then he walked across the room, opened the closet and fished into a laundry bag. I saw him foraging through it, selectively.
He withdrew a fistful of soiled jock straps.
"These will shut you up," he said, returning to the bed with the stained jock straps.
He forced them into my resisting mouth, stuffing my face with the coarse fabric that was saturated with the smells of his cock and balls. I could taste the sweat, piss and sperm of the man who was submitting me to dreadful torture.
My face full of the athletic supporters, my hands and feet tied to the headboard, and my ass arched in the air, I could do nothing to protect myself against Mark's vile schemes.
Mark pushed the plastic nozzle deeper into my asshole. I saw the long rubber hose coiled like a snake on the sheet.
Then Mark stood on the mattress, holding the enema bag high above my body, lifting the ugly snake-like hose.
He released the catch that confined the water to the swollen plastic bag. I felt the warm water seeping into my doomed asshole. It flowed steadily into my body, flowing through my anal canal into my viscera. I could feel my bowels swelling to the unwelcome flood, and my stomach began to stretch uncomfortably.
Mark was relentless. I thought that the flow of warm water would never cease. It kept flowing obnoxiously into my body, and the discomfort became pain, and the pain became agony, utterly beyond belief.
Then Mark placed the still half-full enema bag under his arm and pressed it hard against his ribs, forcing the water out in faster, more crippling gushes.
The water rushed into my body, puffing me out until I thought I would burst. It gushed and gushed, without stopping. I felt as though I would explode on the bed, not only releasing the abominable flood of water, but literally breaking apart, my guts exploding everywhere, my life destroyed and my organs giving Mark a slimy, bloody mess to clean up. He deserved it.
As my body filled to over-flowing, I could see Mark forcing the water out of the bag. As he pressed it between his armpit and his ribs, his cock pulsed. I could see the veins standing out on his enormous fuck rod, and it seemed to grow to even greater proportions, swelling incredibly as my own bound body swelled to the force of water gushing from the enema.
Finally, the vile bag was emptied. Gallons of water filled my body, but it seemed as though Mark had poured all the oceans of the world through my little ass and into my helpless flesh. My guts ached with the pressure of water. It was the most extreme discomfort I had ever experienced.
I wanted to scream out in pain and rage, but my mouth was full of Mark's soiled jock straps.
Mark squatted over my body, pressing himself against my tits. I felt as though the weight of him would force all the water out of my over-filled body, but I knew that I could not dare release it. If I did not hold it in I would be have to writhe not only in bondage but it an atrocious cesspool of my own excrement. I did not want to wallow in my own shit, Doctor, as you can doubtless understand. Mark pulled the soiled jock straps from my gagging mouth and lurched forward to push his huge cock into my newly vacated face.
He forced every thick inch of his cock into my mouth.
"Suck, bitch! Suck my cock while your body is full of water. Suck my cock before you explode!"
He was brutal. He slammed himself into my mouth and started humping in and out, preparing to shoot his scalding seed into my face.
I lay bound and helpless on the bed, the leather cords cutting into my wrists and ankles, the water creating unendurable pressure in every part of my body. I had to get up. I had to run to the toilet and release all the horrible water that made my insides ache. But how could I? I was tied to the bed and Mark was hammering his hard cock into my suffocating face. I thought I would die.
Mark's balls slapped against my chin, banging me brutally.
He fucked my face and I could feel his body tensing, every muscle flexed, tight, and urgently taut.
Then I felt his thick viscous load blast out of his banging cock and into my mouth. It coated my tongue, splashing out hotly in torrents that went down my throat and into my guts. The taste, usually so incredibly agreeable, was vile, because I felt nothing but abhorrence for him.
He stayed in my mouth forever, pressing his groin against my face and the bulk of his body against my tits. I could not breathe, nor could I move. I knew that as little as a flinch on my part would make all the water pour from my ass, staining the sheets with my shame.
Never in my life had I been so humiliated.
Finally, Mark pulled away from me, taking his cock from my mouth. He pulled the nozzle from my asshole, and I was afraid that everything would come out all at once. Fortunately I was able to hold it in, and Mark untied the leather cords and let me run to the bathroom.
You probably have no idea what it's like, Doctor. I have never been so happy to see a toilet in my life. It was as though I had found my best friend.
All the water exploded from my ass into the commode, nearly flooding it. I felt heavenly release. After holding all that water in and writhing in a hell over which I had no control, to be purged of the liquid torment was as satisfying as any orgasm I have ever had.
But I cannot understand Mark anymore, Doctor. I have avoided him. When he calls I hang up. When he tried to talk to me the other day at school I sought the protection of friends. I used to love him, truly. But now I. can't bear the sight of him. I would like to get back together with him, because I know that he can be wonderful both as a companion and as a lover. Is there any way I might be able to overcome my revulsion? Can Mark and I ever be intimate again? Please tell me, Doctor, anything I can do to save a relationship that used to be decent and blissful.
CONCLUSION
More than anything else, Joan A. suffered from the shock of seeing Mark change before her unsuspecting eyes. Although she had experienced conventional sexuality, Joan A. had remained innocent of the darkner natures of men. Mark, more experienced than Joan, had tired of their usual routine. He had wanted another kind of sex. His behavior was aberrant only in that he forced himself upon her, both during the brutal sodomization and during the enema itself, which was probably the last thing a girl as naive and vulnerable as Joan needed.
I am happy to say that Joan A. took my advice and confronted Mark, making him aware of her feelings, which, in his excitement, he might have overlooked. Mark understood Joan's emotions and they are now happily reunited. Mark still sodomizes Joan, but it is important to note that Joan now understands Mark's needs. She is devoted to him and wants to do everything she can to please him. Now, when Mark gives Joan an enema, which he often does, Joan is a willing, rather than an unwilling, victim.
Joan tells me, in fact, that she is getting to the point where she looks forward to the enemas, and she has been asking me about the possibilities of other erotic pleasures with which she might not yet be familiar.
CASE HISTORY TWO
SUBJECT: Lana T. AGE: Seventeen
INTERVIEW ONE
With the possible exceptions of Nadine C. and Diane Jane F., Lana T. was the most beautiful young woman I have ever had the privilege to study in my detatched and clinical fashion. When she came to my office for our first interview she was pale and painfully thin, except for her abundant breasts which quivered like gelatin under her tight fitting sweater. The stark whiteness of her skin made her blonde hair seem brilliantly golden, and her blue eyes were like deep ponds reflecting the turquoise sky.
From her file I knew that she had been treated before by other specialists for nerves, which explained her very slender figure. I also noticed from her form that she was an actress. During my career I have had the rather dubious privilege of counselling many actresses. Stars at the top, stars rising, stars falling, and young women who will never be stars--all these have come through my doors and told me of their sorrows and anguish. Surprisingly, actresses are not apt to be the most interesting cases. Too often they speak endlessly of their work without giving adequate thought to their own personas. Usually they are such uninteresting women that they have no real need of thearapy, and more often than not they just need good sex and a sleeping pill.
Lana T., however, was an exception to this tiresome rule. As she told her story, and disclosed more and more of the tawdry details, I realized that I was hearing one of the most intriguing narratives of my career.
Herewith is Lana's shocking tale, transcribed directly from our recorded sessions.
It is charming of you, Doctor, to say that you have admired my work, but I can't imagine what you could have seen. I have made only a few television films, and these were only tiny bits parts. I was always the girl who nameless girl who came into the drug store to buy chewing gum and got shot in the head when the man with the gun fired at the cashier and missed. So far, it hasn't been a great career. What little work I have managed to get has come with difficulty. They hire me because I've got a great pair of knockers. I mean, let's be honest, Doctor, sex is all men care about. They don't care about the training an actress undergoes, and the sacrifices she makes for her craft. I'm an artist, not just a pair of tits and a piece of tail. Someday everyone will recognize that I have talent as an actress, but now all they want to do is paw my carcass. That will all change, but for the time being I go along with it. If you want to know the truth, Doctor, I don't mind too much. Fucking isn't the hardest way to get to the top, and the way I fuck, the way I spread my legs or give head, I'm certain that it won't take me too long to get where I want to be in the world.
But I'm not here to talk with you about anything ordinary like the casting couch. We have all heard that cliche until it's coming out of our asses, if you'll pardon the expression.
When I think of what has happened to me recently I become so upset that I can't think clearly. It's hard for me to tell of these events in sequence, but I'll do my best. You know, Doctor, not all actresses are blonde, vapid and stupid. Some of us are smart and know how to tell a tale. If this weren't such an unpleasant one, I'm sure that I could tell it in a way that would both interest and amuse you. But I'm afraid you will not find this comic, except perhaps in a black and bizarre way. It will probably disgust you more than anything else, but that's what your pair for, isn't it. I mean, you're paid to listen to anything, no matter how horrid, and assess it objectively. And that is just what I need from you. If I just wanted to tell you about ordinary depressions of professional worries, I couldn't possibly afford your time. I've always thought that pyschologists sell their time at a more precious rate even than hookers. But this problem is too much for me to cope with, and I would never submit a friend to such an unattractive narrative. I have come to you, Doctor, because I need a sane and detatched evaluation of this situation.
It all began, I guess, when I applied for admission to Peter Pointer's acting class. I see from your face that you have heard of Mr. Pointer's work and are impressed that a blonde goddess like myself knows where to go for the best theatrical training. I told you that I wasn't just another vacuous blonde. Didn't you believe me.
He's the finest theatrical coach in the United States, maybe the world. The great actors in the world have been his pupils, and the good actors are the ones who couldn't get in the door. I knew that it would be difficult to be accepted into his class, but it is widely known that he prefers actresses to actors, and that he prefers voluptuous actresses to any other kind. As you can probably deduce, despite my sweater, I am indeed a remarkably voluptuous young woman. Contrary to popular thought, Doctor, a well endowed and beautiful woman does not have an easier time in life. In fact, she suffers more than homey women, who are not pursued by savage beasts disguised as human males.
I was fortunate to be granted an interview with Mr. Pointer himself, and I presented myself for his inspection promptly at the time of his decree. I had been told over the telephone to prepare a monologue. Knowing that Mr. Pointer considers it arrogant for young actors to tackle Shakespare and that he has always said that no one need present a long scene or monologue, that he can judge ones talent after three lines have been spoken, I prepared Sonia's brief speech from Clickov's great play, "Uncle Vanya," in which the character speaks of her devastating boredom. It is a simple monologue for an aspiring actress to choose, and I expected Mr. Pointer to be impressed by my modesty.
Although it was a simple monologue I studied it for three days, working on it assiduously. I read the entire play four times, getting to the bottom of Sonia's character, so that when I spoke the lines I would not be an actress reciting them, but Sonia herself, feeling every nuance of the emotionality behind the words.
It is amusing, perhaps, that all my work was in vain. When I entered his office and sat gracefully in the chair he indicated, Mr. Pointer asked me a few perfunctory questions about my work and training to date. He said that I was obviously under qualified for the course, but that he might consider taking me as a pupil on a special basis, provided that I ... well, you get the idea.
It didn't take me a minute to catch on. I've been through it before. They give you an extra bit in a crowd, the expect you to jerk them off; if it's a walk on, they think they're entitled to a bit of head; God forbid, they should give you a single line of unutterable dialogue without ripping off a piece of tail. Sometimes for the puniest bit part they expect to shoot their loads in your asshole.
I helped Mr. Pointer unfasten his belt. Then I unzipped him, carefully arranging the smile on my face, as though I were folding down a bed for an invalid father.
But I was instantly surprised. Mr. Pointer had a good sized cock. I hadn't been expecting much of a treat. Sometimes I think it's a pretty crummy world, but when I see a big handsome cock and a good pair of balls I always decide that there is a little bit of heaven in this hell we call the world.
When I saw his cock I began to look at Mr. Pointer in a different way. I saw him in a new light. Up until that moment I had thought of him only as a man that I needed to manipulate, someone I had to coax and cajole in order to get from him what I wanted. I had decided that if spreading legs was the only way I could ingratiate myself to him that I would do it without feeling a thing.
I had not looked at him as a man, in the sexual sense. But when he took his cock out of his trousers and put it in my hand, I realized at once that he was a sexually attractive male. In fact, he was incredibly handsome. I suppose he's in his middle thirties. Maybe he's older, but he doesn't look it. His body was solid, hard and disciplined, not a gram of otiose flab on him. And his cock had the vigor of a sixteeen year old boy. You know what I mean, don't you, Doctor? When a male is young his erection stands up vertically and almost clings to his stomach, when he becomes fully mature it gets stiff and hard and throbs with life, but it protrudes straight from his groin, without standing to attention in quite the same way that a horny adolescent cock does.
I suppose that some men's cocks never lose that youthful verticality, and still stand up that vital and wonderful way even when they attain their full maturity, because Mr. Pointer's stood up tall and mighty, like a flag pole, or like an audience rising to their feet to give a standing ovation. It stood so vertically and close to his hard rippling stomach muscles that it almost nestled into the thicket of dark hair that lined his hard lean abdomen.
The sight of his cock made me look at his face with refreshed eyes. He was dark haired. The slight sparseness at the crown of his head, which only suggested baldness, somehow made him even more irresistable to me. I have always thought that baldness was a sign of virility, and I have noticed that balder men tend to be hairier on their bodies. I have always been terribly excited by simian body hair, but I suppose that it's one of the idiosyncracies with which we need not concern ourselves now.
My pussy began to drool as I watched Mr. Pointer stripping before my eyes. His magnificent body thrilled my own not inconsiderable flesh, and I felt my nipples stiffen under my tight sweater. I began to think that this would not be such a chore, after all. I found myself melting in Mr. Pointer's office, hotter and more eager than I had ever been during any quotidian casting couch game.
To tell you the truth, Doctor, sex has always been a little too much of a task for me. I have always considered it something I had to do to get ahead, rather than something I wanted to do with all my being. Sex has been something to endure, rather than to celebrate. Maybe I have even been a little guilty about using my body to advance my career. I do think that it's a kind of prostitution, but we all prostitute ourselves in some way, Doctor, and I consider my actions to be less pernicious than most. Still, I'm a good girl, despite everything, and it's probably inevitable that I feel some pangs of guilt over what I have to do in this world. As I result I have never been able to abandon myself fully to sexual pleasure. But for some reason, and I cannot tell you what it was because I don't know, I did let myself go that day in Mr. Pointer's office. After I got a good eye full of his masculine body, I couldn't wait to get a pussy full. At that point my heat had nothing to do with any schemes, but desire was divorced from anything but fucking. Acting was the last thing on my mind; I wanted to be fucked, not as a character from Clickov or any other dramatist, but as myself, and I wanted it to be real. I wanted it to be basic, earthy, rudimentary and savage. And the unbelievable part is that it was all of that and more.
Mr. Pointer stripped my clothes from my body, first gently pulling my tight sweater over my head, and taking my hair in his hands to shake it out in its full golden glory. Then he lowered my skirt from my wiggling legs and helped me to step out from it.
I wore no bra, I never do, and when Mr. Pointer dug his fingers inside the elastic waistband of my tight pink panties I felt my nipples becoming rigid with desire as my pussy began to leak in Mr. Pointer's exploring hand.
We were both too horny to linger over preliminaries. Usually I need the attentions of a man's mouth and fingers before my hole can get ready for the violent attack of a cock. But it wasn't like that in Mr. Pointer's office. I was hot, wet and ready.
He took my body in his arms, pressing me to his naked and hairy chest so that I could feel my nipples rubbing against his hard pectoral muscles. He carried me to a sofa and lowered my body onto it's soft cushions. Whether he spread my legs, or I did, or whether they were already flung open for his attack, I cannot tell you. I only know that he squatted on his haunches and aimed his cock for the wanting opening of my cunt, which hung over the the edge of the sofa, yearning for his invasion.
Invasion is hardly the word for it. He bombarded my cunt. He stormed through the tight glistening lips of my hole and rammed his potency deep into my body. I felt the lubrious walls of my cunt cling desperately to his rod, wrapping his tool tightly in a passionate embrace.
I knew that my hot slippery pussy syrup felt good around his throbbing cock, because Mr. Pointer groaned in deep satisfaction and he began to pump his enormous organ back and forth in my tight juicy hole.
With the great rod of his masterful manhood he plumbed the well of my womanhood, giving me the most glorious thrills I have felt in my life.
But even as my young body quivered with the beatitude of being supremely fucked in the cunt by a man who knew what his heroic cock was for, I felt peculiar shudders of fear, as though I were somehow threatened in an inexplicable way. I saw the darkness of his simian body, and the darkness of his black, lust-glazed eyes, which seemed to devour my burning young breasts, my tender ass cheeks, and my entire sex-crazed body. With his glaring eyes he seemed to pierce my flesh and absorb it, which is peculiar to think, given the fact that I was absorbing the power of his prick in my pussy.
Even as he smothered my wet lips with his kisses, and I felt his tongue probing my mouth gently, I felt curiously afraid, not of the fuck we were enjoying, but of the man himself, as though I were afraid of what he might do to me, not then, but perhaps sometime in the future.
However, I was too enchanted to dwell on emotions that seemed silly. My cunt was full of his manhood and my clit was almost dancing in the fragrant folds of my beaver-paved flesh.
His cock was so big, and his fucking so skillful, that I needed no direct stimulation on my clit. The joy of my cunt sent glad tidings to every part of my body, every inch and gram of my delectable flesh rejoiced at the joy of my pussy.
I came almost at once, but Mr. Pointer kept sliding in and out of my hole. I could smell my female scent contrasting with the musky odor of his maleness, and the smell and the texture of his skin and air, and the power of his mighty thrusts made me come again. I kept coming, my clit going off like a firing squad of cap guns; the orgasms seemed to have no end.
Then, magically, Mr. Pointer punched his cock into the darkest depth of my hole, striking the match of his cock head on against the coals of my cervix and setting a celestial fire in my body.
He roared, chanting a husky hymn of animal satisfaction, and I felt his sperm blast into my body. The ferocious jet of his cum was like millions of hot needles searing the tissues of my pussy. I could feel his thick male cream coating my already honey-coated hole, creaming my creamy junction, making my cunt an oasis of male and female goo.
Feeling his scalding load erupt in my hot flooded hole, I felt a final, gut-wrenching convulsion overwhelm my already over-swooned body. Passion hit a miraculous zenith, and my entire life seemed to tap dance on the spinning carousel of my clit.
Doctor, what can I tell you? My God, it was more divine than I could ever have dreamed, more than anything I could have imagined to want. The sheer sex had been so hot and wild, that I found myself falling desperately in love with this man. Suddenly, life returned to the theatre. It was as though this were a script written by a spiteful god who was determined to make me play the infatuated ingenue. I doubted the reality of my rapture, but I could not question the bliss I had felt in my body. Did I truly love him, or had I simply responded as a woman for the first time in my life? Was there any emotion involved, or was my heart simply taking dictation from my cunt and clit?
I did not know, and my mind reeled with confusion.
Mr. Pointer instructed me to come to class the following day. I did, and he was curiously aloof. He seemed to forget the intimate rhapsody we had shared.
Another girl was starting class that day, not nearly as attractive or as talented as I am, but Mr. Pointer assigned a scene to us, something silly about two tweedy English lesbians. It was an altogether inappropriate choice, I thought, as both characters were in their thirties. As you know, Doctor, I am barely seventeen, and Sandra, the girl I was to work with, could not have been much over twenty.
Sandra and I worked for a week on the silly scene, giggling when we had to kiss, roaring when we had to dyke it up.
We performed the scene for the class and it went wonderfully. The class laughed at the funny parts, fell silent during the parts that were supposed to be dramatically powerful, and a few girls in the class even wept at the end. When we were finished the entire class rose to its feet and applauded wildly for five minutes, until Mr. Pointer shouted that this was an acting class, not vaudeville, and that applause was not necessary. We were only rank amateurs who had done some tricky bits of slitick, he said.
Naturally, I was a little pissed off, because I thought Sandra and I had been close to brilliant. We had invested the scene with more wit and intensity than the playwright had supplied. We had made his hackneyed dialogue come to life, and it sprung surprisingly from our lips like fresh bits of improvisation.
After class Mr. Pointer asked me to stay behind. No, he did not ask me, he commanded me. Although I was annoyed by his response to the scene, I was all too glad to stay behind for a private conference, thinking that we would fuck again as wonderfully as we had before.
We went into his office and Mr. Pointer closed and locked the door. Then he pushed me brutally into a chair and started to lacerate me with verbal abuse.
I'm sorry, Doctor. This is too traumatic for me to discuss. I must go. Please forget everything I have told you. Forget that we have ever met, please, and never speak of this to anyone. I will send you a check tomorrow morning to cover the costs of your time. Thank you for listening to this, but I cannot go on. It's too vile.
INTERVIEW TWO
Livid with disgust and rage, Lana ran from my office with tears streaming down her lovely cheeks. I was afraid that she would have to hold this grief within herself forever, unable to express it and surrender to the catharsis of confession.
However, she returned to my office several months later. Evidently the horror of the episode nagged her for months, until she was unable to continue her stoic reticence.
Our second interview was a revelation. No student of human behavior can afford to overlook Lana's tale of evil.
"Forgive me, please, Doctor, for running away from our last session. That was very childish of me. But this story is such shit, pardon me, but there is no other word for it, as you will see soon enough, if you haven't deduced as much already. It was impossible for me to continue our last session. The sound of such such atrocities coming from my own lips, not to mention the ordeal of reliving the nightmare, was more than I could tolerate.
However, I feel that I can tell you now what I was unable to divulge before.
As you might or not remember, Mr. Pointer had taken me into his office after I did the scene with Sandra. He pushed me into a chair and forced me to say in while he vituperated me unmercifully.
He lifted his leg and pushed the sole of shoe into my belly, forcing me into the chair. Each time I tried to adjust my body he bore into me harder with his shoe. The pain and discomfort was odious.
"That was the cheapest little piece of show his slitick I've ever seen!" He began, looking at me with contempt.
I knew that this was untrue. Even if Sandra and I had been abysmal, which we had not been at all, our scene could not have been the nadir of Mr. Pointer's theatrical experience. For every bad performance there will always be a worse one; for every sewer in the world there's a cesspool; for every dirty joke that is only slightly amusing there is a dirtier one that isn't funny at all; for every sour note there is another note that is acrid beyond belief.
But I was too uncomfortable to defend myself against Mr. Pointer's rude and rather vindictive injustice. I decided that he was not at all charming, and that I had been a lunatic to feel myself falling in love with him. No, falling is not the word; one does not fall in love with such an ogre; one plummets into pits of foul and tawdry passion.
I decided that Mr. Pointer was a philistine boor who happened to be the best and most widely acknowledged acting teacher in the world. I knew that I would have to endure his vulgar personality for the sake of the craft he could impart to me, but it would be a loathsome task, rather like being a factotum in an office of scoundrels. I would abide him with my teeth on edge, but I would divorce my emotions radically from the ordeal. That was the only way to survive.
But as he continued to inundate me with his bombastic criticism I found it hard to divorce my emotions. How can one be objective when someone is pressing a show into one's belly and is screaming the most unfair abuse into one's ears.
"You might never be able to act, Lana, if you don't shed some of your uptight inhibitions. When you're on stage you have to be comfortable and natural. You played that lesbian like you had a six-foot turd in your ass. You were playing your foolish notion of the character rather than the character itself. Sure, you got a response from the class, but that's because they're all hopeless swines who don't know their talent from their assholes. Do you want to play to a houseful of old cunts and jerk offs who watch nothing but your tits, or do you want to play for people who know theatre from the circus and a performance from a cheap bit of gear grinding. That's all you were doing up there this afternoon, just grinding your gears.
Your facial expressions, your inflections and your body movements were all frigid. It looked like a pitiful bitch who couldn't haul her ashes if every dyke in New York handed her the shovels."
I thought this was wickedly cruel, given the fact that I had swooned and melted and boilied over in his arms only a week ago. For the first time I had let a man witness me in the full abandon of my womanhood, and he was calling me frigid, a dessicated cunt of no use to anyone, whether as a woman or as an actress.
I wanted to spit in his face, but I couldn't. I was doing everything I could to keep the tears from oozing out of my eyes and streaking down my face in rivers of salt and mascara.
As though he had not insulted me enough, the vile man continued.
"Not only did you look frigid, you looked constipated as a rat who lives on paragoric. As I said, you looked like an old witch with a cement cobra coiled in her bowels. But I think I have a remedy for that. No method exercise will purge your body of it's constipation. We can't solve this problem by any ordinary means. We will have to take extra measures.
Mr. Pointer grabbed my shoulders in his bestial paws, lifting me forcefully from the chair. He dragged me across the room and pushed me through the doorway of a small bathroom.
It was white and austere looking, white tile everywhere. Mr. Pointer opened a cabinet and withdrew an enema bag. I recognized it at once. When I was a little girl my mother, when I was ill, would give me aspirin crushed into puree of raspberries. It was her remedy for everything, and I did not mind the taste of the aspirin because the raspberries were heavenly. My father, however, would give me an enema, whether I suffered from headaches, indigestion or menstrual cramps. Yes, Doctor, my father continued to give me enemas until I was fifteen and ran away from home.
I used to despise the hideous things, and the sight of the overly familiar object in Mr. Pointer's hands made sensations of unwelcome deja vu race through my terrified body.
At that moment I wanted to be back with my mother, who had died years ago, leaving my cruel father to raise me. I wanted to be in my bed, with my mother beside me, slipping the spoonsful of raspberries into my mouth, talking sweetly to me so that I could not taste the bitter aspirins. But I could never return to that safety. It was gone forever and I was alone in the world, with only the savagery of men for company.
Mr. Pointer pushed me back into the office, holding my arm firmly in one hand, the wicked enema bag in the other.
Still keeping a firm grip on my struggling body, Mr. Pointer opened a small refrigerator built into his desk, withdrawing a chilled bottle of one hundred proof Vodka.
He unscrewed the long rubber hose from the bag of the enema and emptied the full bottle of chilled liquor into the bag. I watched as the rubber bag swelled, receiving the full quart of liquor.
As if that were not enough, he opened a tray of ice and dropped a dozen small cubes into the enema bag.
"These will make it even colder," he said, grinning at some obscene joke that only a monster could appreciate, "and then they will melt and give me even more liquid to send into your body through your constipated asshole."
"This is ridiculous," I said, summoning all the dignity I could command, "I've had enough of this shit. I don't need to study with you. If you know so much about acting why are just teaching? Why aren't you working in films or the theatre? No one needs you. I'll make it on my own without any help from frustrated perverts with thespian pretensions. You should give yourself an enema, not me."
Evidently I struck a raw nerve in Mr. Pointer's ego, for he became more than ever irrascible.
"Slut! You think you can fuck your way to the top of this dung heap! You think you'll ever be anything but a sleazy little ingenue! Shit, honey, you'll be eighty and you'll still be giving blow jobs, sucking cocks in your toothless mouth, trying to get a part as the deaf and dumb grandmother in some soap opera. Maybe I can give you a chance, but you will have to respond well to discipline. The core of acting, or any art, is discipline, and if you can't learn from it you might as well get married and get fucked and get pregnant. Without discipline all you can ever be good for is cranking out more worthless people like yourself, just oozing more and more mediocrity from your boring cunt."
Of course, Doctor, I did not believe a word of this, but I was too ossified with fear and panic to defend myself. I simply trembled in Mr. Pointer's clutches, utterly speechless.
"Get your whorish body out of your clothes, cunt! I'm going to give you the enema of all time."
Without letting me strip with some vestige of dignity, Mr. Pointer ripped the clothes from my body, tugging and tearing at each garment until I was naked before his penetrating and highly sinister gaze.
"Bend over that chair and let me get this in your ass," he hissed, tightening the hose, screwing it into the mouth of the enema bag.
I had no choice but to obey. I had already felt the pressure of his heel on my stomach, and I knew that if I was recalcitrant I would feel the impact of his shoe kicking me in a more vulnerable region.
He pressed the hateful nozzle against my puckering anus, plunging it all at once into the darkest depths of my rectal abyss. I felt my colon being stabbed by the invasion of the foul thing.
Without looking, I could somehow sense Mr. Pointer's fingers working on the valve that would release all the virulent Vodka into my victimized asshole. Then I felt it seeping in, first slowly, then with increasing gravity, until it was flowing fast and freely into my ass and deeper into my astonished body.
It rushed faster into me, filling me with its full alcoholic volume, almost killing me with its discomforting and rather stinging torrent.
I am not a drinker, Doctor. In my profession the figure is far too important to risk for the fleeting pleasure of intoxication. I know that many stars are notorious lushes, but they have fortunes and can afford to run off to fat farms whenever the feel a bit of avoirdupois gaining on them. Alas, I am not so fortunate, which is probably just as well. After too many visitis to the fat farms the body is damaged beyond repair, and at too early an age men and women who were once exceedingly handsome or beautiful are ruins of their former selves.
Unaccustomed to the effects of liquor, I felt myself beginning to spin with dizziness. Added to the extreme discomfort and pain of the liquid pressing against my insides, this sudden and violent intoxication was more than I could bear.
Tears began to flood out of my eyes as copiously as the Vodka rushed into my body, and it seemed as though all the world's tears were gushing from my two poor eyes in alcoholic form. The world was weeping Vodka through my anguished eyes, which were seeing, for the first time, the horrors of the world.
Mr. Pointer released the contents of the entire enema bag, pouring the terribly cold liquid into my ass, from which it seeped into my body, killing me with its numbing cold, its hideous pressure, and its devestatingly intoxicating potency.
When the bag was fully emptied into my body, Mr. Pointer looked at me with the most unnatural expression of obscene delight I have ever seen. He thrilled to my shame and agony, and I could see that he was bestially excited when he pulled his huge cock out of his fly and commanded me to lick it.
"C'mon, cunt, I want to feel your tongue dance on my cock. Lick it good and I might let you do a scene for me." He leered luridly at me, ignoring my tears and grimaces of pain.
I struggled to retain the Vodka in my body, but the cold of it was making me shiver uncontrollably, and the effect of the liquor was so strong that I could barely think. I was terrified that I would become incontinent.
"Get down on your knees and lick my cock," he commanded, his voice mean and ugly.
When I began to kneel I nearly fell over on the floor. I was so drunk, and having never been even mildly tipsy before in my abstinent life, I was horrified by the feeling of helplessness.
I was terrified that force of pressure in my body would force the enema nozzle out of my anus like the pressure of champagne popping a cork, not French champagne, but the tacky, artificially carbonated domestic kind.
But I managed to kneel, somehow managing my body by a miracle. I began to lick Mr.
Pointer's cock.
He was so hot, so horny and hard, that the mere flick of the tip of my tongue on the skin of his cock made his balls tighten into a gnarl of gristle, as though he would shoot any moment.
Quickly, he pulled his cock away from my tongue and held it in his hand.
Then, releasing it from his hand, he let it stand up straight and tall, leaning into his body.
He watched me writhing in agony on the floor.
"All right, cunt, now that your body is full of Vodka, I want to see you do some acting. Do a scene for me." He said, his voice harsh with authority.
What the hell did he want me to do with a quart of Vodka up my ass, Ophelia's mad scene? Did he want me to do Hedda Gabler?
"Get on your feet and do a monologue. What did you prepare for our first interview? I know you didn't do it; I was not sufficiently impressed with you to submit myself to the tortures of your monologue. Whatever you prepared, let me see it now. And you had better be good, bitch. If you're not I'll make you retain that quart of Vodka through the lengths of the longest five act tragedy in the world."
I already felt as if I had suffered through every tragedy known to man. I was as sorrowful as Phaedra, and I felt older than Hecuba, older than all the world. And I felt like the infant Astyanax, before the Trojans killed him.
I struggled to my feet, nearly toppling over in my painful effort, and began to deliver Sonia's monologue. I talked about how ineffably bored I was, how no one in the world could contemplate the depths of my insufferable boredom. I said that I was dying of boredom, that I had never been so miserable in my life.
And it was true. Of course, it was not boredom that was killing me, but the pressure and the pain and indignity of the enema that Mr. Pointer had blasted into my body. My body was full of the freezing Vodka, and my viscera felt frozen by a chill that would never thaw, but at the same time I boiled with vehement rage. I felt that the world was all turpitude, and that I was an anathema in a world that had years ago gone to hell.
I shrieked and wept, tears pouring from my eyes, my voice quavering with fury, wrath and melancholy. My voice conveyed all the emotions known to man, hostility, contempt, spite, and dispair.
"Bravo!! Bravo, girl! You were brilliant. I have never in my life seen such acting. I want you to remember everything you are feeling now. Every detail, every nuance. Tell me, how do you feel?"
"I'm so bored, so utterly and unspeakably bored," I said, unable to emerge from the character, unable to think my own thoughts. My brain reeled with the intoxication that had been absorbed by my racing blood.
"No, you, Lana, how do you feel? I want to know about you." He said, holding his iron-hard rod in his fist.
Then my own consciousness seeped back into my victimized flesh.
"I feel horrible, hideous, dying. I can't bear this. It's so painful and humiliating and wretched. I hate you! I detest you! You disgust me!" I shrieked my pain for all the world to hear, but of course who am I to the world that listens to no one?
The sound of my voice and the sight of my writhing and suffering body must have thrilled Mr. Pointer to a breaking-point, for, suddently, with no direct stimulation to his cock, he exploded.
The great jets of his orgasm splashed from his tall standing dick, hitting his skin, dripping down his leg and staining the carpet. He came in great violent gushes, his body convulsing with overpowering climax. His sperm leapt from his huge cock, flying out everywhere in thick hot abundance.
He groaned and growled in pleasure before finally speaking to me sensibly.
"I hope, Lana, that this lesson has served its purpose. I believe you learned more about acting today than most performers ever learn in a lifetime. If you are smart you will apply the insight I have given you to your craft, and you will make great strides in my class and progress in your career. I have no doubt that I have been the most fortuitous catalyst of your life, and I believe that a star was born today, sired by the enema I have given you. Please never forget this day."
Naturally, Doctor, I am not about to forget it. I need to know whether I should continue in Mr. Pointer's class. I do feel that my work has been better than ever since the day he gave me the enema. He has been almost invariably pleased with my progress and has only called me to his office a few times telling me that I am slipping back into my own ways and will need more discipline. So far he has not given me another enema, and it has been several months. I have continued with the classes so far, but every day I fear that enema time is drawing nearer. I might be making a mistake by remaining in his class much longer.
I do feel that my craft is improving at an incredible pace, and sometimes I think I would suffer almost anything to become the actress that I know I can be.
I have to confess to you that I would gladly receive another enema if I truly believed it was in the best interest of my art. The torture of being full and having to retain the liquid to prevent hideous embarrassment is dreadful, but the feeling of purgation when it finally all flows out in the privacy of the bathroom is a bliss I can scarcely describe.
I am greatly disturbed, Doctor. Secretly, I fear that I might even enjoy receiving enemas, despite myself, of course. And I do feel that there are helping me attain proficiency as an actress. Please, tell me what I should do.
CONCLUSION
I could not tell Lana everything that I thought about her story. I was able to tell her that she would have to make her own choice and live with it, which is fairly elementary, of course, but the most that any psychologist can tell a patient.
Lamentably, Mr. Pointer's assessment of Lana was ruthless but, I fear, all too accurate.
She is an attractive woman who is altogether lacking in any talent for acting.
In her heart Lana knows that she is talentless. She only pretended to believe that the enemas were helping her as an actress. All her talk about progress in her craft is just unmitigated poppycock. In her devious way Lana attempted to justify her pleasure in receiving enemas by claiming that they helped her as an actress. Of course a good actress does not need enemas. A bad one is hopeless no matter what is blasted into her body. Mr. Pointer could have flooded Lana's body with the finest V.S.O.P cognac, augmented by marijuana, cocaine, or anything else he might have thought to add to the concoction. He would never have made her an actress. Surely, the man knew this and I can only dismiss him as a hypocrite for bamboozling the poor girl. Lana will end up as a burnt out whore on Tenth Avenue with a resume of walk ons and one liners summing up her history.
It is all too obvious that Lana, as a young child, worshipped her father and delighted in the enemas she professed to deplore. No one with any taste could enjoy raspberries that were ruined by bits of acrid aspirin. Lana only claimed to love her mother's remedy because she could not admit how greatly she preferred her father's, which sounds to me a more efficient panacea.
I have predicted that Lana will end up as a wasted whore, but I must qualify this by saying that she will meet this fate after her current success has subsided. As of this writing Lana is one of the most celebrated young film stars in the world. She has incredible box office draw and is one of the few bankable women on the contemporary screen. But, of course, the audience comes to see her tits, not her acting. Soon, alas, they will fall, and so will her star.
CASE HISTORY THREE
SUBJECT: Terry S. AGE: Sixteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Terry S. was sent to my office by her mother, who was recently divorced from the girl's father on grounds of extreme mental cruelty. Terry was a small, frail girl of considerable charm, great wit, much youthful beauty, but rather minimal physcial development.
At sixteen, Terry wore no cosmetics, not even lipstick. Her reddish hair, which she wore long in adorable braids with bows and bangs, made her pale skin look almost ghostly. Like Lana T., she was far too thin, but she did not have the developed breasts of Lana T. She had perhaps the tiniest little breasts I have ever seen on a sixteen year old girl, but the quality I noticed first was her skin, which was almost ghostly white. It was not the color of chalk, nor was it pallid or milky, but it was white in a way that skin seldom is. I have never seen such a snow white girl. She looked as though she had never in her life been in the sun, rather like a hot house orchid. I must say that she looked a little unhealthy.
The stark whiteness of her skin, combined with the modest endowment of her breasts and the long silky red braids, made Terry seem younger than her sixteen tears. If I had not had her file in front of me, I would have guessed her to be a blossoming twelve year old.
I soon saw that she was a highly troubled little girl, as anyone can discern from this transcript of our interview.
Who are you, Doctor? Can you tell me why I should trust you? And who do you think I am, and how do you think you can help me, knowing nothing of my life?
I suppose I could tell you in a minute or two everything you would need to know. No one has died in my life. That is something, I suppose. No one died this year, or last; I doubt anyone will die next year, but for some reason I find myself preoccupied with death. It is a morbid topic for a young girl to dwell on, I know, and I am sure it is not amusing to hear.
You are wondering why I talk about death before I talk about anything else. But I am not talking about death; I am talking about no one dying. I often feel that if no one dies life is uneventful. I do not mean what you think. I am not saying that I crave the excitement of people dying. I only believe that if no one ever dies in our life we have no hope of growing up. I sometimes feel that I will never grow up.
Look at me, Doctor. Would anyone believe that I am sixteen years old and almost a woman? Don't answer, I will. No, no one would believe it. I do not look sixteen. I look eleven or twelve, and the reason is not that I know little of life. In fact, I know far too much.
Do you like to be amused, Doctor. Is it dreary for you to sit day after day in this office, glued to a chair, listening to the tirades of uninteresting people. Do you often wish that one of your patients would stop dwelling on their problems and, just once, tell you a tale of some amusement? Do you sometimes sit in your chair and pray for a laugh, feeling that you have not had one in years and that if you do not soon hear a clever joke you will turn to stone?
I wish that I could amuse you, Doctor. I would love to have a small comic talent, for I have no talent for tragedy. I have read that tragedy is what gives mankind its little glimmer of divinity, but I do not find this true in life. I have a proclivity for tragedy, but no talent for it, because I am unable to accept it gracefully.
Sixteen, you think. Yes, I know what you are thinking. How much tragedy can such a little girl have experienced? You do not need to voice your questions. I know them before you speak; I know them all.
I shall tell you how much tragedy a young girl can have. Maybe you will not think it a tragedy. Farce, maybe, or melodrama you might call it. That is because you have not known in your own life what I will tell you. Had you lived it, you would not disagree that it is tragic.
When I was eight years old, my father gave me a quarter. He told me to unzip him, to pull him out of his trousers and take him in my little mouth. He maneuvered my head up and down on his tall standing cock until I tasted a great salty splash against my licking tongue. Then he gave me a dollar and told me never to tell anyone what had happened.
How could I tell anyone, Doctor? I had no idea what had happened, nor would I have until years later, after it had happened over and over, hundreds of times. I knew only that I loved it. Yes, that is the shameful truth, Doctor. I loved it with a passion, and I wanted more of it! I wanted Daddy to do it to me every day!
He did not do it every day. I often asked him to do it again. He had told me never to ask when my mother or anyone else was around, and I obeyed these instructions, knowing intuitively that it was something secret between us. But on rainy afternoons, when my mother was at work, and when I had nothing to do, I would go to my Daddy and reach between his legs, trying to pull him out of his pants. Sometimes he would let me, sometimes not, depending, I know now, on whether or not he was horny.
In its own peculiar way, Doctor, it was very innocent. Daddy would put his cock in my mouth and I would lick and suck it, often fondling his balls while he tickled me between my young legs. He would come in my mouth and I would feel delicious bliss, if not quite orgasm, between my long pubescent legs.
This went on for years, and later, when I was about thirteen, Daddy said that I was getting too old for our little game. I did not know what he meant by that. I did not think that I was too old, and at that time I wanted more than ever to play. I wanted to go on playing forever.
Daddy would not let me touch him. He would not even kiss me gently on the lips. He began to avoid me and I felt that he no longer loved me. Even mother, who rarely notices anything but a run in her stockings or a false eye lash gone awry, could see that Daddy was staying away from me. I even heard them discussing it one night, when I was supposed to be asleep. Daddy said that she was imagining things, but I knew that she was not. We could not both be seeing the same thing in our imaginations.
I knew for certain that Daddy was ignoring me, and I worried that as I was growing older I was becoming less adorable. It frightened me terribly that I would become old and haggard before my time.
Then Daddy was convicted of rape. Whether he actually did it to the little girl, or whether he was accused falsely, I don't know. But he was sent away to prison, and Mother and I were alone for two long years.
I missed Daddy terribly. It is funny to think of it now. This year, today, I loathe my father. I never want to see him again. I want him dead. This is what I was talking about before, Doctor. I will never be able to forgive him, and I wish that he would die.
This is what is so hiedous in my life, Doctor. Have you ever hated someone, I mean, truly despised them from the bottom of your heart? If you have, then you might know something of what I am trying to tell you, and if you have loved someone ineffably, with all your passion, and have felt that passion turn to hatred, a vehement, raging and all encompassing hatred, then you will know exactly what I suffer in my life.
However furiously I loathe him now, I cannot deny that while he was in prison I missed Daddy with an ache I cannot describe. At night, when I lay my little body in my bed, I would feel my young nipples stiffen and my tiny little cunny would get wet and hot, dripping on the sheet as I thought of my Daddy.
Before I went to sleep, every night of my life, the last image in my conscious mind would be my Daddy's big cock. I would imagine that I was looking down at my own gulping mouth, watching the way his stiff stick moved in and out. In my mind I would hear the sound of his heavy animal breathing and the sighs of my little body as I hungrily devoured his potent meat.
In the morning, when I awakened, I would abhor the view outside my window and the sight of my own bedroom, because all night I had been swooning in the image of my Daddy's body in the sweetest dreams any loving daughter had ever had. I wanted never to awaken, always to stay in the paradise of my slumber, with my Daddy's cock in my mouth and his hard heavy balls in my hand, drinking the never ending streams of sperm that blasted hotly in my mouth, coating my moist cheeks.
For two endless years I lived this way, yearning for dreams and dreading life. I could abide my contempt for the loneliness of reality only on the strength of my marvelous dreams, which seemed so much more lovely, splendid and real than my life. When I was asleep and wrapped warmly in the rapture of my dreams, I could not only see, but also taste and smell my father's maleness as he humped my face, and when he shot his violent load into my mouth I rejoiced in my pussy at the taste and texture of his wonderful sperm.
I suppose you could say that I lived in a fantasy world, but I have always found that phrase trite. People who accuse others of living in a fantasy world obviously know nothing about life, and certainly nothing about their own life. If they did they would impugn the fantasies of others, knowing that they lived all their life in one of their own. Everyone creates their own fantasy world to live in, and the only difference between one person and another is that one might drift into sweet fantasy, knowing it for what it is, and the other might make a fantasy that engulfs him, gives no pleasure, without ever realizing that it is fantasy. Those who make martyrs of themselves, slaving in roles or jobs they hate, live as far from reality as those of of us who fabricate delight and dance our lives away. Why should we sweat and toil our lives away, when we can laugh our way through all our years? Do you not agree that a solemn life is as false and fanciful as a merry one?
My felicitous fantasy was invaded by a grim one. For two years I flitted between melancholy and rhapsody, from day to night, but in time my life became horrid without relent.
There is little to tell you about the two years my father was away, except that I tried to console my yearning for him in the embraces of many boys and men. I became promiscuous, quite a wicked little vixen, I suppose. I took men in my mouth, and it was not long before I discovered the magic of my pussy.
I began to wear lipstick, perfumes, mascara, and all kinds of brazen adornments. With my tiny body and mere petals of breasts I knew that I could not play the voluptuous hussy, but I worked with the assets I had and cultivated the image of the adorably chic nymphet. I must say that I was divinely successful and never wanted for male attentions. I advertised the vacany of my cunt by flashing my lovely eyes and pouting with my darling and glistening lips, which were always moist and ready to caress an enormous cock.
Mother was too oblivious to know what was going on. She had always been a career woman, because my father was an incorrigibly nefarious man, the quintessential ne'er do well. And why should he have been otherwise. He was handsome and charming and had my mother for a meal ticket. Mother made good money in something typical like advertising, and Daddy spent each day as he liked.
He had all the time in the world to engage in whatever activities he liked, and he might well have raped the little girl out of sheer boredom.
I used to stay out until the most ridiculous hours, sucking cock, getting fucked in the pussy, being eaten by men. It was not uncommon for me to stagger home at four in the morning. If I didn't feel like going to school the next day, that was all there was to it; I wouldn't go.
One night I came back with liquor on my breath, ripped to the tits, and my pussy overflowing with my dripping discharges and gallons of male cum.
I was astonished to see my father, shirtless and unshaven, sitting in a chair with a bourbon bottle nestled between, his legs. I was ecstatic to see him after two interminable years and I wished that I had been fresher for the reunion. I would have liked to greet him all bathed, sparkling and scented, rather than flushed by lust and smelling of fucking.
"Daddy, when did you come back? How did you get out?" I squealed in joy.
"I got off on good behavior, Terry, which is more than I can say for you. What have you done to yourself? What's been going on while I was gone? You look like a little tramp. What are those clothes you're wearing? You're showing your tits and ass like a hooker, and you stink of pussy and gism."
I was startled by my father's frankness, but at first he seemed more dismayed than angry. His return made me see myself in a new light. I began to feel guilty of my shameless conduct and decided to change my ways, but before I could make my promise to my Daddy, he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me into his lap.
I was overjoyed, Doctor. You cannot imagine how happy I was. I knew that my Daddy was back and that I would no longer have to console myself with the endless string of men who came daily in my cunt.
I felt my father's huge body pressing my hand against him. My tiny breasts rubbed through my nearly transparent halter top against his well muscled chest, and I felt his coarse facial stubble scratching my soft cheeks, burning them deliciously. I could smell on his breath the odors of bourbon and tobacoo, but even more strongly I could inhale the divine musk of his sweaty balls.
"You're a shameless creature, Teresa," My father said, calling me by the name he used only when he was inordinately pleased or angry with me.
"Daddy, I missed you so much. Let's don't talk about how bad I've been. I know that I have been bad, but I only did it because I missed you so unbearably. I needed to feel a man's body. I needed strong lips to kiss me and a heavy body to mount and bear down upon me," I said, confessing all my secrets and believing that he would understand.
He said nothing, but he glared at me, and I felt a shudder running through my body. I felt that he was very angry with me and that I had to do something to earn his pardon.
"Please, Daddy, let's celebrate. Mother's away on a business trip and won't be back until the end of the week. Let's play the game we used to enjoy when I was young and you were always nice to me."
"No games like that, you little cunt. You're to old for such childish things. You've grown way beyond that. I can tell that you've been getting fucked in the cunt, but I'm going to give you something you might not have had before. If it hurts you that's too fucking bad, honey. You deserve some punishment for your wanton ways."
My Daddy's voice was angry. He roared with fury and he frightened me. From his words I inferred that he planned to stick his cock in my ass and fuck it, and I did not mind the idea at all. Although my Daddy's cock was enormous and my little shithole was virgin and tight, I shuddered in delicious anticipation, knowing that I would give my father great pleasure after his long and unfair confinement in prison, and I knew that he would give me pleasure by treating me to a thrill I had not yet experienced. Although many men had wanted to fuck me in the asshole, I had always refused. I was very curious as to how it would compare to being fucked in the pussy, but I had denied myself the novelty. I suppose that I had kept my asshole virgin so that I could save at least one hole for Daddy. It would be fresh and tight for him, and my anal walls would squeeze his cock, embracing him wonderfully in my fragrant and moist friction.
But I did not like the way Daddy was going about it. He unbuckled his belt and drew it quickly from his trousers.
He pushed me out of his warm musky lap, making me kneel on the floor between his legs. I saw the powerful muscles of his thighs bulging through the fabric of his pants.
Wielding his belt in his hands, he began to whip my shoulders and breasts with the mean leather, and I felt my flesh stinging with each repeated blow.
I cried out in pain but he did not care how much he was hurting me. He kept whipping me without mercy.
"Take off your slutty clothes and show me what a naked whore looks like," he demanded.
However much I disliked the whipping, I did not mind taking off my clothes and showing him my darling nudity. I wished that he would not call me dirty names, but if it added to his excitement I did not mind. I wanted him to have the time of his life in my tight hot little asshole. I wanted him to be hot and burn me alive with his scalding sperm load.
I removed my slinky halter top and let my little boobies bounce free. I could feel my father's eyes upon them, and I knew that he was devouring them with his eyes, as though his eyes were his tongue. He licked the sight he adored.
Then I stripped out of my tight and very short little skirt, thrilling my Daddy with the naughtiness of my naked beaver, which I seldom confined in panties.
"Cunt," my daddy growled, "you go around with nothing underneath that immodest skirt that barely covers your box! That is shameless beyond belief. I will have to give you even rougher punishment than I had planned."
I felt juices flowing in the gooey gutter between my legs. My pussy was dripping, oozing cunny nectars and stud seed. Mixed juices of sex trickled down my soft thighs.
My asshole was moist with the lubrication of natural excitement. I wanted my Daddy's cock to plunge in and fuck me
"Lie down on the floor. Press your beaver on the rug!" Daddy commanded.
I thrilled to the bellowing sound of his authority. Gladly, I did exactly as I was told. I lay down on my stomach, feeling the texture of the carpet against my mossy beaver.
My shirtless father stood over me and stuck his shoe between my delicate thighs. I could feel the toe of his leather just barely touching my asshole, and when he pried by legs far apart I thought I would melt into a puddle of white chocolate.
My Daddy was going to fuck my hot cherry asshole with his huge fuck pole, and I wanted it more than anything in the world.
But he struck me with his belt, whipping my white naked flesh. I could feel the burning sting on my sensitive skin, and tiny pink welts began to rise where he had lacerated me.
I heard the music of his zipper, the quick snarling sibilance that made me dance. I writhed eagerly on the floor, grinding my beaver against the carpet, yearning for Daddy's dick in my asshole.
He lowered his body, straddling my spread legs. He did not remove his trousers, but only pulled his pulsing prick and his heavy meatballs out of his fly, and I could feel the fabric of his pants pressing against my naked thighs.
Daddy's big balls rubbed against my tender asscheeks and his thick long cock pressed into the crack of my buttocks and felt good on the small of my back and my spine. I could feel that it was hard and ready.
Daddy became impatient. He slid his long hard cock down my asscrack, toward the hole itself.
He poked my puckering opening with the fat head of his stiff fucking iron. Shocks of pain rattled through my astonished flesh, confusing my pleasure.
"You're going to get it, bitch! I'm going to fuck your asshole harder than you have ever been fucked. You're going to be sorry for becoming such a little slut while I was away."
He meant it, Doctor. He wasn't playing. I knew that I was in for some serious sodomy.
All at once he rammed his monstrous weapon into my virgin territory. My tight little asshole suffered the brutality of his violent invasion. He pushed hard into my flesh, conquering my wilderness by force. I had never felt such mutilating pain.
Daddy banged his hard cock into me, tearing the delicate tissues of my shit ditch. I felt his cock ripping my poor little hole apart, and even though I had wanted it so badly I cried out in torment, pleading with him to stop.
He would not stop. He would not even be gentle. He forced and shoved and plunged his cock into my wounded little hole, until I felt the rim of my ass wrap around the root of his long, thick tool.
The base of his mighty cock throbbed in my tight ass, and his balls pressed against my tender buttocks, thrilling my cheeks with their heavy hardness despite the agony of my asshole, which spread throughout my entire body.
Daddy was all the way in my hole and gradually I felt my body adjusting to his domination. The burden of his bulk pressing down on my body became less of a bane, more of bliss. My hole seemed to expand, growing around the broad diameter of his rod.
His sudden occupation of my asshole had been brutal and painful at first, but as he moved back and forth I felt my muscles relax slightly, and I surrendered myself to the joy of being masterfully fucked by my big strong daddy.
He hammered his iron meat in and out of my hole, thrilling my tissues. He pulled out in long strokes and then rammed back into me, thrusting to the left, then to the south. My asshole became a universe of its own, and my daddy's huge prick made me aware of its many dimensions.
I felt the big head of his cock pressing to the east and west of my anal world, and as the head moved inward I felt my warm luscious lining embracing every inch of his mighty meaty column.
He humped me hard, banging my asshole with the bludgeoning power of his rod. I had never been fucked so hard, so powerfully or so wonderfully well. My father was the best man in the world.
He thrilled me to peaks of ecstasy, and I felt my clit burning against the carpet as his mighty thrusts made my bush grind into the woolly texture. I was dripping from my cunt, pussy nectar pouring from the opening, which my father slapped with his heavy balls each time he pounded his cock into my ass.
I knew my pussy flow was dripping from my daddy's balls, coating them with slippery ambrosia, as his magnificent cock fucked my asshole.
I began to moan in pleasure, sighing and squealing with the delight of being supremely fucked.
Daddy groaned and growled, thrilling me even more with loud volume of his bestial chant.
We thrashed on the floor, my body undulating under Daddy's ferocious humping, twitching and writhing in pleasure, our orgasms building to our united zenith.
Then I felt Daddy's great splash blast into my asshole, and I contracted my sphincter muscles, squeezing his huge cock as hard as I could, making his orgasm the best in his life.
His load jetted into me, filling my hole with his hot scalding potency, burning my ass with his masculine fury.
Then I came. The feeling of his hot sperm searing my asshole gave my clit the final and devastasting thrill. I exploded between my legs, orgasm sparkling in my cunt and clit, and my asshole full of Daddy's great dick.
When Daddy pulled out my asshole I felt a sorrowful loss. I wanted him to stay buried in my body forever.
I was' surprised to see anger on his face. He glared at me with cruelty. I could not understand. It was terrible, Doctor. After the magnificent buttfuck my Daddy was still cross with me.
But he said nothing that night. He waited a few days to give me the punishment he had planned for me. It is the worst experience of my life.
INTERVIEW TWO
When she had finished describing her father's brutal sodomization of her young body, Terry became highly distressed. I could see her body trembling as she prepared to continue her narrative. Our hour was almost up and I thought it unwise for us to continue when Terry was overwrought and we had so little time to get to the bottom of the trauma.
We scheduled an appointment for the following week. Terry appeared on time, dressed and groomed in a different fashion. Her braids had been changed in favor of a more mature and glamorous coiffure, and she had adorned herself with cosmetics. She did not, however, look at all vampy. She was chic and elegant and altogether dazzling. Here is the unedited transcript of our second interview.
You were right to stop our first session where you did, Doctor. I am grateful to you, for the lapse has given me some time to assess matters. I realize that I might have over-reacted to my father's cruelty, although I remain wounded and emotionally scarred by the event.
Despite my attempts at further intimacy, Daddy stayed away from me for a few days, ignoring me. It was as though nothing had happened. I felt miserable. I both resented him and yearned for him.
On Friday Mother called to say she would be delayed three more days. In a way I was even awaiting her return, because there was so much tension between Daddy and me.
On Saturday Daddy stayed home watching an endless football game on television. He was glued to the chair and would not get up even during a commercial, because he did not want to miss a moment of the game. He made me make popcorn and bring it to him, and he drank beer after beer, which I had to fetch and carry for him. I remember that we had a full six-pack and that Daddy went through it in an hour. He made me go out and buy another, and he drank that too. He had consumed gallons of beer and had not left the chair to take a piss.
Finally, the game ended. Daddy had been rooting or the team that lost, and he was pissed off and piss ass drunk. All day he had sat around, shirtless in the chair, scratching his big hairy chest, draining can after can of beer, and belching obscenely.
When he went to the bathroom I assumed that he would be in there for at least an hour taking the leak of all time.
I went into my bedroom to masturbate. I had put on fresh sheets that morning. I loved the feeling of fresh linen on my naked flesh. It always increased the pleasure of my self induced cums.
I stripped and threw myself on the bed, getting my long fingers to work, digging into my wet cunny and stroking my heavenly clit.
I was hot and panting when Daddy opened the door, which I had neglected to lock. I saw his huge chest and the bulge between his legs, but I did not have time to enjoy the sight of them.
My daddy had caught me jerking off, which embarrassed me dreadfully, but my embarrassment turned to horror when I saw what he had in his hand.
You won't believe it, Doctor. My father had come into my bedroom carrying a disgusting enema bag.
I knew that he was going to submit me to the most appalling humiliation. He was going to give me an enema, right in my pink bedroom, on my fresh linen sheets.
My father came into my bedroom and shut the door behind him. I saw the hard hairy muscles ripple menacingly on his shirtless chest.
"The other night you enjoyed that fuck too much, cunt. You took my cock like a whore and absorbed my cum in your asshole like a sponge. You obviously need harsher discipline. This time I have to give you something your slutty body won't like as much. You're going to get an enema." Daddy leered at me, hovering over my naked body.
"No, Daddy! You can fuck me as much as you like, and as hard as you please, but don't, I beg you, don't give me an enema." I whimpered, imploring him to spare me this vile humiliation.
"An enema is the least you deserve, slut! Christ, this is too much! I caught you clawing your cunt and frigging your clit. How do you think a man feels having a sick nympho slut for a daughter. Maybe an enema will make you mend your ways. Get me a pair of stockings."
I could not understand why Daddy ordered me to fetch a pair of stockings. What did he want with them. Nor could I understand why the enema bag was empty. What was he going to shoot into my body, what vile liquid?
Daddy seized my arm and pulled my naked body from my bed. He slapped his hand on my soft buttocks, pushing me toward the dresser where I kept my nylon stockings.
Reluctantly I withdrew a pair and walked shyly back to the bed, covering my beaver in my hands.
"Don't bother to protect your cunt. It isn't your pussy I'm going to assault. You should be so lucky!" He hissed.
The muscles of his great chest flexed, threatening me with his brutal power.
Daddy pushed me forcefully back onto the bed.
"Lie on your stomach and spread your legs!" Daddy ordered.
I did as I was told, too frightened to resist, and knowing that my struggle would be futile. I felt the fresh sheets on my skin and I pressed my belly to the bed. The clean linen soothed my nipples, which ached with lust from the delicious masturbation that had been so rudely interrupted, without even the simple courtesy of a knock on the door. There are simply too many ill mannered and inelegant people in the world, and I fear that my hirsute, and simian father is one of them.
Daddy seized my wrists and tied them quickly in hard nylon knots. I felt the fabric on my skin, cutting into my flesh abrasively.
He stretched the nylon stocking that bound my wrists together and tied the end of it to the legs of a heavy dresser by my bedside.
I was helplessly bound. On the top of the dressed to which my hands were tied was an electric lamp and a fish bowl.
I watched the two goldfish swimming in the stagnant water, which for days I had neglected to change. The poor little fish, I thought, as Daddy tightened the knot of the nylon stocking around the leg of the dresser.
Then he did a sinister thing. He turned on the electric light, flooding my naked flesh with the harsh light of the bulb. He moved the lamp closer to the edge of the dresser, so that it shone the brighter on my bound body. The light was very close to the fish bowl, and I knew that if I caused too much commotion on the bed I would cause the dresser to topple over. The lamp and the bowl of stagnant water were positioned so that they would fall on my body and electrocute me if I made too much movement.
I would have to use all the control I could command to come out of this dreadful discipline alive.
I assumed that Daddy had planned to fill the enema bag with the stagnant water in the goldfish bowl. But he had an even fouler plan in his fiendish mind.
First he taunted me with the enema bag, spanking my ass with the long rubber hose and pressing the big rubber bag against my asscrack.
I detested the feeling of the enema rubbing against my naked flesh. Daddy unscrewed the hose from the opening of the enema bag, taking care to make me watch the heinous procedure. .
Imagine my utter horror, Doctor, when he unzipped his fly and pulled out his enormously swollen prick.
He held it in his hands and toward the opening of the enema bag. He did not insert the head of his cock in the neck of the bag, because his circumference was too great to fit in.
The head of his cock was one inch from the opening of the rubber enema bag, and I watched in horror as he began to piss into it.
"Daddy, my God, what are you doing!!" I screamed, my mind recoiling in revulsion.
"What do you think I'm doing? I'm pissing into the enema bag. I'm pissing all the beer I drank today into this bag so I can squirt my hot urine up your asshole. I went through hell saving all this piss up for you. My bladder's been killing me all day. Shit, this feels great! I've never had to take a piss so badly in my life." My father leered at me, holding his piss-swollen prick in his fist and releasing all the steaming urine into the enema bag.
I was too appalled to speak. I lay on the bed, bound in nylon and paralyzed with repulsion. I could see that gush of my father's piss pouring from his fat cock directly into the enema bag.
I thought he would piss forever. The yellow liquid kept gushing from his cock, steaming, and I could hear it splashing into the enema bag.
I watched as the bag swelled with the load of my father's urine. I could smell the acrid odor of it, and the bag kept getting fuller and bigger.
Horror and disgust and fear flooded into my body, as my father's piss kept gushing out of his cock into the rubber bag.
My father groaned animalistically, feeling the relief of releasing his piss load, freeing his bladder of the unbearable tension. It was terribly cruel. He was relieving himself and was preparing to shoot all his piss into my body, giving me more unbearable pressure and discomfort than he had felt.
Believe it or not, Doctor, my father filled the enema bag with his torrential piss load. How he had saved it up all day I will never know. Finally the incessant flow ceased gushing from the obscene fountain of his phallic hose, and I saw the enema bag, stretched, bloated, a great global bulb of torment.
"Damn you, Daddy, don't you dare degrade me this dreadful way. This is obscene. It's disgusting. I'm going to be sick, I know it. I going to puke if you do this to me, Daddy!" I screamed, begging for mercy.
"Shut your cock-sucking mouth. You're going to get what you have coming to you."
My father lurched forward and climbed onto the bed. He straddled my naked thighs and pressed the tip of the enema nozzle against my puckering anus.
I tried to clamp my sphincter muscles together, to make my ass inpenetrable, but my father forced the vile plastic nozzle into my hole.
I struggled but I was helplessly bound by the nylon stocking, at which I did not dare tug for fear of electrocution, and by the weight of my daddy's bulk upon my body.
Daddy stood up on the bed, one foot pressing against the sheet, getting the clean linen dirty with his shoes, and the other pressing against the small of my back. I was in severe discomfort.
Holding the enema bag high above my bound body to allow for the maximum flow of gravity. Daddy released the catch on the long rubber hose.
I felt the first flow of Daddy's disgusting hot urine enter my asshole. Then it began to seep into the depths of my bound, suffering body, and more and more piss flowed from the enema.
Doctor, it was unbearably foul. Daddy's piss was hot and acidic. I could feel it gushing into my body, stretching my bowels, filling my stomach and burning my viscera. My guts began to ache, and my body writhed in torment, feeling the rush of my father's urine into my degraded depths.
The flow of Daddy's piss seemed to be endless. I looked up in horror and saw that the vile bag was still half full of my father's hot piss. It flooded obscenely into my body and I felt the heat of it. I could smell it as it filled to a bursting point and, without relent, kept filling me, more and more, bloating me until I thought I would burst.
I'm sure that I could feel the fizzing foam of my Daddy's carbonated piss as it sprayed forcefully from the nozzle and struck against the soft tissues of my ass before cascading hideously into my guts.
Finally, the enema bag was empty. My father had blasted all his hot piss into me, and my belly was full of it. It was as though I were pregnant with some obscene freak. No, not one unwanted child, but quintuplet monsters. They sloshed around, not only in my womb, but in every inch of my body. They were hot and salty and vile.
My father pressed his shoe into the small of my back, exerting terrible pressure, pushing my swollen belly against the sheet.
I moaned and writhed in torment. But I dared not move drastically, lest the lamp and fishbowl topple over onto my bound body and kill me.
The pressure of all my father's piss against my bowels, my bladder, my stomach was horrendous. I felt that I was full of hateful spirits. The urgent need to piss and shit and explode possessed my consciousness. I could think of nothing but running to the toilet and purging my body of all the liquid evil.
I could feel my father's body. His foot pressed against me, and he was shaking the bed as he shook his cock in his hand, beating his meat over my prostrate form.
As Daddy shook the bed, my body shook with him, and the lamp and the goldfish bowl rattled threateningly on the edge of the dresser.
"Stop, Daddy, my God, stop! You could kill me. Don't shake the bed, please! I will die if you continue! Is one orgasm worth my life!!" I shrieked.
"Damn right, cunt!!" my Daddy roared, shaking his cock in his fist.
I could feel the bed shaking and my body shaking and I could hear the goldfish bowl rattling on the wooden surface of the dresser and the lamp rattling against the glass of the bowl.
Terror overwhelmed me, making me almost oblivious to the pressure of urine in my body.
Daddy kept shaking his cock, faster and faster. Harder. He shook his fuck rod violently, and I could hear his heavy breathing.
He pressed his foot so hard into the small of my back that I feared I would release the gallons of piss and all my excrement. I could almost see myself, tied and bound in my stockings, prone on my bed under the weight of my father's masturbating body and wallowing in the obscene discharges of my asshole.
Daddy pounded his meat in his fist and growled with animal pleasure.
Then I felt him lowering his body, squatting over my back, and his hot cum blast splashed against me skin. His sticky sperm was all over my back, and he kept shooting more and more of it on my skin.
"Ahh! FUCK!!" He roared, squirting his last jet upon my bound and prone body.
Daddy rubbed his sperm into my flesh with his hand, rubbing his palm over my back, pressing his thick hot cum into my back.
He squeezed my torso in his thighs, pressing my ribs in his embrace.
Finally, he untied the nylon stockings. I jumped from the bed. At that moment the goldfish bowl toppled from the edge of the dresser and spilled all over the clean sheet.
The poor fish wiggled helplessly on the wet linen.
I ran into the bathroom and collapsed upon the toilet. Everything poured out of me in one hot and hideous gush, all Daddy's piss and all my unmentionable rectal matter.
Can you believe this disgusting tale, Doctor. I warned you that it would not be elegant or amusing. My God, it was appalling. I doubt that I will ever forget it. I know that I shall not. Every time I think of it I shudder with disgust.
How can life be so unsavory, Doctor? How could my daddy have done this vile thing to me?
My parents are now divorced and my father is living in California. He wants me Lo come see him, but I cannot decide if I should go. I am terrified that he will want to re-enact the odious scene. I am terrified of getting another enema, Doctor. Tell me what I snould do.
CONCLUSION
Terry S's story is as much a tale of incestuous desire as of forced enema discipline. Obviously, Terry's father desired his young daughter and, due to the constant absence of his wife, turned to the young girl for the fulfillment of his masculine needs. It is all too evident that he felt as much guilt over their illicit sex as little Terry did, and by degrading her with an enema he was degrading himself as much as his poor victimized daughter.
Little Terry has had a rough life. She has suffered from an overly strong attachment to her father, as well as an unconscionable infatuation for him.
By filling the enema bag with his urine, which he had malaciously stored all day for this foul purpose, Terry's father was doubling the humiliation of the enema, as well as the degradation of himself. Apparently he believed his urine to be the foulest thing he could use, which belies his contempt for his own body, its natural urges and functions. He obviously suffers from hatred of his own penis, which has caused him not only the shame of incest but imprisonment for raping a defenseless girl, who, I have been told, resembled his daughter.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
SUBJECT: Isabella Q. AGE: Fourteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Isabella Q. was a dark little jewel of young womanhood. I can easily say that in many years of practice I have never encountered so exotic and precious a beauty. As my servies are expensive I rarely get to treat members of minority groups, and my patients, almost invariably, are white, middle to upper class citizens, whose stories, as you might surmise, can become tedious listening. To tell you the truth, the work of a psychologist can be too often insipid, a trait which it shares, no doubt, with most professions.
However, Isabella will always remain in my memory as one of the most glorious exceptions to this rule. The moment she walked into my office I knew that this would be an interesting case.
Isabella is illegitimate. Her mother was Spanish and Chinese, and her father was a black American, a sanitation engineer. The blend of three races made slender young Isabella a bewitching little goddess. She was graced by the ethereal delicacy of the oriental, the fire of the Spanish, and rudimentary jungle rhythms of the black people. Somehow all the cliches of the races became original and profound in Isabella's magical body.
Isabella drifted into my office like a princess, sat down like a queen and crossed her legs like a star. She began to tell her story with the expertise of a master raconteur. I was utterly enchanted, as I believe you too will be when you read this transcript of our interviews.
To look at me, Doctor, who would know that I was raised in an orphanage and now live in a ghetto? Fortunately, I did not stay long in the orphanage, for beautiful girls like me are apt to be adopted. I was adopted by good but poor folk whom I loathed. Despite their kindness they were just too indigent to be believed.
A beautiful six year old girl, I was taken from the depressing orphanage to live in an even more depressing neighborhood much too far uptown in Manhattan. My new home was a squalid tenement on a hundred and frigging something street and Inferno Avenue. Imagine my dismay, Doctor, to be an angelic little goddess forced to live in a tenebrous apartment without even as much as a private bathroom. It didn't have a terrace, or anything.
My generous adoptive parents did not have the money to buy me nice clothes or presents. I had to wear the hand-me-downs of the elder daughter, a fat pig named Rachel. The clothes were tacky and did not fit well, and I had to attend a horrid school where everyone was obnoxious and hated me because I was so beautiful. After a year at that school my beauty began to develop even more, and my aristocratic features, as well as my patrician nature, began to emerge. I was obviously out of place in a ghetto. At school the children began to tease and torment me. They were jealous and spiteful. They called me the Jewish princess, which was altogether unfair, Doctor, as Jewish is one of the few things I am not.
However, as you can see, I survived. In addition to my other worldly beauty I have also been blessed with resiliency. But I do not know if I can survive the calamity that has happened to me recently. It might be too much for me.
Despising the ghetto, and knowing that I had to get out by the strength of my beauty and wits, I began to put my free time to work. Every day I would bring a shopping bag to school in which I hid my shabbiest clothes. I would put a little dirt on my face, just a little, and take a taxi to Gramercy Park, where I would kneel on a street corner. I would arrange my face into an expression of hunger and anguish, stretch out my palm and beg.
Needless to say, Doctor, this became quite lucrative. With my poignant young beauty and my not inconsiderable thespian abilities, I attracted a great deal of sympathetic attention. It was not uncommon for me to make a hundred dollars in an hour. I worked the corner for two or three hours a day, staying as late as I could. But I had to get back to the ghetto eventually or my surrogate mother would scold me and my surrogate father would beat the shit out of me.
After a few months I got sick of Gramercy Park and took my trade to Sutton Place, which was even better. I moved around the city, hitting all the generous men and the ladies bountiful.
This went on for years, but when I was in my early teens, and my breasts began to show, I met Kevin.
At this point I suppose I must make it clear that despite my deception and cunning I had not been a cheap little girl. My little cherry was still intact. I devoted all my thought and energy to improving my lot, and what with the begging for alms on street corners and outside chic shops where the rich bitches bought baubles and came out feeling guilty, I had not had time to think about my cunt. Believe it or not, Doctor, it had never even dripped. I did not know what it was for. I just thought it made pee pee and that was all.
Kevin taught me differently. He caught my act one afternoon as I was doing my gamine routine on the corner of Park Avenue and Fifty-second Street. He was more amused than moved, or so it appeared by his wry smile. I was determined to get at least ten bucks from him, and I began to crawl after him on my knees, grabbing his legs and whimpering about how hungry and poor I was.
I clutched his ankles and pleaded for mercy and money. He stopped, sat down on the concrete ledge around the fountain of the Seagram Building and began to talk with me.
"You're too beautiful to be poor," he said.
I was not so silly as to tell him that I agreed with him. I pretended not to know how beautiful I was, because that always seems sweet and innocent. For some reason, Doctor, rich assholes, who have none of their own, are intrigued by the modesty of others. They adore humility, perhaps because they are so arrogant themselves.
I performed brilliantly, convincing Kevin that I was desperately poor. It was not hard to do. Although I had saved a good amount of money I still felt hopelessly underprivileged. I had bought a few nice dresses, but I was never able to wear them for fear that my surrogate mother would see them and wonder where I had gotten the money. She more than likely has accused me of being a whore, which is not my style at all. I might beg, Doctor, but I would never be caught dead hooking.
Kevin was divine. He believed my pitiful story and began to feel sympathy for me. He invited me to come home with him and have dinner. I accepted his invitation eagerly, as I had had nothing but an ice cream cone all day.
Kevin was tall and blond and exceedingly handsome. He was in his early twenties and very successful and reasonably wealthy. When I asked him what he did for a living he did not hesitate to tell me that he was a pimp. I was very surprised. Of course I knew what a pimp was. One cannot grow up in a ghetto without picking up a bit of knowledge about the world's vulgarity. But I had always thought that pimps were black and wore gaudy shoes and rode around in gaudier limosines killing people. Kevin was white, well dressed and looked like a gentleman.
As soon as we were inside his apartment Kevin grabbed my budding breasts. He wasted no time. He told me that he wanted to fuck me and that afterwards he would buy me a pretty dress and take me somewhere nice for dinner. This seemed a kind of prostitution to me, and I told him that he did not have to buy me a dress or dinner, knowing that this would impress him and that after the fuck he would buy me an even nicer dress and a more elegant dinner.
It is amazing, I suppose, that I had lived in the ghetto without ever having seen a cock, but it's true. When Kevin took off his pants and I saw his enormous wand of flesh my brain sent signals to my pussy. The signals ricocheted back to my brain, from my brain back to my pussy. My mind and my cunt engaged in a fast game of electrical ping pong, thrilling me beyond description. I was suddenly so angry that I had spent my entire life begging for money when it was obvious that cock was what I needed and wanted.
Kevin wasted no time stripping every shabby garment from my young virgin body. I could see the look of rapture in his face when he saw that there was nothing shabby or inelegant about my stunning black beaver, my glorious thighs and my marvelous titties.
When he buried his face in my breasts and worked his tongue on the nipples, my young body shivered with sensations it had never known before. The extraordinary novelty of sexual bliss thrilled me.
Kevin stripped down to his wonderful nothingness, which was everything I could want in the world. Out of his clothes he looked a million times more handsome and virile than when he had picked me up on the street corner. He was a god, I was a goddess, and we were going to fuck like divine beasts.
He threw me onto the bed and spread my legs. He adjusted my body so that my hole was positioned for his attack.
I knew nothing whatever about men or fucking and I did not know what I was in for. My excitement was based on no knowledge, it was pure instinct.
Before ramming his cock into my virgin cunny, Kevin inserted a finger to explore and test my hole.
"Jesus, you're tight. You have the tiniest little hole I've ever felt, but it's wet and gooey, baby, and I'm going to give it the best fuck it's ever had."
Kevin assumed that I had taken cocks up my snatch before, and I did not want to tell him otherwise. I knew that some men did not like to fuck virgins, not wanting the responsibilty or guilt of taking a little girl's cherry. My little hole was simmering with lust and wanted to get fucked by Kevin's lethal weapon, so I lay back, spread my legs high in the air and said nothing.
He pressed the tip of his massive organ against the glistening lips of my tight cunny. I felt the pulsing of his cock head against my tender flesh, and when he pushed into me I was shocked by the most incredible pain I had ever known.
I screamed in agony, knowing that I could not endure it.
But Kevin was determined to bury his rod in my little box. He was trying to put boots in a box that would not contain earrings. I knew that I would die if he continued, and I knew that he would continue. He was too horny to do anything but fuck me and kill me, and I resigned myself to my fate, knowing that I would die an insufferable but badly wanted death.
Kevin reached for my pussy lips, prying them apart with the tips of his fingers to make room for his cock. I felt his fingers massaging my moist delicate flesh, thrilling me. He forced his cock in a full inch and I felt it throbbing powerfully against the lining of my tight canal.
I knew this was the end. I would die of agony before feeling the full splendors of his cock in my cunny. He would kill me, and then he would shove it all the way in and start fucking me with his huge wonderful rod, but I would be too dead to enjoy it.
Terror rushed through my body, confusing my pleasure. I wanted Kevin to get it all the way in, I wanted to feel myself being fucked by a cock, to learn what it was like. But I trembled in panic, frightened for my life, while Kevin, male and uncaring, rammed deeper into me.
I looked down between my legs and saw the broad head of his cock disappear into my body. I could see the wedge of flesh around the circumference of his prick, and then I could not see it. He pushed it into my flesh, filling me with more and more of his pulsing hot meat.
But he had many inches still to shove in, and I knew that my hot little pussy would have to accommodate them.
The pain was excruciating. Kevin strained to invade me, pushing his cock ruthlessly into my warm wet box. I screamed again in terror and Kevin covered my mouth with his hand to stifle my cries.
"Hush, honey! You're going to get fucked, and you're going to like it." Kevin said, half gently, half threateningly.
He pushed his cock deeper into the wound of my cunt, and when he was in three inches I felt a shock of heightened agony, and I looked down and saw drops of blood leaking from the moist flesh of my hold and forming ruby red beads of Kevin's hard brutal fuck rod.
He saw them too, but they didn't stop him. He kept assaulting me with his weapon of flesh, forcing his male meat into my female tunnel. His cock was insistent.
Suddenly, Kevin's great cock rushed into me all at once, as though a magic door had been opened by a benevolent sorcerer. He rammed all the way into my pussy, and I felt the root of his cock throbbing inside the delicate envelope of my cunt lips.
For a moment it was excruciating, but then the pain became glorious. My gooey cunt gutter was full of his long hard meaty bone, and my wet tissues began to gnaw on it. I felt my muscles expanding around the girth of his fully inserted rod, and his pulsing cock made exquisite sensations in my hole.
"Ahh, baby, that's good," Kevin groaned in animal delight.
He was right. It was good. He began to. move back and forth in my tight cunt, making my lubricious walls embrace his huge stick and treat it to delectable friction.
His cock withdrew from the delicious embrace of my cunny, leaving me almost vacant, with only the tip remaining in my hungry caress.
Wonderfully, he plunged back into my wet oasis, and my pussy lining wrapped around him in ecstasy, thrilling to his reoccuption.
In and out he pumped, thrilling me, blessing me, adoring me. I worshipped his cock, his thick hot pulsing meat. His virility was a benediction, a marvel.
He fucked me like a centaur, a satyr, a powerful god. Thrusting into me he'thrilled me with his potency; pulling back, deserting me, he made me yearn for his return, which he gave-me a hundred times, a thousand times.
When he punched his iron spear into my ecstatic wound I felt his huge balls, the globes of his mighty maleness, slapping hard against my swooning flesh. They struck my delicate asscheeks, banging my skin with wonderful power.
I writhed under his body, loving every thrust. I watched the motions of his humping pelvis and the flexings of his powerful chest. Instinctively, I devoted my hands to the service of his pleasure, stroking his hard pectoral muscles with one, dancing my fingers on his wonderful flesh. With my other hand I caressed his big balls, squeezing his hard bag of nuts and loving the way they filled my hand with his strength and vigor.
From his animal groans and the tenseness of his masculine musculature I knew that he was experiencing a great and magnificent pleasure, perhaps as superb as my own. I was glad that my pussy could make his cock feel so good. It was only fair, because his hard meat in my hole made me happier than I had ever been in my life. Kevin started to bang my writhing body harder and faster, thrilling the oasis between my thrashing legs.
I wrapped my legs around his humping back and used them to push him harder and deeper into me, guiding his already masterful fuck thrusts. His long hard cock rushed in and out of my hole, in and out of the tight wet embrace of my cunt.
He hammered into me hard and brutally, growling with raging male ecstasy.
"Ahh, shit! I'm going to come in your cunt! I'm shooting my load into your hot little pussy!" He roared in pleasure, and his humping became almost terrifyingly powerful. His body banged into me, punching my hole with hard fucking force.
I felt shudders of ecstasy between my legs. My hole was secreting wonderful pussy dew, and the little gem of my clit quivered in my soft fragrant fold, hot like a little flame of passion in the secret grove of my womanhood.
All at once, I felt a great blast go off in my cunt, a hot searing splash crashing out into my hole, burning the walls of my already over boiled cunny.
"Fuck!!" Kevin shouted, his voice loud and husky, "I'm shooting my load in your cunt."
That was it for me! When I felt his scalding seed splash out of his cock and into my body, I exploded with my first orgasm. Never before had I felt anything like it. It was a paradise better than any I could ever imagined. It was beyond anything I had ever thought about.
This was the delight, this was the sensation that people enjoyed thousands of times in their lives? I could not believe it. Surely, I thought, bliss this total can only come to us once. How can this ever happen again, this joy, this miraculous euphoria? I could not comprehend the thought of people doing this every month, every week, sometimes every day of their lives. It was too wonderful for that. I would have been glad and grateful to feel it just once more in my life. Only that. Just once more would be more than enough, and more than I could ever deserve. Human beings do not deserve to have such ecstasy all the time.
Nor could I quite believe that this was the rapture about which people told silly, banal stories and spoke of in filthy words. It was too glorious, too precious for the language of the street. It should be spoken of only in reverent whispers, only with awe and astonishment. No superlatives were adequate to convey its splendor. It should not be spoken of at all. It should not be blasphemed by the vulgate tongues of vulgar people. It should only be worshipped, over and over.
Later, after we had lingered in each other's passionate embrace, Kevin did buy me a lovely dress. I looked regally beautiful in it, and he took me to an extraordinary dinner. Never in my life had I known that mere food could be ambrosia. In the ghetto we worried only about filling our bodies, but I learned the difference between eating and dining. Kevin worried about the flavors of food, not only the textures but the sheen of sauces. I tasted new wonders. After the heaven of fucking the joy of cuisine was almost too much for me. I never wanted to return to the ghetto.
But I did, Doctor. I went back that night, and waited insufferably for the weekend, when I had arranged to meet Kevin again.
We did meet, and we fucked again, and dined again, and Kevin bought me another beautiful dress, more sumptuous than the first.
We began to have weekly rendezvous, and my life became one rhapsody after another, until one day, it all turned to shit.
INTERVIEW TWO
Isabella blanched at the conclusion of our last session. Obviously the continuation of the story was painful for her to recall. I had listened avidly to her tale and was eager to hear it to the end. Unfortunately, however, our time for the day was up and another patient was already in the waiting room, ready to bore me with her dreary neurosis. Isaella returned later in the week to disclose the remainder of her grim but clinically fascinating tale.
Here, verbatim! is the transcript of our second interview.
You may wonder, Doctor, what I have to complain about or what it could possibly be that has shattered my life. It would seem that I had everything that a girl could want, a handsome and supremely endowed man to fuck me, buy me clothes and presents and initiate me into the marvels and luxuries of civilized life.
It did seem perfect. I would come downtown, meet Kevin at his apartment, we would fuck and enjoy each other, have lovely evenings, and then I would leave and return to the ghetto, knowing that I would be back in Kevin's bed in a day or two.
I was so ecstatic every time I left Kevin, so radiant with the memory of each wondrous evening and with the certainty that I would be back for more, and that his huge cock would blast me over and over with an endless supply of his hot male seed, that I usually walked all the way from the low sixties to the tacky tenement I lived in, which was in another world, on West One hundred and thirty-sixth Street.
But one night I was late, and my surrogate mother had been asking questions about where I had been keeping myself and what I was doing, so I decided to take a taxi.
On the way home I glowed with happiness. In two days I was to meet Kevin in Central Park, where we were going to have a divine picnic of chilled lobster with remoulade sauce, ambrosial cheeses, champagne and other lovely things. Then, I knew, Kevin would take me away and ravage me, drilling his hard wonderful cock into my wanting pussy, which by this time took him happily, like an expert. I could not get enough of his cock.
In the taxi, as we drove through the tenebrous squalor of the upper West Side, I thought also of the new pleasure Kevin had taught me that evening. For the first time he had asked to stick his cock in my asshole. At first, Doctor, I had been revolted by the suggestion. I knew how glorious it was when he fucked me in the cunt, and I thought that was pleasure enough. But I did consent, not wanting to anger the man I had come to worship and love.
When Kevin lubricated my ass and shoved his cock into that strange and still virgin hole, I experienced the bliss of losing yet another cherry. I suppose that it was the last cherry I had to lose, but I parted with it joyously. The feeling of Kevin's great fucking cock in my ass was as wonderful as the ecstasy I felt in my cunt when he fucked me in the conventional way. It was an altogether new experience, and I knew that Kevin would gvie me more of it, which was just what I wanted.
Little did I know that he had other plans for my asshole.
I waited in suspense during the two long days that kept me from Kevin's cock.
When I arrived for our picnic I saw Kevin, shirtless and in tight cut off shorts, languishing on the quilt he had spread out on the grass of the park. The sight of his half naked body and the thick fat bulge inside his cut offs made my cunt boil with desire and anticipation. I couldn't wait to gobble up the lobster and start nibbling on his cock. I wanted to devour it in my mouth before he rammed it into my pussy, and then my eager asshole.
Oddly, Kevin did not smile when he saw me. His face was almost expressionless. I sat down on the quilt and stretched my legs out, wanting to tease him with my beautiful limbs and my breasts, which were visible through the plunging neckline of the sheer summer dress I was wearing. My blood simmered in my veins, knowing that Kevin would tear the dress from me and that I would soon be naked in his arms, my hole, either one or the other, filled with his massive male meat.
The first thing Kevin said to me was rather puzzling. For two young people allegedly in love it was a suprisingly banal question.
"Since when can you afford taxis, bitch. Don't you know that begging gamines don't take taxis back to the ghetto after a rough night of fucking? I want to know where you got the money." Kevin's voice sounded cold, distant and hostile.
His angry tone terrified me. I had no idea why he was making such a fuss about a taxi. After celestial fucking did he expect me ride on a bus? I did not know what to answer, but I tried, lamely.
"Kevin, don't be silly. It only costs a few dollars. I might live too far uptown, in another world, but it is more or less the same galaxy. Why should we fuss about a few dollars when we have the fortunes of the world between our legs? Let's don't worry about some scraps of green paper when we own the rainbow."
I thought this little bit of prosody would do the trick, but it didn't.
"You're not answering my question, bitch! How did you get the money. I've been buying you some clothes, but I haven't been giving you any cash. Have you been picking my pockets while I hump you?"
The suggestion was too tacky, the accusation too vulgar and unfair.
"Kevin, how could you say something like that. Of course, not. I would never do something like that. Haven't I told you that you could fuck me without even buying me dresses?" I protested, tears of hurt and insult beginning to well in my beautiful eyes.
"If you haven't been robbing me, where have you gotten the money? Have you been hooking? Have you betrayed me, taking all the cock and clothes you get from me and then selling your pussy to anyone else who will pay the price? Is that how you've been getting your money.
I was so hurt by Kevin's unjust accusations that I blurted out the truth. "If you must know, Kevin, I made some money begging on the streets. People are generous with their money, rich people, I mean, because they're guilty about having so much. I think they know that it isn't fair for them to be wealthy and crass when other people are indigent and charming. Have you ever noticed that rich people are never as civilized as they should be, given all they have to work with. It has always bothered me. It has never bothered me that rich people are vulgar, but it enrages me that vulgar people are rich."
"Never mind your social philosophies, bitch. Tell me how much money you made begging on street corners." Kevin hissed, cracking a lobster claw and dipping it in remoulade sauce. He put it in his own mouth and chewed, waiting for my answer. It would have been polite if he had given it to me.
"I used to make about a hundred dollars a day, I suppose." I said.
"And how long did you do it," he asked, suspecting the worst.
"Oh, not long, Kevin," I lied, not wanting him to deduce that I had made thousands of dollars from years of appealing to the sympathies of guilty people.
"How long," Kevin growled, getting angry and demanding specificity.
"Less than a year, darling," I said, hating myself for lying to him.
"I'm not sure I believe you, cunt! But even a year is a lot of time, and I suspect you made more money than you're willing to tell me. All this time I thought you were a penniless little gamine, and I've bought you expensive clothes because I wanted to take you to nice places and let you experience some relief from your destitute ghetto existence. But you didn't need what I could give you. You could have bought it all for yourself. Jesus, do you realize that I've spent a fortune of money on you, and I feel that it has all been unnecessary. Christ, cunt, I work hard for my money! Do you think a pimp has an easy life? How stupid are you? It's fucking hard work. I have to keep an eye on every one of my girls to make certain they don't get out of line. I can't afford a girl who misbehaves and often I am forced to discipline them, just as I'm going to have to discipline you." Kevin said ominously.
Naturally, I had no idea what Kevin meant by discipline, but I did not like the sound of his voice. There was a sinister hint in his words that I had never heard before, and it frightened me. I looked around the deserted section of the park where we had arranged out picnic. We were almost entirely enshrouded by bushes, and there was no one in sight. My terror increased as I realized that there was not a soul to come to my rescue.
The lobster was broken into pieces on a platter, the cheeses were arranged on a wooden board with a variety of superb looking breads, and the champagne was in an ice bucket. Everything was arranged so I had no idea why Kevin was opening the picnic basket. It did not seem likely that he would produce a delightful surprise at the point.
Of course, I did not expect him to extract lovely dishes of frozen lemon souffle, or anything that would be a treat. I expected him to withdraw something unpleasant, but I was not prepared for what I saw.
Doctor, can you believe it, Kevin brought his hand out from the picnic basket and showed me one of the ugliest things I have even seen in my life: an enema bag.
Appalled and mortified, I leapt to my feet and began to flee. But Kevin leapt faster and ran faster. He seized my body and pulled me back to the quilt, forcing me down.
He took a lobster claw in his hand and slapped my face with it. As the red claw made contact with my skin its cold juices' splattered my cheeks and ran down the plunging neckline of my dress, dripping on my tits.
He tore at my dress. I had yearned for him to do this, but I did not want him to do it in this way and with such disgusting intentions.
He straddled my struggling body. I tried desperately to fight him, screaming and clawing his face with my nails, but I could do nothing to prevent him from abusing me with the enema bag. I knew that I was going to suffer the greatest humiliation of my life.
He kept slapping my face with the lobster claw, sitting on my body, bearing down on me with all the weight of his bulk.
Kevin reached again into the picnic bag and pulled out four cans of chilled orange soda. I could see the beads clinging to their cold metal cans, and I knew that they had been on ice for hours, ready for my asshole.
I knew also that we were not going to drink them. Kevin was too much of a gourmand to serve orange soda with lobster.
Keeping his weight on my body, Kevin snapped the metal tabs of the cans, making the carbonated fizz spray my face and body. He unscrewed the vile hose from the enema bag and emptied the contents of all four cans into the disgusting rubber receptacle, which took the contents in all too easily. I could see the rubber bag swelling with the addition of the fluid, and I saw the ugly color of the liquid as it poured from the cans into the bag.
As Kevin emptied the cans I could hear the horrible sound of carbonation, and I knew that it was going to fizz and foam in my wickedly abused body.
"No, Kevin, please! I beg you not to treat me in this disgusting way." I whimpered, feeling a sickness in my stomach.
Before screwing the hose back into the neck of the enema bag, Kevin dipped a large spoon into the bowl of remoulade sauce and dropped the sauce into the bag, mixing the thick sauce with the soda. I could see all the little capers and chunks of pickles and gherkins dripping into the enema bag. I recoiled in dread at the thought of those bits of solidity mixed in with the liquid that was going to gush through my asshole and bombard my suffering body.
Kevin stripped me of everything, my dress, my panties, and I writhed under the weight, naked and helpless.
All at once he rammed the plastic nozzle of the enema into my resisting asshole. I tried to push it away, but Kevin was determined to abuse me. He was merciless.
He moved the plastic nozzle in and out of my hole, as though he were fucking me with it. I saw an expression of dissatisfaction on his face, as though my asshole did not please him any more than the enema pleased me.
"This won't do," he said fiendishly, and he withdrew it.
My body relaxed, utterly relieved. I thought that Kevin had decided that I did not deserve such punishment.
But I was naive. He reached again into the picnic basket and withdrew an enormous dildo. I was disgusted. It was hard rubber and as black as ebony. It looked like the cock of a monstrously over-endowed black man. I saw the artificial piss slit, and knew at once that Kevin was going to subject me to an even more abominable torture.
Kevin impatiently unscrewed the plastic nozzle and replaced it with the ugly black dildo.
Even more violently than he had plunged the nozzle into me, he attacked my asshole with the dildo. It was too disgusting. I felt the hard black rubber tear the delicate tissues of my anus, and the pain was something I will never be able to describe. I truly thought I would die of agony, not to mention the unspeakable shame of being given a brutal enema in Central Park on a lovely summer day when I had been expecting a picnic.
Kevin lifted his body slightly from mine and placed the enema bag on my back. Then he lowered his weight again to my body, sitting on the enema bag that was between us.
He released the catch of the enema and forced his weight down on the full bag, and the vile orange soda, mixed with the thick chunky remoulade sauce, began to pour into my asshole.
It rushed in, wave after wave of terrible fluid flowed into my ass. From my ass it gushed into my body, filling me with its horror. I began to feel severe discomfort, certain that I could take no more of the liquid. My body felt over loaded with the atrocity, and my stomach stretched out, bloated with the heinous enema. My belly puffed and lifted me from the quilt, but Kevin was pressing down upon me, and down upon the enema bag, forcing more and more of the hideous concoction into my devastated flesh.
I knew I would die. I could not stand it. It was too wicked and evil, and the indignity was insufferable.
"Stop, please! This is horrible. I can't bear it. I have to shit, Kevin. I can't help it. I have to piss and shit or I will will burst open. You don't want a mess on your nice quilt, do you?"
"If you dare to let any of this out of your body, I will kill you, bitch! Don't you dare explode. You must keep all of that orange soda and all those bits of pickles and capers and onions inside your body, and all your shit! I don't want one drop to stain this quilt." His voice was ugly and threatening.
It was more horrifying than I can say.
Kevin kept emptying the contents of the enema into my body. I could feel the cold carbonation of the soda foaming in my stomach, tingling odiously on the lining of my intenstines.
Finally the bag was emptied into my body. Four cans of soda and dozens of pieces of pickle and capers and gherkin and onions were in my body, not to mention the eggs, oil, lemon and mustard from which remoulade sauce is made. Even though Kevin had mixed only one heaping spoonful of the sauce into the soda, I could feel the chunks of substance, and the slime of the sauce, sloshing around in my body.
But more than that I felt the horrible pressure inside me, the pressure that made me need to shit and piss. But I could not. I was helpless, bound under Kevin's body to the quilt which I did not dare to soil.
Pressing his weight against me, Kevin unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock, as hard and stiff as I had ever seen it. It pulsed with vitality.
"Jerk me off, bitch!" He commanded.
Reluctantly I took his huge cock in my hand and began to massage it.
"Put some spit on your palm and make your hand slip nicely up and down my cock so I can come on your back." Kevin ordered.
With my belly pushed into the quilt it was uncomfortable to say the least, and difficult to reach behind my back to enclose Kevin's big cock in my hand.
Somehow, despite the terrible strain against my body, the unnatural pressure against my bladder, I managed to cover my hand with saliva and wrap it tightly around Kevin's cock, which I began to shake.
"That's it, cunt. Keep doing that for a while until I come," Kevin said.
Kevin's huge fuck rod pulsed obscenelyin my fast-moving hand. He breathed heavily, feeling the pleasure in his groin.
His cock in my hand and his body pressing against mine, increasing the terrible pressure, Kevin cracked another lobster claw, dipped it thoughtfully into the sauce and popped it in his mouth. He ate it with enthusiasm as I worked my slippery hand up and down on his massive meat.
Kevin poured some champagne into a chilled glass. I could hear it fizzing as he poured and the sound of its effervescence somehow doubled the hideous feeling of the four cans of soda inside my guts.
Kevin savoured the champagne, commenting on its fruitiness, while he pressed down harder on my body, as though my back were the saddle of horse. He bucked his cock into my hand, moving it faster and faster in and out of my grip.
"Have some champagne," He said, pouring a glass for me and forcing it against my lips.
With all the carbonated soda and the remoulade sauce in my body, filling me to a bursting point, champagne was the last thing I wanted. I wanted nothing more in my body.
But Kevin forced me to drink. He pulled at my hair, lifting my face from the quilt. He forced my jaw open with his hands and poured the champagne into my mouth. It was exquisite champagne, of course, but I was in no mood to enjoy it.
Then he forced the black dildo deeper into my asshole. It was so long that it penetrated my bowels, hurting me terribly and increasing the unbearable pressure of the enema in my body. Kevin pushed the black dildo so far into my asshole that even the base of it disappeared.
He disconnected the dildo from the enema hose and forced it all the way into my asshole with the tip of an already devoured lobster claw.
Kevin kept pounding his cock into my fist, and from his deep ferocious growls I knew that he was on the verge of his orgasm.
It was so unfair. Kevin was enjoying a wonderful, mounting male climax, while I writhed on the quilt, suffering the horrors of the degrading enema.
"Ahh, dammit, cunt! I'm coming," Kevin groaned passionately.
Then I felt his hot cum splash onto my bound back. It was hot on my skin and I could smell the musky maleness of it.
Even after he had shot his load on my back, Kevin remained on me, straddling my body and pressing down on me. I felt as though I would burst any second.
He was ruthless.
"Have some lobster, cunt!" Kevin said, dipping a hunk of fleshy into the remoulade sauce and stuffing it in my mouth.
I would have loved it, but I was in such severe discomfort that I could not even taste it as Kevin forced his hand into my mouth and forced it down my throat.
"Kevin, please. If I don't release this enema I will break apart. Please let me go shit this out!" I begged, pleading desperately for a bit of kindness.
"Not yet, bitch. I'm going to make you lie here. I want you to hold it in a while." Kevin said, the tone in his voice was unmistakably cruel.
He seemed to sit on my body forever, Doctor, pushing me into the quilt, doubling the horrendous tension in me. The carbonated soda and the remoulade sauce fizzed and foamed in me for hours, it seemed, killing me with pain.
Finally Kevin got off my body and rolled over on the quilt, sighing deeply with pleasure.
With lightning speed I ran from the blanket, my bloated belly bouncing and I darted into the bushes and squatted like an uncivilized animal.
The pressure forced the black dildo out of my ass. It plopped to the ground and then all the hideous liquid and sauce showered down on it. Everything gushed out of my ass, and the sensation of release was marvelous. I felt so incredibly disburdened, lightened of the torment Kevin had given me, and before I returned to the quilt for my clothes, I lingered in the bushes, frigging my naked body in secret to a shattering climax.
CONCLUSION
It is all too obvious, I believe, that Kevin and not poor little Isabella is the sick character in this story. Kevin should have been my patient, despite the indisputable fact that I would, of course, prefer treating Isabella.
Perhaps Isabella was naughty in concealing her modest wealth from Kevin and passing herself off as an indigent gamine, but there is nothing wrong with her psyche. Kevin, however, has great problems and is painfully insecure. He punished Isabella because he was threatened by her financial independence. Kevin wanted to give Isabella clothes and presents, and was bitter to learn that she could have afforded them herself. At that point he realized that his money had no power over Isabella. Instead of realizing that Isabella loved him without needing his money, Kevin feared that he had no hold over her and would lose her. He was too insecure, and had dwelt too long in the world of prostitutes and pimps, to realize that love and devotion do not always have to be bought. It is a pity that Kevin did not realize that Isabella, not needing his money, had an insatiable need for his penis, which thrilled her in a way that is as timeless as it is priceless.
CASE HISTORY FIVE
SUBJECT: Nadine C. AGE: Fourteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Nadine C. was sent to me by her parents when she suffered a nervous breakdown at a girls' boarding school in Massachusetts where she had been enrolled for six months.
She was an exquisite specimen of young female pulchritude. She was of Nordic extraction and had the beautiful blonde hair commonly associated with the Scandanavian people. It was like spun flax, or like melting butter. She had pale blue eyes and a halo of innocence seemed to follow her wherever she moved.
Nadine's story is without a doubt the most shocking I have heard in many years of observing sexual aberrations.
The transcript of interview should educate as effectively as it shocks.
Doctor, I am so grateful to you for making time for me in your busy schedule. I have been home three weeks since the dreadful incident, and I have still not recovered. The horror remains vivid in my mind, and I have suffered many sleepless nights. I am appalled at the cruelty of the world. It is a wicked place, Doctor, especially for a vulnerable young girl. It is ironic to me that people speak of the inhumanity of man. Why do they not admonish against the cruelty of women, and the inhumanity of little girls?
I never wanted to go away to school, but my parents thought it would be good for me to absorb an atmosphere different from our home. They did not realize that I was far too young to be taken from the nest.
My first week at school was miserable. I thought I would recover in time from my hopeless attack of homesickness, which plunged me into a pit of dispair. I was confident that I would adjust in time, although I did not know then what I would have to adjust to.
It was obvious from the start that all the girls despised me. I was hated by one and all.
At first, they resented me because I was pretty. Not that all the girls at school were ugly. Not at all. But whenever you assemble three hundred girls in one place there are bound to be a number of stupid ones, a number of ugly ones, and so forth. Of course, some of the girls were fat and resented my beautiful slender body, which is ample only in one place, as you can see see for yourself, I suppose, Doctor. Yes, I have large wonderful tits, especially for a girl as young as I am. My tits began to blossom when I twelve. Now I am fourteen and they have not stopped. I have no idea how much more they will grow, but I hope that they will not become too large. I know that it is exciting to men for a woman to have large breasts, but for the woman herself it can be a trial. My mother's breasts are so large that she must sleep with a brassiere. Otherwise it is far too uncomfortable for her to he in bed.
Needless to say my knockers were the biggest and most beautiful in the school, and all the girls resented me. They were jealous also of my beautiful silky blonde hair, my mysterious and seductive blue eyes.
As the term progressed, Doctor, it became even worse. The girls soon realized that I was an excellent student and the darling of all the teachers, although I did nothing to cultivate this distinction. When they noticed that I spent little time studying and attained high grades with ease, well, as you can imagine, I became number one on everybody's shit list.
During the week we all had to dress in uniform, but on weekends we could wear our own clothes when we went into town. My parents are comfortably wealthy and are indulgent, as I am their only child, and they buy me lovely clothes. Naturally this added to my unpopularity, as did the knowledge, which spread rapidly, that my parents sent me a generous check each week for pocket money.
Of all the girls at school my only friend was Jacqueline, who had all the reason in the World to loathe me more than any of the other girls. Until my arrival in the fall, Jacqueline had been considered the loveliest girl in the school. She was tall and elegantly slender. In Jacqueline's case, Doctor, I fear that her beautifully thin body was due to under-nourishment, rather than female vanity, as she came from a family of modest means. In fact, she was a very poor girl and could attend Miss Merkin's School for girls only through the generosity of the scholarship endowment.
For this reason, rather than my superior beauty, Jacqueline had cause to hate me. Instead, she was my only friend and confidante. There was no similiarity in our looks. I am petite, Jacqueline is a young woman of stature. I am voluptuous, she is nearly emaciated, although the effect of her severe thinness is chic and lovely. I am blonde, and Jacqueline has dark satiny hair. Her hair is so dark that it is almost ebony, and its lustrous sheen seems to reflect all colors at once.
Jacqueline was my only comfort during the first few months of school. I took pity on her poverty and often treated her to a pastry or a capuccino, or something thoughtful, when we went into town together. Later, when I began to confide in her, telling her of my misery at school, I began to buy her little presents, some perfume, a music box, trinkets of my affection, because she was my best friend in the world and I loved her like a sister.
After a few months we became lovers. It just simply happened one night. I went into Jacqueline's room, weeping over some cruelty I had suffered from one of the girls. I cannot now remember what it was, it seems so long ago.
Jacqueline soothed my anguish at once. She took me in her arms and stroked my long blonde hair, telling me how lovely I was and how I should not bother being distressed over the cruelty of spiteful girls who resented me because I was lovelier and brighter than they could ever wish to be.
From my long silky hair Jacqueline drifted her hand to one of my large ripe tits and began to caress it. She wrapped her soft palm around my breast and flicked the nipple gently and playfully with her finger tip. The previous weekend Jacqueline and I had gone to the beauty parlor together and Jacqueline had been enchanted with the long painted nails of the beautifully coiffed women. Jacqueline had said that she wanted to have nails as beautiful as those she saw. Jacqueline, poor creature, had been biting her nails for years, from nerves, I suppose, and there was nothing that the manicurist could do with them. I bought her a set of lovely orange colored artificial fingernails, which she wore constantly. She adored them, and when she teased my nipples I too adored them and was happy I had made a present of them to her. They felt glorious on my nipples, which stiffened instantly, thrilling to her touch.
Jacqueline did not stop at my nipples. She lowered her hands and slipped a finger into my pussy, shocking me with sudden pleasure. With her other hand she explored my moist vulva folds and strummed my excited clit with the tips of her fingers, teasing it lightly with the long beautiful fingernails.
In no time at all we were naked, stripped down to our glistening beavers, and wrapped lovingly in each other's arms. Our long beautiful legs were intertwined on the bed, locked in our passion.-We had no trouble finding each other's excited little clits and bumping them blissfully together.
We pressed our breasts together, feeling our excited nipples. Jacqueline seized my left tit, I her right, and we rubbed our beautiful breasts together, making our nipples dance over each other's fleshy orbs, swooning with utter delight and rapture.
Jacqueline could not keep her mouth from the dripping fountain between my legs. In a flash her tongue was in my pussy, scooping out the luxurious flow of my sweet girlish perfume.
She buried her lovely face in my blonde crotch, gulping the nectars of my passion. I flowed and flowed into her mouth, and her tongue probed further into my pussy, thrilling me with her magic. She excited me to peaks of pleasure I had not known life could offer. As her tongue sought out every corner of my pussy, my hole seemed to become a labyrinth of delight. Fragrances poured from my hole and I became excited by my own patchouli as well as by Jacqueline's exqusite tongue.
Her tongue was such magic that my perfume would not stop flowing, and my juices flamed from my hole, treating Jacqueline to ever new tastes.
Her mouth loved my cunt so blissfully that I wanted to treat her to the same pleasure.
I lowered my face into her heated groin and began to treat her as lovingly as she was treating me. We lay together on Jacqueline's bed, her tongue in my cunt, mine in hers. We kissed, caressed, gulped and gobbled each other's swooning flesh, feasting our mouths on our beauty.
Jacqueline's womanly oasis was perfection. She had a lovely hole. It was warm and gooey, and it manufactured heavenly honey. Her syrup was pure ambrosia and I lapped it eagerly, wanting every drop of her precious wine. It flowed in abundance from her hot hole and I was the glutton at the trough of her cunt, soothing my sorrow with her sweetness.
My anguish seemed to disappear in her cunt.
I was so lost in the enchantment of Jacqueline's pussy, so intoxicated by unadulterated lust, that I did not notice that she had taken her face from my pussy, and that there was no tongue in my flowing hole.
Before I realized what she was doing, Jacqueline had tied my hands together.
"What are you doing?" I asked, more amused than shocked.
"Let me tie you to my bed, my darling. Let me enjoy your beautiful body in bondage. I want to spank your beautiful little buns and your big wonderful tits," Jacqueline whispered, as though she were ashamed to utter such naughty desires.
"Do you promise that you won't hurt me, that you won't be rough?" I asked, confident that Jacqueline would respect my limits.
"Of course, my darling. I don't want to hurt you. I want only to worship you in an even more delightful way."
I let Jacqueline bind me to the bed, and it was delightful. It was rapturous.
Jacqueline cut the sheet with scissors and tied my limbs to the bed with the shards of fabric. It was light, playful bondage, and we both adored it.
Little did I know that it would not be playful for long.
That night I will remember as long as I live as one of the sweetest and most joyous times of my life. Jacqueline and I made wonderful feminine love like to angels straying from heaven, two heretics who found greater divinty and enchantment. Perhaps we sinned, perhaps heaven would not let us in, but paradise consumed us.
She devoured my pussy and strummed my clit with her magic fingers and made me swoon and tremble with overwhelming ecstasy. My loins melted, exploded and collapsed time and again with passion that peaked at pinnacles unknown.
We loved together all night. It was tender and tempestuous, slow and frenetic, innocent and depraved. It was everything at once.
Jackie devoured my pussy, and I gulped her hot juices when she banged her crotch into my face, pulling my hair toward her body and forcing my mouth to drain all her hot flow. I probed her steaming pussy with my tongue and flicked her quivering red clit with my fingers, teasing her passion berry with all the cunning I could command.
I pressed my lips against her clit and kissed it over and over, until her body trembled with joy.
Jacqueline gasped and roared with delight, and her entire body convulsed as I sucked her pussy and thrilled her clit with the magic fingers of my bound hands.
I used my entire face on Jacqueline's groin, my lips, my cheekbones, my eye lashes and my nose. Each part of my beauty seemed to find a role to play in my dedicated service. to Jacqueline's cunt. When I slipped my nose into her dripping box she moaned with wild animal pleasure, and when my long eyelashes batted against the lips of her pussy she squealed with joy. My tongue danced on her clit and coerced involuntary screams of ecstasy from her lust-simmering body.
We could not stop swooning and discharging and coming. Our pussies dripped all night into each other's mouths, and out clits would not stop their tiny caprioles under the teasing attentions of our tongues and fingers. We had radiant sex all through the night, abandoned to the divine daze of our lust. We were astonished when we looked out the window and saw the sun high in the sky. How long had it been there, we wondered, how had we been so absorbed by the flames of our bodies as not to notice the fire of the sun?
We looked at the clock by Jacqueline's bed and were alarmed. We had enjoyed sex for hours and were already late for our morning class. We dressed hurridly, giggling at our shamelessness, and rushed to class.
It was like that for several days, Doctor. We made love every night, melting in each other's embrace.
I knew that Jacqueline received nasty comments from the other girls, who did not want me to have a friend in the world, much less such a lovely one as Jacqueline. Until she had been so bold as to befriend me, she had been beloved by everyone in the school. But her association with me, even though no one knew the depth of its intimacy, made her less popular with the other girls. In fact, it was catastrophic to her reputation.
I suppose that it is for this reason, Doctor, that my beloved Jacqueline suddenly turned against me. She did something that was unspeakable.
INTERVIEW TWO
When she began to tell the second part of her tale, poor little Nadine burst into tears. I had to comfort her, stroking her hair and drying her eyes. She sat on my lap and sobbed. Words were not enough to console her. She left my office stall shuddering, anguished by her recollection.
The next week she returned to my office and told me the shattering conclusion of her story. Here it is, in her own words.
You know what they say, Doctor, about honeymoons never lasting. Well, it's true, at least as far as Jacqueline and I were concerned. Obviously, her popularity with the other girls was more important to her than her love for me. I have been crippled by this for life. Her disloyality has devastated me. Nothing is as heartbreaking, Doctor, as betrayal.
One night I tiptoed across the hall to Jacqueline's bedroom and found the door locked. I knocked once, and again, and I heard whispering inside.
I heard a sibilant whisper, someone saying, "Shusssh!"
My heart pirouetted in my breast, beating plagently, killing me with sorrow. Jacqueline was not alone, she was eating another girl's pussy, giving her loving lips and her warm womanly showers to another. I felt sick at the betrayal, and walked dejectedly back to my own room, not caring who saw my tears or gloated at my misery.
Oddly, it had sounded as though more than two people were in Jacqueline's room. In fact, I had thought I heard many voices, whispering evilly together. The idea of Jacqueline engaging in a lesbian orgy made my heart plunge even deeper into a pit of loneliness and dispair.
I felt that all the world had betrayed me. Jacqueline had been the sweetest thing in my life, the only joy, the only relief from my constant melancholy, and now she no longer cared if I lived or died.
You can have no idea how utterly despondent I felt, Doctor. I had utterly nothing to live for.
I lay on my bed, sobbing into my pillow. I know that I cried for hours, and then I heard my doorknob turn.
"Jacqueline," I whispered in the darkness, certain it was she, and willing to forgive her anything, if only she would take me in her arms, lick my clit and soothe my pain.
The door opened and suddenly three bodies rushed into the darkness of my room.
It was so dark that I could not recognize their faces. I saw only their vague silhouettes. They were dark and threatening. Then a fourth figure entered the room, somehow separate from the rest, and I recognized her immediately. Even in total darkness I would always recognize Jacqueline. Blindfolded and deaf I would feel her aura shining through my skin. "Do you have it, Jacqueline," one of the voices asked. I recognized the voice to be Jennifer's. Jennifer hated me as vehemently as almost any girl in the school.
"Yes," I heard Jacqueline's beloved voice, "I had to sneak into the infirmiry and I almost awakened the matron. She would have reported me if she had caught me stealing it."
"Don't worry about it Jacqueline," one of the other girls said, "you haven't been caught." I recognized this voice too. It was Marilyn's voice, and Marilyn, who hardly had any tits at all, hated me even more than Jennifer.
"And I'll take it back when you're finished, Jacqueline. We have all agreed on our parts in this game and I'll carry through with mine. But I want the satisfaction of giving it to her," the third and final voice said.
Terror filled my body. I had no idea yet of their plans, but I knew that I was in jeopardy. The third voice belonged to Hazel who hated me more than anyone in the world. Hazel was a vicious girl. Everyone had to like her, or pretend to, because she was a spiteful bitch who would do anything to anyone who annoyed her. She was also the most notorious dyke on campus. Hazel kept dildoes in her locker and even the sisters did not dare to discipline her. She raped little girls who would not willingly go to bed with her. Hazel didn't care whether someone wanted to please her or not, she only demanded that she be pleased.
She was a ruthless, evil and totally vile girl. Her mere presence in my room made me want to vomit. I abhorred her.
"Turn on the light," Hazel demanded, "I want to enjoy this visually."
One of the girls turned on the harsh overhead light and I then saw what Jacqueline had stolen from the infirmary.
The sight of it was so ghastly and obscene that I gagged. I felt the reflex of retching in my gut, but it was simply the dry heaves of disgust.
I knew that my beloved Jacqueline had conspired with these three merciless witches to force an enema upon me.
The ugly bag was empty. I noticed this and so did the other girls.
"Why the hell didn't you fill it, Jacqueline?" Hazel asked, obviously unable to wait for the pleasure of humiliating me.
"Because we have to bind her first, Hazel. We have to tie her up so she can't move, and gag her so that she can't scream."
"Yeah, I wonder why she hasn't screamed yet," Marilyn said in her throaty voice, lurching toward my face to cover my mouth with her hand.
"She must be too frightened to think," Hazel said, grinning at the accuracy of her appraisal.
"Keep your hand on her mouth, Marilyn, while Jennifer and Hazel tie her to the bed. While you girls tie her up and gag her I'll go boil some water." Jacqueline said. She was obviously enthusiastic about this demented project.
"Don't bother to boil it. The bath water runs very hot," Hazel said, taking a coil of twine from the pocket of her dressing gown.
"That's right. The bath water will be hot enough," Marilyn said, agreeing with Hazel.
"All right," Jacqueline said, "bath water it will be, piping hot."
My beloved but wicked Jacqueline disappeared and I heard the bath water running in the bathroom across the hall.
Hazel and Jennifer worked on my arms and legs, binding them painfully to the foot and head of my bed with the twine. I could feel it cutting into my soft flesh, causing me acute agony.
Marilyn kept her hand pressed hard against my mouth. By this time I had recovered from the initial horror and was trying to scream through Marilyn's hand. But she pressed too hard against my lips. Not only was I unable to utter a sound, I was unable to breathe. If I did not die of fright or pain, it would be death by suffocation. And, if by some miracle, I did not die from lack of oxygen, I would die of shame and degradation when the conspiring girls flooded my body with the steaming water of the enema.
I tried to bite Marilyn's hand, but she was undaunted. She only pressed more mercilessly against my mouth, and I could taste her palm. Her pressure was so great that I could not move my jaws to bite her. I gasped through my nostils, dying for breath.
Lying helplessly on my bed I head the water pouring from the bathtub. In my mind's eyes I could see the steam filling the bathroom like a haze in hell.
Jacqueline returned with the enema. The bag was bloated with water, and she carried in a towel, like a cook taking a white hot caserole from the oven and holding it in a potholder. I knew that it was as hot as hell.
"Is she all ready?" Jacqueline asked, "is she bound and helpless."
"She's trapped to this bed like a baby in the womb," Hazel said, "there is nothing she can do to save herself."
"Good," Jacqueline said, hanging the enema from a clothes hook on my closet door.
Marilyn, her hand over my mouth, snickered, and Jennifer, tightening the twine around my helplessly spread legs, giggled. The expression on Hazel's face was obscene. I could not even look at Jacqueline.
Hazel touched the swollen enema bag with the tip of her fingers and drew them quickly away.
"Shit, that's hot. Good job, Jacqueline," she grinned.
I felt panic in my pussy and fear throughout my entire body. I was shaking with fear, breaking out into a cold sweat. The four vicious girls, who were rapidly resembling harridans to my horrified eyes, leered and grinned and giggled obscenely.
I felt fear, loathing, hatred and rage. And it had only begun.
"I get to give her this enema," Hazel said, like a shrew would had been goosed for the first time in a thousand years and loved it.
Hazel uncoiled the hose of the enema and stretched it out on the mattress, running it up toward my asshole.
She taunted my eyes with the nozzle. I would not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it, and I shut my eyes as tight as I could, blocking out the nightmare that was being enacted in the harsh light of my bedroom.
My contrived blindness did nothing to protect me from the physicality of the atrocity. Hazel forced the enema nozzle through the puckering lips of my anus, invading my vulnerable hole.
I closed my eyes tight, feeling the pressure of Marilyn's hand lessen on my mouth as someone, I did not see who, gagged me with a towel.
"Push it all the way in to her," I heard Jennifer hiss, "and start squirting the hot water into her body. Nadine is such a cunt that she deserves the hottest enema in the world. Let's made her explode like a volcano."
I felt the water flowing into my ass. It was so hot I thought I would burn to ashes. It burned the senstive lining of my asshole and stormed into my body, filling my bowels. Then it seemed to occupy every inch of my body, forcing its way into the core of my being. I felt nothing but the stinging burn of the hot, almost boiling water, and the gut-wrenching pain of the unnatural liquid stretching my stomach and pressing against ever organ. My little uterus seemed to be in flames, there was pressure on my bladder and my cunt felt as though someone had struck a match in it.
"Pity we didn't think to get some gasoline for this," Hazel said, not a bit. facetious. I believe that she truly would have killed me if she thought she could get away with it.
"Next time," a voice said, and it was Jacqueline. Not yet finished with the first torture, my beloved Jacqueline was already planning the encore. The scheming of her evil and betraying mind made the pain in my body all the more excruciating.
I felt betrayed and utterly humiliated. I could not live through this.
"Look at the way her body is bloating up," Jennifer said, "look at how big she's getting in the stomach. She looks like a pregnant pig."
"The bag is almost empty," Marilyn said.
I could have told her that with my eyes closed. I felt more horrible than I ever have in my life. The pain and discomfort was more horrid than anything I have ever felt. I wished from the bottom of my heart fates worse than death for all the wicked girls who were abusing me. I prayed to God that they would suffer perditions beyond even the divine imagination. I loathed them with the blackest passion in the universe.
I wanted to scream. I had to, but I could not. I could not scream or move. I was paralyzed by the painful twine and by the indignity of my torment.
"All right, it's empty," Hazel said approvingly, "now let's get down to some real fun."
"You said it, honey," Jennifer said, her voice sibilant with the unmistakable hiss of spite and lust.
I could not bear to contemplate what they planned next. Already they had caused me suffering beyond endurance.
I felt pubic hair on my chin and hands working at the knot in the towel that rendered me speechless.
"Be careful, Hazel, she might scream," Marilyn said.
"She'll be sorry if she does. Do you have the matches, Jennifer."
"Of course, I wouldn't overlook so important a detail," Jennifer replied sarcastically.
"Good! If she utters one peep, strike the match and burn her clit! Do you hear me? I said one peep."
"My pleasure," Jennifer said.
I felt Hazel's hand against my cheek, slapping me hard. She had untied the knotted towel and my mouth was free, but I knew I dare not scream. I dare not utter a peep. I knew that the feeling of flame on clit would kill me, that I would lose control of my body, become incontinent and release all the hot water that was killing my bloated body. I wanted to release it, but I couldn't bear to do it in front of these tormenting bitches.
As I felt the towel fall from my face I heard the striking of a match. I pressed my eyes shut, as tight as I could.
Then I heard Hazel's obscene barking voice.
"Open your mouth and eat me!" she said, forcing her groin, exposed through her now open robe, against my resisting lips.
"And make her open her eyes," Jennifer hissed, "so she can see everything she tastes. We don't want her to miss any sensual delights."
"Good idea," Hazel said. She slapped my cheeks with her hand, "open your eyes bitch, so you can feast them on everything that's going on."
"No, I won't look at this. I won't acknowledge it." I protested.
"Won't acknowledge it!" Hazel said, furious, "did you all hear that, girls? The little bitch doesn't want to acknowledge this."
"Hard to believe," Marilyn simpered, "but she's going to have to acknowledge it; she's going to have to acknowledge the enema, and she's going to have to acknowledge Jacqueline eating my cunt and Jennifer eating Jacqueline's."
"That's right, Marilyn. And shell have to acknowledge you licking my ass while she eats my pussy. Poor little thing. Just think of all that she has to endure. Shall we all cry for her, girls?"
I heard a chorus of snickers in the room.
"Open your eyes, cunt!" Hazel snapped, pushing her pussy against my lips. Her smelly cunt dripped on my face. Her hot flow coated my chin. Instinctively, I recoiled.
My hands and legs were bound to the bed in twine, and I could do nothing to prevent myself from being force fed Hazel's disgusting cunt. Nor could I defend myself against the brutal slaps on the face, and the bellowing instructions to open my eyes and view the ghastly sights in all their lurid vividity.
I had to do as I was told. I opened my eyes and saw a writhing mass of almost undifferentiated female flesh. Breasts, beaver, buttocks, all bouncing and grinding, frolicking obscenely on my bed, on the floor, pressed against the walls of my bedroom, which had suddenly become a chamber of horrors.
I saw Hazel's lewd grin as she pushed her crotch toward my face. She pulled me forward by the hair, making me dig my nose in her vile cunt odors. She commanded me to work with my tongue inside her gutter. Reluctantly, I did as ordered, and delved my tongue into her ditch. I tasted the salty sticky slime of her hole, and thought instantly of tuna fish on someone's breath. But Hazel was not a fish; she was a piranha. Even though I was doing the eating, I could imagine that she was the devourer. He cunt had teeth and claws and she was sucking me into it. Her cunt a vacuum with a guillotine hidden somewhere in its dirty depths. I was certain that my tongue would be castrated.
But the sight of Jacueline was even worse than the taste of Hazel's box. The turpitude of the scene was horrendous. Jacqueline was straddling my knees, and Jennifer, kneeling on the floor, was lapping at Jacqueline's cunt, while Jacqueline bent over to gobble Marilyn's pussy.
Under the harsh overhead light I could see all the lurching, humping, gobbling female flesh. I could heard the gulping sounds of mouths devouring hot streaming pussy flow, and I could hear the involuntary sounds of my own mouth eating Hazel's box with sheer contempt.
But more than anything else I could feel the hot water stretching my insides to a bursting point. It bloated my bowels and I could feel hellish pressure everywhere. The hot water seemed to rip my uterus apart, killing me with pain in my cunt, my clit, every sensitive part of my little body. Even my titties seemed about to erupt with the horrid and unnatural pressure of the enema.
The four other girls did not care about my agony; it only added to their perverse pleasure. They gobbled each other's fragrant female flesh, bumping their boobs against one another, grinding their beavers, and gulping greedily on the wafting perfumes that came from each other's pussies.
Hazel rammed her body into my face, smacking her clit against my lips and my tongue was locked in the trap of her cunt. I wiggled my tongue in the hot hole, as Hazel insisted I do, and I recoiled in revulsion, knowing that I was giving the bitch more pleasure than she deserved.
"I'm going to come, Oh, Jesus Christ! Shit! I'm going to pop my rocks right now!!" Hazel hissed like a snake lured from a murky basket. I knew that the slimy bitch was exploding between her thrashing legs.
"Me, too!" Marilyn said, her cunt full of Jacqueline's tongue.
The sight of Jacqueline's lovely face in Marilyn's dirty ditch made the pain of the enema double.
I knew that I had to run, to flee, to shit, to pee. It was dreadful. I was in physical agaony, mental anguish, and spiritual despair. I knew that I would die of pain and shame if this horror did not end.
'Ahh," Hazel groaned obscenely, thrashing her groin one final time into my face, making my tongue receive her vile hole. She smacked her bush against my face and her hot juices splashed out, splurting over me, as though someone had broken an egg on my face.
Jennifer, fingering her own clit while she devoured Jacqueline's cunt, clit and asshole with her tongue, lips and fingers, sighed passionately. I could see the dazed, flushed expression on her face. Her cheeks were red and her eyes were blank and glassy with lust. She looked rapturous, but someone oddly bovine, as though she were inhuman.
"I'm coming," she moaned, stabbing her clit with her fingers.
Hazel pushed my face forward with the back of her hand and made my tongue dance on her clit, giving her post orgasmic pleasure. She was such an excessive monster.
All the girl's had come but Jacqueline, who was teasing Marilyn's cunt, giving it the anti climactic joy I was forced to give Hazel. Marilyn had come like a pig. Jacqueline's tongue had coaxed her to climax, and she had been eating Hazel's asshole while I gulped the girl's gruesome gash.
Jacqueline straddled my knees and looked over her shoulder into my astonished eyes. She could clearly see the agony, the panic and contempt on my young face. There was almost no expression on her face, and she was perfectly still and silent, as Jennifer, who had already come herself, continued patiently to work on Jacqueline's cunt, trying to force it to come.
Jennifer did all she could, digging into Jacqueline's cunt with her probing tongue and teasing the tiny red clit with her fingers. But Jacqueline registered nothing.
Suddenly, Jacqueline pushed Hazel away from my mouth and off the bed. Hazel watched in astonishment as Jacqueline straddled my bound and brutalized body, pushing her cunt into my mouth.
"Eat me!" she said. Her tone was at once familiar and foreign, affectionate and contemptuous.
I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue into Jacqueline's cunt, which tasted far better than Hazel's. Had I not been stuffed to the bursting point with the vile enema, I might even have enjoyed the warmth of Jacqueline's sweet meat and her simmering juices. But I was bound in twine and in utter torment. The enema was killing me, still hot and unbearably inside my tortured body.
Jacqueline gyrated her pelvis, humping my face, moving her pussy up and down on my probing tongue, coaxing her clit to climax.
"Yes ... oh, darting ... YES!" she moaned, her body trembling against me.
She had come, bumping her body against my face. She had called me darling, yet she had conspired with these wicked girls to degrade me in the shabbiest and most humiliating lurid way. I both loved and hated her.
All the girls had usurped their ecstasy from my torment. They had plunged me into hell and had leapt from my bound body to their shocking heavens. They were shameless. Each one was an anathema on the wicked earth.
Finally, they untied the twine and allowed me to run to the toilet. I nearly slipped on the cold floor of the corridor, and again on the slippery tile of the bathroom, before I made my way to safety. It would have been catastrophic if I had slipped. A puddle would have spread out on the floor, and I would have had to clean up the unsavory discharges of my own body. I would have had to wallow in the quagmire of my shit.
In a flash I blasted all the pestilential bane into the toilet. Never has a mere receptacle been such a friend. In fact, after Jacqueline's heartless betrayal I felt that the toilet was nicer than anything or anyone on earth.
The torrents of confined liquid and matter streamed from my body through the tiny canal of my tight little asshole. The force of pouring was unnatural, a bit painful, but it was a wondrous release. I would have gone through any agony to purge my body of the foul degradation it had been forced to contain, while the depraved girls performed their unspeakable acts of lust in front of me.
The feeling of release was so glorious that I had an orgasm. That is, I think I did. I cannot be certain because I was heaving so helplessly, feeling so alone, so lost and betrayed.
I never spoke to any of those girls again, and after the episode, Doctor, I could not think of anything else. I dwelled on it obviously, ruminating upon my mortification. I could not read or think or prepare for exams; I could not write papers. I began to fail in all my classes, and there was harsh pressure on me from all sides. Everyone seemed to demand that I do this, do that, and excell at everything. I fell apart. I broke open. I could not function.
Doctor, you must help me. I cannot live with this feeling. I must salvage my life from the devastation of this incident. Please, I beg you, help me.
CONCLUSION
Nadine C. was perhaps more shattered by this episode than many other girls might have been. Her sensitive and vulnerable nature made her all the more susceptible to the consequences of the calamity. I urged her parents to keep her at home, and by no means to send her away again for some time.
I am pleased to say that she has gotten over the shock of the enema and Jacqueline's betrayal. Although she has received letters from Jacqueline, declarations of love and pleas for forgiveness, she has not answered them. After months of treatments Nadine was able to erase the nightmare from her memory. With it went her affection for Jacqueline. As of this writing Nadine is enjoying a variety of relationships with young men, which I consider more suitable for her than lesbian affairs.
CASE HISTORY SIX
SUBJECT: Diane Jane F. AGE: Seventeen
INTERVIEW ONE
Diane Jane F. is the only daughter of a wealthy family. She has been pampered all her life, as a result of which she is a baffling young woman. In some ways she is frighteningly mature for her seventeen years, in others she is immaturity personified.
She is a dark beauty, with dark eyes, sultry lips, dark shadows under her prominent cheekbones, and long hair like black velvet. She is also a brilliant young woman, and it was a joy to hear her story, despite the trembling of her beautiful body and the quavering of her throaty voice. She was nervous and on edge throughout our interviews, which are given below in transcript form.
I realize now that my mother was right: I should not have married my cousin Egor. We are not suited for each. That's all there is to it.
When I announced my plans, Mother did her best to dissuade me. We went to a ladies' lunch, arriving at one and not leaving until almost five-thirty. Mother lavished me with every possible argument against the marriage. She gave me a list of Egor's faults, arranging them meticulously so that each new mention seemed more drastic than the one before.
But I was obstinate, Doctor. When Mother would not give her consent I went ahead and married Egor without it. Mother was crushed.
Our marriage was heaven at first. We were the perfect beautiful young married people. It was the first time either of us had ever lived away from home, and we loved it. We felt like young rebels. It didn't hurt that both of our fathers had died and left us tidy sums of money. We did not have a worry in the world.
Or so we thought. At least I did. I was innocent and, I suppose, unobservant; I did not know that Egor was a fiend.
Our bliss continued for six months. We thrived on our love. It began to go sour one afternoon when I was lunching with Daphne, one of my oldest friends.
Daphne is a darling and I adore her, but she has a streak of cynicism that is all too common among women who are rich, idle and bored. She is catty and loves gossip, the more malicious it is, the more she adores it. Daphne is never so happy as when she gloats over the misfortunes of others, even if they happen to be her dearest friends.
In the way that is typical of women, Daphne asked me if I knew about Egor and Amanda. She phrased the vicious gossip in such a way as to make it seem that she was doing me a favor by telling me. At first, I made it clear that I did not even want to hear so ridiculous a story, but the thought so appalled me that finally I had to beg her for the details. Amanda is my best friend in life, and I could not accept the idea of her betraying me so cheaply.
Daphne told me that it was absurd, that everyone seemed to know but me. It was scandalous she said. They had been meeting every afternoon for cocktails, kissing in public places and carrying on brazenly. Daphne reported that Egor kept a room at the Hotel Pierre for their illicit redezvous.
I was bothered about this for days, but did not have the nerve to confront Egor. If it was just gossip I would feel so foolish confronting him, whereas if it were true, and everybody knew about it, I could not show my face in public. I was absolutely mortified, Doctor.
As Amanda was my best friend in life I felt that I could ask her gently if this horror were true. Or I could finagle information from her deviously.
As it turned out, I was so distressed by the possibility of Egor's betraying me with Amanda that when we met I simply asked Amanda outright if it were true. She smiled wistfully and said that it was the most malicious thing she had ever heard and that it was shocking that Daphne had lied to me so shabbily.
Amanda told me that everybody knew that Egor was carrying on with Daphne! She explained she had not told me because she had believed the affair would wear out, that Egor would have his little fling and return to me, and that I need never know about his lapse.
I did not know which of my two friends to believe. Amanda and Daphne had been my intimates for years.
At first I thought of disguising myself and following Egor wherever he went, following him to the place where he met his lover, whether it be Amanda or Daphne. But I decided that such a masquerade was beneath my dignity. The only way I could find out was by having a party, inviting both Amanda and Daphne and watching the chemistry between them and my husband. By this test I would learn the truth.
As luck would have it, Egor was planning a large party for my seventeenth birthday and I did not have to make any arrangements. Both Amanda and Daphne, among others, were invited.
Everyone came to the party and it went on forever. Egor was lovely to me. Everyone was lovely to me. Everyone looked handsome and beautiful and happy.
By two o'clock in the morning most of the guests had left. A few remained, drinking and dancing, and two couples stole away from the fun to have fun of their own; when I went out for a breath of air, I saw two couples fucking on the terrace.
The sight and sounds of them got me hot, and I felt my pussy dripping between my legs. Not only between my legs, but down them as well. I decided I had better look for Egor and make him give me my birthday fuck.
As I returned from the terrace, Amanda was slipping into her coat and saying goodnight to everyone. I had not observed any extraordinary chemistry between her and Egor.
As I kissed her goodnight, Amanda whispered in my ear that Egor and Daphne were in the guest room. I could not believe it! However, neither Egor nor Daphne was anywhere in sight.
Smiling broadly at all my guests I said that I was tired, that it had been a lovely party, that we would have another soon, but that this was it for tonight. Politely, they all took the rather blatant hint, put on their coats and disappeared into the night.
The apartment was empty and I felt indeed that the party was over. I walked toward the guest room and pressed my ear against the door. I heard moans and grunts of animal pleasure.
I recognized the grunts as Egor's, and the moans were obviously Daphne's.
I walked out on the terrace and crouched outside the window of the guest room. I could see through the almost transparent curtains the sight of Egor humping Daphne's spread legs.
They were naked on the small bed. I saw Daphne's legs in the air, Egor pounding his huge cock into the hole between them, and his hands squeezing her naked tits.
Seeing them fucking so wildly made my already dripping pussy flood with lust. I could not take my eyes off their illicit fucking, and I could not keep my fingers away from my clit.
Lust possessed me more powerfully than it ever had before. I know that I should have been enraged at the betrayal, but my cunt and clit had no morals. Lewdly, I stepped out of my dress on the dark terrace and began to masturbate my naked body as I watched the fast animal sex of my husband and best friend through the window.
My hot flesh felt good in my hand. I stroked my drenched beaver and tickled my soft pink clit through the moist folds of my flesh. I felt the throbbing of my clit and the flow of my cunt on my fingers.
Digging my finger frantically into my boiling hole, I watched Egor pulling his long cock out of Daphne's cunt and pushing it back in. I saw his mighty back humping her, and his balls slapping against her soft white buttocks. Her ass bounced and squirmed under Egor's thrusting body.
My finger worked faster and faster on my hot sex zones, as Egor accelerated his thrusts in and out of Daphne's beautiful body. I could see the expression of lewd rapture on my best friend's face, and I knew that she was coming as my husband gave her the fuck of her life.
My nipples stiffened on my large beautiful breasts and I sighed, wishing that I had a third hand to devote to the pleasure. But I was so thrilled by the magic of my fingers in my cunt and on my clit, that I needed no more pleasure. I would swoon if anyone touched me.
Egor rammed his cock hard into Daphne's hole, and by the tenseness of his body, the intensity of his face and the powerful speed of his humping I knew that he was about to shoot his load in her cunt.
And Daphne was coming too. She writhed like a bitch in heat under Egor's powerful body, and she moaned in total ecstasy.
I strummed my clit frantically, digging through my beaver to thrill the red berry of my sex. Passion soared through my body and I felt fire in my pussy. Its flames devoured me blissfully as I shrieked out in climax.
Egor and Daphne had come together on the bed. Egor had collapsed, spent, on Daphne's body when I uttered my helpless cry of joy.
I could not have stifled it for anything in the world. I had never been so hot in my life. My orgasm was horrendous, overpowering and devestating.
But, Doctor, it was only the beginning of that horrid night.
INTERVIEW TWO
When she described her voyeuristic pleasure on the terrace, Diane seemed almost excited by the recollection. But when she began to tell the second part of the evening's scenario her body began to tremble and her voice cracked.
She wept in my office and it was necessary to postpone the conclusion for another time, when she would be more at ease. She came back in a few days, looking fresh and radiant. With the help of a glass of wine and a full pack of cigarettes she managed to tell her tale to the end.
Forgive me for breaking down last time, Doctor, but you have no idea how wretched it is for me to recall the cruelty of which I am about to tell you.
After they had hit their peaks of climax, Egor and Daphne could not possibly have overheard my wild chant of ecstasy. When I come I tend to get carried away with the pleasure of it, for my whole body is consumed by electric flames of explosive lust.
Of course, they heard me, Doctor, and they were shocked that I had observed them fucking.
Before I could escape Egor quickly withdrew his long exploded fuck meat from Daphne's hole and ran out onto the terrace. He grabbed my struggling body and dragged me into the apartment, throwing me onto the bed on which he and Daphne had just fucked.
I loathed being in the same room with the two people whom I had trusted foolishly. To be in the room where they had delighted in their betrayal made my body ache with pain and boil with resentment.
"Filthy cunt!" Egor hissed. "How dare you snoop on other people's fucking!"
I was too ossified to reply. I wanted ask how dare he provide me with fucking to snoop on. I wanted ask how he could possibly fuck another woman in our own home. But. I was unable to utter a word.
"It is the limit!" Daphne hissed. "Such audacity!"
I looked at them both in horror. Sperm was drooling from Egor's still erect cock. My husband's huge dick was covered with slime of Daphne's dirty pussy ditch. I could not bear the sight of it, yet, for some reason, I could not take my eyes from it. The sight of the cock that I loved, covered with another woman's goo, was as thrilling as it was revolting.
I saw his heavy balls, which had just blasted a load of his scalding seed into Daphne's abyss. The sight of them made my heart ache with sorrow, but my pussy boiled with desire: I had just come horrendously on the terrace, but I felt more insatiable than ever. My clit was throbbing with hominess, as though I were a woman who had not been near a man for months.
It was shocking that this should be happening to me. My body should be feeling nothing but coldness and contempt. Somehow, however, the sight of my husband dedicating his magnificent prowess and his potent virility to the service of another woman had thrilled my cunt, which dripped and boiled between my legs as Egor pressed me down on the bed.
Daphne languished on the bed, not bothering to cover her naked groin. She flayed her legs lewdly, taunting me with her glistening beaver and her juicy cunt that had just enjoyed my husband's fucking. Lasciviously, she stroked her nipples and purred with post orgasmic pleasure, like a nympho getting ready for more.
Egor held his enormous cock in his hand and I saw that it was getting stiffer and bigger. Even though he had just fucked and shot his load in Daphne's cunt, he was still in fucking form. He and Daphne were both animals who could not get enough, and it was clear that being seen had excited them to new peaks of passion. They were both ready for more sex, and I could almost hear their brains working in unison, concocting devilish schemes for more pleasure.
"Suck my cock! Suck all her cunt honey off my rod and get it hard in your mouth." Egor commanded, his voice harsh and throaty.
"I won't do it," I said, trying to free myself from Egor's weight to escape from the room.
"Yes you will, cunt! You will do exactly what I tell you." Egor hissed. He lurched towards a small desk beside the bed in the guest room and took a gleaming metal envelope opener from the surface. It was sharp metal, and I could see the blade glistening ominously in the light.
Egor turned the blade in his hand, making the refracted light flicker in my eyes. He slapped my cheeks with the flat of the blade, and I felt a sting on my face.
"Now, cunt, suck me!" He hissed again, seizing my head and pulling it forcefully to the head of his big cock. I could smell the scent of Daphne's cunt clinging to the skin of my husband's rod, and I could see the thickness of her syrup, which made his cock shine with her pussy slime.
The smell was obnoxious, but the taste was worse. Egor rammed his cock into my mouth and I felt it pulsing against my cheeks. He pumped his hard heavy meat in and out of my resisting mouth, banging his hairy balls against my chin.
Egor was rock-hard in my mouth, and I would have loved the way he fucked my face so powerfully, had it not been for the loathsome taste of Daphne's cunt on his meat.
"All right, bitch, I'm going to fuck your asshole while you suck my sperm out of Daphne's cunt." Egor said, pulling his cock out of my mouth and positioning his cock just outside my asshole.
"Brilliant idea, Egor. I'd like to feel her tongue scooping your cum out of my cunt. I want her to lick it clean, so I'll be fresh for the next time you fuck me. And I can't wait to see you fuck her ass." Daphne said, already scratching her beaver, seeking her clit.
I protested and tried to escape, but Egor is strong and I am only a woman. Daphne helped him to restrain me, and I had no choice but to submit to their punishment and be a vehicle for their pleasure.
As he forced his huge cock into my asshole, killing me with pain, Egor pushed my head toward Daphne's groin, which was arched and ready for me. I wanted to bite it off her vile body, but I did not dare enrage Egor, who might kill me if I misbehaved.
Pushing his cock all the way into my ass, Egor made me get unbearably close to Daphne's hole, until I could smell it and my lips pressed against it. The scent was of pussy and his sperm, and I could taste a drop of his cum on my lips.
"Get your tongue in there and work, bitch!" Egor hissed, forcing his cock deep into my hole. I could feel the thick root of his pulsing rod forcing its way through the tight opening of my asshole, and then he withdrew, causing friction to the walls of my ass. He punched himself back into me, hard, and the agony was incredible. There was nothing but cock and pain in my asshole.
"Eat my cunt! Suck all your husband's cum out of my hole," Daphne said.
My best friend was making me eat her cunt. I had no choice. I hated Daphne with a passion. I resolved never to go to lunch with her again, as I tasted Egor's familiar sperm in her disloyal cunt.
Reluctantly, I buried my tongue in her cunt and started to lap up Egor's gism, resenting the fact that I inevitably had to taste her pussy in the process.
Egor was fucking my ass hard, and I had to admit that I was beginning to like it. His cock was so big, so long and thick and powerful. It thrilled my sensitive asshole, and as I probed my tongue deeper into Daphne's ditch, my entire body controlled by Egor's dominating fuck thrusts, I felt orgasm building in my clit. It was impossible that I could come again, so quickly.
"This isn't fair," Daphne whined, "why does she get the buttfuck. I want you to fuck my asshole, Egor. And I want Diane to eat my pussy while you do it, and while she eats your cum out of my hole, we'll give her an enema." Daphne purred, as thrilled by the idea as she was by the feeling of my tongue in her cunt.
"Perfect, Daphne!" Egor said, "go get the enema bag and fill it with water. Make the water hot."
"Why should we just use water, Egor. I think shampoo would be more fun. Do you have any liquid shampoo, a big bottle."
Egor barely moved his cock in my asshole, saving his second blast of cum for Daphne's shitty box.
"There are two enormous bottles of good shampoo in the bathroom. They should fill the enema bag." Egor said, beginning to slowly puD his cock out of my asshole, getting it ready for Daphne.
Daphne disappeared for a second and returned all too quickly, with the enema bag and two full bottles of shampoo.
Egor had his cock half way out of my asshole. He pushed it slowly back in, not wanting to leave it out in the cold until Daphne was ready to be fucked.
I was terrified. I could not imagine why they delighted in abusing me so horribly. I wanted to logic with them, to beg them to spare me, and failing that, I wanted to kill them both. This was the most humiliating moment of my life.
Daphne deftly unscrewed the hose from the revolting enema bag and began to pour the shampoo in. I could see the thick golden liquid flowing into the enema bag, and I could see the bag swelling with the contents. My body shuddered with revulsion, thinking of the thick liquid sloshing around in my body, coating my intestines and lathering my bowels.
"She'll be good and clean after this," Daphne grinned obscenely, pouring the second full and very large bottle of shampoo into the enema bag.
"Yes, her little asshole will be spic and span. Too bad that there will be no cock around to fuck it. I can shoot one more load tonight, but after I fuck your ass, Daphne, I'll be finished for the night." Egor's voice was just as vile as Daphne's.
Daphne emptied the second bottle into the bag, and screwed the hose back into the rubber neck.
Egor pulled his cock all the way out of my ass hole and I saw Daphne reach for it. She grabbed it in her hands. Her face lit up when she felt the throbbing girth of it in her fist.
"Shove the nozzle in her hole and fill her up with that shampoo. This is going to be an enema she'll remember." Daphne said, handing the hose and nozzle to Egor while she kept the bag in her hand.
"Hang it on that hook, so the liquid will gravitate nicely into her body." Egor said, instructing Daphne on the best technique of humiliation.
I felt the vile nozzle against my puckering anus. Egor pressed it into my hole which had just been full of his thick powerful fuck rod. The enema nozzle slipped in all the way, and I could feel the opening of my ass wrapping around the hideous plastic blade of the nozzle.
Daphne hung the enema by the hook on the closet door and the water began to flow through the hose and into my ass. From my ass it began to seep and then pour into my bowels, filling me slowly with the slimy shampoo, which would make foam inside my body.
Egor pushed me down on the bed, lowering my body so that the enema would operate with maximum gravity. Then he took Daphne by the hips and placed her gently on the bed, making her kneel so that her cunt was close to my face.
Egor positioned himself behind her back. Holding his huge cock in his hands he directed it at the target of her shitbox. I felt Daphne's body being pushed closer to me, her cunt pressing again against my my lips. From the forward lurching of her body I knew that Egor was pushing his long hard cock into her asshole and was beginning to fuck it.
"Ahh," Daphne moaned, feeling my husband's huge rod filling the cave of her ass, "fuck me, Egor!"
"Suck my cunt and tickle my clit while your husband fucks my tight asshole!"
The enema was killing me, but Egor and Daphne didn't care. Egor rammed his cock in and out of Daphne's asshole, and Daphne forced me to eat her sperm-filled cunt. The shampoo was bloating my helpless body as Egor and Daphne fucked like fiends. I thought they would never stop delighting in my agony.
Doctor, how will I ever survive this horror.
CONCLUSION
Diane's story is one of the most malignant I have ever heard. Egor should be slaughtered for his depravity, or at least removed from civilized society. He is currently separated from Diane and living with Daphne. Diane is happily entering into a new phase of her life with Amanda, with whom she shares a rare female friendship, which might blossom into lesbian love.
GENERAL CONCLUSION
Hopefully, the student of human behavior, especially specialists in aberrant sexuality, have learned greatly from this volume.
In summary, let us say make a few observations on the nature of enema humiliation. It is is clear that in each of these cases the administrator of the enema had no respect for the resistance or limits of the victim. One does not give an enema for the sake of the recipient's pleasure. In most cases the person giving the enema wishes not only to punish the recipient, but also to degrade and defile. In some cases the victim might indeed deserve punishment, as, for example, Terry S. deserved to be reprimanded for her wanton juvenile sexuality, albeit I believe her father was too hard on the poor girl. In other cases, such as that of Nadine C, the victim is guilty of nothing whatever, but for some inexplicable reason has incurred the wrath of the aggressor, or aggressors. In such cases, the hostility of the enema administrator is almost invariably arbitrary and without sense or meaning.
