There may be a lot of fuss about women's liberation nowadays, or feminism, as they sometimes call it, but there are still many women who prefer to take the lower position. Indeed, many are probably submitting to harsher treatment from their men because they are so confused by the new roles of self-reliance being thrust upon them.
I have had many women in my office who have told me about their desires to be beaten, bound, pissed on, even mutilated by their men. They want to prove their complete submission, nay, their complete love for their man. They want him to know that they are all his.
Barbara S. told me, "I let my Papa put the hairbrush in and out of my little pussy, in front of all of his friends from the pool hall. He is so macho. He is a good man. He can satisfy me and my Mama. And, he's going after my little sister, Rosalita, too."
Rita R. said, "I let Ricky carve our initials in my breast. I'm proud for anyone to see that I'm his top girl, and we are in the baddest gang in town."
Susan L. confessed, "He would prematurely ejaculate, then he'd beat me black and blue in punishment. Then, he'd make me suck him hard again."
Diane K. sobbed, "He would bring in actors, old men and women for me to have sex with, while he watched, and took notes."
These are all from actual, tape-recorder interviews. There are more within...
CASE HISTORY ONE
SUBJECT: Barbara S.
AGE: Twenty
INTERVIEW ONE
Barbara S. was referred to me by her social worker. Barbara came from a very poor, Hispanic family, and the social worker was concerned that she did not seem to be motivated to get a job. She had dropped out of school at sixteen, and she had been doing nothing but hanging around the house since then.
The social worker had finally come to the conclusion that something in Barbara's personal or home psychology was keeping her from entering the larger world. I take a number of cases at little or no charge, for philanthropical reasons, as well as reasons of research, so I took on Barbara's case.
I must say she was a lovely young woman. She had the smooth, coffee colored skin of some Puerto Rican girls. She also had large brown eyes with long, curling lashes. She had squeezed her eyebrows to an elegant pencil line. She wore no make up, but her lips were naturally rose colored.
She wore a cheap, shiny cotton dress in a gaudy, lime shade, and she wore yellow plastic sandals with stiletto heels. Her skinny arms stuck out of her sleeveless dress. From what I could see, she had a slight, but attractive figure. She was hardly five feet tall.
She had only a trace of an accent, but she had the quiet manner and down-turned eyes of a well-brought-up Hispanic girl. She sat with her back very straight in the chair before my desk, until I suggested she lie on my couch. Then, she lay down with her body rigid and small. In a soft voice, she began to tell me about her family situation.
You commented on my first name, Doctor. My mother had just moved to the United States when I was born, so she decided to give me an Anglo name. Ironically, it means stranger.
I am the second of eight children. I have an older brother, and three younger ones. And I have little sisters. Only two of my brothers, and one of my sisters still live at home. Yes, we are Catholics, and that is why there are so many of us.
We did have problems spreading my mother and father's small salaries around, but we never starved, and all of us had at least one pair of shoes to wear. It's only in the last two years, since my father's been unemployed, that we've had the social worker over to try to help us.
Yes, I know that she sent me here to find out why I don't get out of my parents' house, or at least find a job and contribute to the rent and food bills. I realize, Doctor, that another salary would greatly help things around my house. But, I feel that I am needed at home.
No, we don't have babies around anymore. My three little brothers and sisters are all teenagers, and they take care of themselves. I help my mother in her cooking, but she and my little sister, Rosalita, could take care of that. I do a little cleaning, and our house is clean. We hardly have any cockroaches. But, I guess my mother and sister could handle that, too.
So, you want to know what they need me around the house for? I'll tell you. It's my father that needs me. When I was in school, he was satisfied to have me in the evenings. Then, I did have a part-time job for two years. I would not have dropped out of school if I didn't have a job. I liked school, but with six kids in the house at that time, we really needed money. But, since my father's been home all day, since he lost his job, he wants me home with him. So, I must do as he says.
What does my father need me for? Well, that's a long story. I guess it's what I've come here to tell you. My father did not want me to come here, you know. But, the social worker said that we wouldn't get any more welfare checks or food stamps if he didn't let me come. That is really very hard on me. My father says I must go because of the social worker and the money. But, then, he beats me before, and hell probably beat me after I go here.
My father is a good man, though, Doctor. You must believe that. He is a real macho. He takes care of two women me, and Mama I think hell start to take care of Rosalita, too.
Well, Doctor, I guess you want me to tell you everything. I was told that nothing would get back to the welfare office. Is that so?
Good. My father might kill me if it did. He knows that these Anglos don't understand our ways.
It all began when I was thirteen. My mother had taken my older brother back to San Juan to visit our relatives. She had worked very hard to save all that money. She had won a lottery ticket, too. Without that, she wouldn't have been able to go. So, she and Tony went for two months in the summer.
I was to do most of the taking care of the apartment. It was hard work. I really respect my Mama for doing all the cooking and cleaning for us, with hardly any help from the girls, and none from the boys. So, I had to learn to cook for eight people, and do the dusting and scrubbing.
My father would come home from his job at the warehouse, very tired. I had to have dinner on the table, and hot, as soon as he got home. He ate by himself. The kids would be out on the street playing, or visiting with friends. My Mama used to sit at the table while he ate, just watching him. So, when she was away, I did that.
It was like the third day since my Mama had left. I had finally started to learn how to get everything ready in time for Papa's return. He smiled when he opened the door and saw that everything was nice and hot on the table. I liked to see him happy. It is sad to see such a big, macho man have to work in a shitty job for the Anglos. He is so proud.
So, I sat at the table while Papa ate. He started to talk to me between bites. He said, "Barbalita, you'll make a good wife to a good macho man."
I turned down my eyes, because I was shy in front of my father. I said, "Gracia, Papa."
He went on. He said, "Barbalita, do you have a boyfriend now?"
I had hardly ever talked to boys. Some of my girlfriends were real flirts already, but I was considered a real lady. I was very, very shy. I answered. "No, Papa."
"Do you have your bleeding, yet, Barbalita?"
"Yes, Papa. Since last spring."
"So, you are a woman."
"I guess so, Papa."
"Do you know what women do, Barbalita."
"I think so, Papa."
I knew about having babies. I knew that it was good to have a real macho man to give you lots of babies. But, I also knew that a good woman does not do anything but flirt with men until her Papa tells her that she may marry.
Now, many of the girls in my neighborhood didn't pay any attention to what the priests said, but I was pretty religious, and I still am. I light candles all the time. And I knew that a woman must obey her father, and wait for a good macho man to make her his wife, and give her lots of babies.
My father said, "Barbalita. Now, that your mother is away, you must take her place. I will be your macho man."
I wasn't sure what he meant to do, but I soon found out. After I cleaned up the dinner dishes, Papa made me come into his and Mama's bedroom. He made me lock the door. Then, he started to take off my clothes.
He was my father. I had to let him do what he wanted. That is the way we do things in my house. That is the way that my people do this.
I stood still, looking down like a lady, while he undid my dress. He pulled the zipper down my back. My Papa is a good man. He took down my zipper without getting it caught in my long, black hair. He knows about women.
When my zipper was all the way down, he went around to my front. He peeled the shoulders of the dress down my arms. Soon, the dress was on the floor around my feet. Papa told me to step out of it, and I did.
I was just wearing panties and an undershirt. I don't have big breasts now, and I had nothing then, although I had gotten my period early. I'm just too skinny, I guess. Papa said, "Why are you wearing that undershirt, like a boy?"
I said, "Because I have no titties."
Papa said, "Let me see."
He pulled my undershirt up off my head. I only had little tiny titties, like small plums. They were really just dark nipples sticking out a little roundly. Papa put his rough hands to them, and pinched them. I winced. You know, when there is such little underneath, the skin really hurts when you pull it. Papa laughed.
Then, he made me take down my panties. I was too shy, so he ripped them off of me himself. He ripped them by pulling to the front. So the cheap nylon went right up into my ass. It went in a narrow line. I cut into my ass hole. I really stung.
I had a little bit of hair on my conyo, and when Papa grabbed at my panties, he ripped out a bunch of it right in the middle. It hurt real bad. And for two months after that my conyo looked really ugly, with a bald patch in the middle of it.
My eyes were tearing a bit from these things that Papa did to me, but I remembered how he always yelled at my mother not to cry when he hit her, so I kept myself from screaming out loud. I thought he might be proud of my strength. But, he didn't seem to be paying much attention to my face.
Papa grabbed me under my arms. His ragged nails went into my arm pits, digging a deep scratch. I really had to keep from crying when he did that. And, then it hurt real bad when he lifted my by the arm pits, and swung me onto the bed. It hurts, you know, when you have skinny arms like me to be raised up by them.
Anyhow, Papa threw me on the bed. I had just made it all smooth that afternoon, too. He didn't even notice what a good job I had done cleaning up the room. Ever since Mama had left, he'd stayed up all night eating chips in bed, and making a mess with the sports pages.
So, Papa put me on the nice bed. Then he stood over me. I just lay there, all little and naked. I saw him take down his fly zipper. Then, he took out his big prick. He is a real macho man, like my Mama always told her friends. He is huge. It's a long, thick brown thing. It was real hard, the skin covering it was tight from the pressure of all the hot blood underneath it.
Papa saw me staring at his cock. He said, "Your Papa is a real macho man, isn't he?"
I said, "Yes, Papa."
Then, he said, "Barbalita, there is no man as macho as me in this city." I said, "Yes, Papa."
"And there is no man better to make you a real woman." Then, after he said that, he went on top of me.
I could hardly breathe under his big, muscular body. He is a nice, big man. He had been lifting all day, and he smelled strongly.
I felt his rough hand jab at my conyo, and then he put his big cock to it. I couldn't help screaming as he shoved his big cock up my little hole. It ripped into me, and it hurt so much.
Papa told me to shut up. He covered my open mouth with his big hand. I was in a lot of pain. Papa went in and out of my little hole with his big cock. He went really fast, and the skin just kept ripping and getting rubbed all sore. This went on for a long time. Then, I heard Papa grunt, and I felt a stickiness fill up my hole.
Papa dropped onto my hollow chest, and breathed deeply, while he pinched my little left tittie. That hurt, but not as much as his fucking me had. My conyo was sore for more than a week. It bled for two days, and the skin kept being raw and red.
It didn't help that Papa made me fuck him every night after that. Every night after I finished doing the dishes, he would call for me to come into his bedroom. I had to do what my Papa said. Then, he would fuck me. It always hurt. I was so small, and he was such a big macho man.
What happened when Mama got back? Nothing changed. Mama had to do whatever Papa said, too. Only, when she got back, she would make dinner and do the dishes, and I would just wait around until Papa called for me to come to him.
Mama couldn't complain. Papa beat her whenever he didn't like something she did. like he would beat her if the dinner was cold, even though it was never cold unless he came home later than usual. He'd beat her at least once a week. Mama always had bruises all over her body. But, she didn't mind it. It was a sign that Papa was a good man. It was real macho that he could fuck her every night, and fuck me, every night before that.
Papa told all his friends at the pool hall about how he fucked me. He brought a bunch of them home one night to watch it. But, he wouldn't let any of them touch me. He wouldn't let me see any boys, either.
Papa started beating me, too, just like Mama. I was proud to go to school with bruises on my arms and legs. Sometimes I would get bruises not from beatings, but just because he held my little arms and legs too tightly when he fucked me. My skin is very delicate.
Some of my girlfriends didn't think it was nice for my Papa to beat me, but they're mostly girls that have forgotten the old ways of doing things. They want to be like an Anglo. I'm proud that my Papa is a macho man. I bet I'm better off with him fucking me, than any boy I know. They all like to pretend that they are macho, but they probably couldn't fuck women as hard and as often as my Papa does.
I was proud to do whatever my Papa told me. He'd make me stay in his bedroom all evening so he could look at me naked, and fuck me whenever he wanted. I almost never went out to visit with friends, or to hang out in the streets.
My brothers and sisters never contradicted anything Papa said. They didn't see anything strange about being able to go out, while I had to stay at home with Papa. My little sister, Rosalita, is even jealous of me, I think. I think she wants Papa to fuck her, too. She keeps flirting with him. He-likes that.
So, this is how things went while I was in high school, and when I worked for two years. I worked as a cashier in the A&P. I got fifty dollars a week, and I gave it all to Papa to play pool, and buy wine. I was glad to see him get out and act like a man with a lot of money. In this country, you can fuck a lot of women, and act like a real macho, but it doesn't mean a thing if you don't have money in your pocket.
You want to know about since I quit my cashier job, since Papa got laid off? I have to get home to my Papa. I'll tell you all that next time.
INTERVIEW TWO
The next time that Barbara came to talk with me, she had some very ugly looking bruises on her right arm. They stuck out in a sickening mixture of green and purple against her creamy tan skin.
She looked at me with pride when she saw where my eyes were. I told her to lie on my couch, and continue her story. I requested that she tell me about her bruises first.
Ah, you see my bruises, Doctor? Now, don't you see what a macho man my Papa is? He gave these to me two nights ago.
He was holding my arms real tight, as he made me suck on his dick. Yes, sometimes he-likes me to do that. I'm proud to swallow his macho semen. When he first made me do it, though, I didn't really know how. So, I guess I hurt him a bit with my teeth. I was only fourteen, and I didn't know better. So, he pushed me away from his cock, and punched me in the mouth. He knocked out two teeth, but not the ones in front which had hurt him.
He told me that if I ever hurt his cock again when I blew him, he would knock all of my teeth out. But, I did better the next time, and the times after that.
You can say that my father is cruel. But, I just call it macho. We live differently than you Anglos. Spanish men know how to treat their women.
Oh, yes, you wanted to know about since my Papa's been unemployed. Well, the warehouse where Papa worked went out of business, so he lost his job. He tried to get another one, but a man who's English is not so good can only do physical work here. Papa is a big, strong man, but he is almost fifty years old, and nobody will hire a man that age. My father is very proud, and it really wounded his pride to have to go on welfare.
His pride needs a lot of looking after, so I stay with him. He is still very macho. He doesn't use his strength to work anymore, so he uses it all on me. He fucks me several times a day.
And, he gets bored with nothing to do. like I said, his English isn't so hot, so he doesn't like to watch the TV much. We don't get the UHF Spanish shows on our TV either. Anyhow, he's bored. So, he thinks up little games for us to play.
like, the first time, he tells me that he wants me to pretend that I'm one of the crates that he used to lift in the warehouse. So, he gets me all tied up as near to a box as he can. And he carries me from room to room. The rope he tied me with was pretty rough, and it cut into my skin. But, I didn't complain. I didn't want to spoil his fun. Then, he decided that I wasn't enough like a crate, so he tied me up tighter.
He pulled my arms behind my back, and tied my wrists together. Oh, I forgot to tell you. So I could get into the most twisted positions without ruining one of the few dresses I own, he told me to get out of it. So, I was just wearing my panties. My titties are still too small to need a bra.
So, Papa had my arms all behind me. Then, he pulled my legs behind me, and way up so that my feet were by my shoulders. I'm pretty nimble, so my bones would do that, but it still hurt me. Then, Papa ties strong knots at my feet. So, my whole body is like in this oval shape, except my head sticking up. Papa also tied string across my titties so that they wouldn't stick out They are a little bigger than when I was thirteen. A little bit of the skin around the nipple is puffed out. They hang down a little bit, but still not enough to wear a bra. I wouldn't waste the little bit of money that Papa gives me on buying a bra.
So, Papa tied the string tightly around my chest. The scratchy rope dug into my nipples, leaving a whitish line on either side of it from the pressure. Papa put his hands on my titties and said that the rope like that made them puffier. I was proud when he said that.
Then, Papa tried to make my head scrunch down more into the rest of the shape. He tied the string around my head. But, it didn't help much. The rope cut into my ears, and cheeks. I was in a bit of pain, but it was making Papa amused.
Then, Papa pretended I was a package again. He would lift me up and put me down on things. He put me on some things that stuck into my crotch. You see, in the position he had tied me, my conyo was sticking right out. So, he'd put me on something, and my conyo would feel everything on it.
He put me on my sister's bureau, and her hair brush stuck into my conyo. Papa laughed, and threw me onto my sister's bed. He took the hairbrush, and began to brush my pubic hair. It tickled and I laughed. Then, Papa stuck the bristly part of the brush up my hole.
That didn't tickle, that hurt. The plastic bristles scratched the wet, soft inner skin. I stopped laughing. Papa put the brush in and out of my hole, very fast, until my eyes were tearing. I was even bleeding a little inside. There were some metal bristles in the brush as well. Papa seemed to enjoy it, though.
Finally, Papa took the brush out of my hole. He took it and began to scratch my titties with it. I could see the brush. There were strings of conyo goop mixed with blood hanging between the bristles, especially the metal ones.
My nipples got all white, and then red when he brushed them. Then, the very tip of the nipple was broken. A few flakes of skin came off on the metal bristles. I couldn't keep myself from yelling out from pain.
Papa stopped brushing, and began to suck on my nipple. He licked up all the blood that was beginning to seep up. He licked the rough ropes, and moved them back and forth on my titties with his teeth.
Then, Papa unzipped his fly. He sat up on the edge of the bed, and lifted me onto his cock. I was easy for him to hold in the shape I was in, so he lifted me up and down on his cock, never letting it slip all the way out of me. He did it very fast, like he liked it.
He went on for several minutes, and my wide open hole made noises being moved up and down over his cock. The goop and blood slipped around over his cock. Finally, he grunted and bit into my shoulder. I felt his goop go into me. It was hot and thick.
Papa threw me to the floor. That gave me a big bruise on my ass. He kicked me with his foot, and I rolled over.
He left me all tied up for a few more hours. Then, just before Mama set the food on the table, he untied me. But, he made me wait in his bedroom, to fuck him after he was finished eating.
Since that day, he ties me up often. He even does it with Mama and my brothers and sisters around. No, they don't say anything about me being tied up. Papa is the boss in our house.
Sometimes he invites his men friends from Puerto Rico over to see me all tied up. He lets them kick their pointed shoes into my ass-hole, but not into my conyo. He never lets them touch me with their hands, that would destroy the family honor.
My sister, Milagros got in trouble with her boyfriend, so Papa kicked her out of the house. She lives now with some girl friends, and her baby. Papa is very concerned with the family honor. He doesn't want his daughters being bad women.
I never go out with boys. None of them are as macho as my Papa. Papa says that he especially wants me to stay a good girl. So, he never lets me out of the house anymore, except to come see you, Doctor, since the social worker insisted.
No, Papa doesn't have me tied up when the social worker comes. He knows that an Anglo lady might not think it was right. Those social workers don't understand our culture.
No, I don't know any other Puerto Rican families where the father ties up his daughter, and then fucks her, when he has a wife to fuck, too.
Yes, my Papa still fucks my Mama. Mama has bruises to prove it. And they aren't the bruises that she gets from the beatings that she gets in front of all of us .kids.
Oh, Papa always beat Mama in front of us. He wanted to show us how a man treats a woman. That's why he lets all my brothers and sisters see how he ties me up. He shows them how macho he is. He not only beats Mama, but he ties his daughter up, too.
He's let my older brother, Miguel, watch him fuck me. He talked to Miguel all the way through it, giving him pointers on how a macho man should fuck. I was all tied up. I could see that Miguel liked to watch. His cock was making a big bump in his pants. Miguel will be a big macho man like my Papa one day. But, Papa's the best right now.
What's my life like? You mean my daily activities? Well, at about five o'clock, my Papa wakes me up. I sleep in a room with Rosalita. It's a lot nicer now. It used to be four of us in one room. The boys have two rooms between them, so each of them gets one.
But, Rosalita and I get our own beds now. There are only two beds, so I used to have to share one with Milagros. She used to complain about the smell of semen on me. I could only take one bath every two days, as Papa didn't want to pay a big water bill. We only have cold water most of the time, anyway. Papa said I should be proud to smell of his semen. So, he didn't like Milagros even before she got in trouble.
Anyhow, Papa comes and kicks me with his pointed shoe, in his hand, until I wake up. He doesn't want to lift up the shade, as it will wake up Rosalita. So, I get up. I don't wear any clothes around the house anymore. Unless, Papa wants to rip panties off me, then, he buys me a cheap pair. Usually it's really cheap material which is rough against my skin. He makes me wear it for a few days, and they get dirtier and dirtier. Then, he rips them off me, and lets them either cut into my ass hole, or my conyo slit, depending on which side he grabs from.
Well, Papa wakes me up, and makes me stand outside of his bedroom door, until he wakes up again. I have to stand there while he goes back to sleep. But, I can't fall asleep or he will really beat me. He wakes up a few hours later, and goes to see if I'm still standing there.
If I am, then he doesn't beat me. Unless, he feels like it. Soon, Mama and the three kids are up. Mama cooks breakfast for us all, and we all eat together. Then, she goes to work, and the kids go to school. Or, maybe they skip school and hang around on the streets. In any case, they leave the house.
Then, Papa and I play games all morning and afternoon. But, sometimes Papa doesn't feel like being with me, so he locks me into his bedroom, and goes to play pool.
I wait in his bedroom until he gets back. Sometimes, he brings a friend or two, and they watch how macho he is when he fucks me.
My Papa is such a macho man. He still hurts me when he fucks me. He goes so fast, and for so long. His cock is so big, it still tears at me sometimes.
Papa usually ties me up to fuck me now. He says he-likes just having my conyo, and not having to bother with my arms and legs. He can lift me up and down on his cock at whatever speed he-likes.
When he makes me sit on his cock, and lift myself up and down on him, I never go fast enough for him. So, he has to grip my arms, and push me. That gives me bruises usually.
He has such strong hands. He's so macho. I'm proud to be his favorite daughter. I don't like Rosalita flirting with him. She's very pretty, and she has bigger titties than me. She has pretty red hair, too.
Rosalita keeps getting close to Papa. She runs out of her shower with the towel hardly covering her, so Papa can see how nice her figure is. I hiss at her, but Papa tells me to mind my own business.
I'm worried. He's so macho that he could take on three women. Rosalita put his hand on her conyo one day. I saw it. Papa seemed to like it. I was so mad at her. I felt like taking a knife to her. I don't mind Mama having Papa, but I don't want competition from my flirty little sister.
Rosalita keeps buying nice clothes and perfume. Papa compliments her on the way she looks and smells. I don't get hardly any money to make myself pretty. And, Papa has me hang around the house all day naked.
But, I guess it's up to Papa. He's the boss. If he wants to fuck Rosalita, too, he will. He's even talked to me about it. He told me that I could watch him fuck her. He also said that he was going to let my little brothers watch. He already told them that they could watch him fuck me. He wants them to learn to be big macho men, too.
What does Mama think of all this? I told you. She's proud to have the most macho man around. She'd probably be even more proud if he fucked Rosalita, too. She even gives Rosalita money to get things to make herself more pretty.
Will I be that angry if Rosalita becomes Papa's favorite daughter? Yes, of course. But, Papa said he would stop fucking me if I don't shut up about Rosalita. And I want him to keep on fucking me. I would have nothing to be proud about if I didn't have my big macho Papa fucking me. We Spanish people need our pride, and we can only get it from macho. No, Doctor, I can't really leave the house to work. Papa needs me at home all day. Why don't they get him a job? Then, he would have more pride. He would make money, and He wouldn't need me to stay home with him. I would get a job, too. Then, we'd have a lot of money. Papa could go to play pool all the time.
I won't leave home, though. I want to live with my Papa. I would have no pride living with some man without as much macho as my father. And, I won't be a woman without a man like my sister, Milagros. A woman without a man can have no pride.
CONCLUSION
I wasn't sure how to handle Barbara's case. Her problems seemed as much socio-economic as psychological. She did not seem to be unhappy with her father's treatment of her. She was proud of it. As a professional therapist I can do nothing with a patient who does not express any dissatisfaction with her condition. Barbara's only complaints were her family's lack of money, and I could not help her there.
I told her social worker that I doubted I could help Barbara to leave her father at home while she worked. I suggested that the social worker work more to get a good job for Barbara's father.
I believe that the bulk of Barbara's problems stem from feelings of social inadequacy of her father's which are resolved by extreme sexual performance. As long as he had such willing partners as his wife and his two daughters, he probably would not seek therapy. Perhaps we would all be happier if we had such a cooperative family.
CASE HISTORY TWO
SUBJECT: DORIE M.
AGE: Nineteen
INTERVIEW ONE
Dorie M. had come to me of her own accord. She was a wealthy young lady, and she had been to several therapists in the past to cure her of her intense nervousness. None, apparently had helped her conclusively, so she came to me.
She was dressed as well as her large fortune could provide for her. She had the figure, if not the height to wear such high fashion clothes, too. Her hair was a rich brunette. Her eyes were a startlingly bright green. She wore pale powder on her face, with only a narrow slash of blush high up on her cheeks. She wore creamy, peach colored lip stick.
Dorie smoked incessantly through our two sessions. She also constantly made nibbling motions toward her perfectly manicured fingernails. Her nervous gestures contrasted badly with her modish attire. But, when I learned her story, I understood the source of her strange behavior.
Doctor, I have high faith in your ability to cure me. All I need is an end to my nervousness. Not only do I fidget, as you see, but I am also plagued with insomnia, and extreme constipation.
Even my wealth is not enough to keep friends from leaving me because of my strange habits. I've never kept a lover more than one night. Perhaps a fortune hunter would stand me, but my guardian makes sure that none get near me.
I guess I should be grateful for that, but I've seen enough of bastard rich men, not to dismiss an innocent money driven man out of hand.
Well, the person in question has finally died, of his own self-indulgent behavior, and I am free to finally tell my true story to a therapist. I had to tell useless little things to all my other therapists, that is why they never did me any good. I hope their reputations have not suffered because of their failures with me.
So, in any case, with the information that I can now give you, you, Doctor, will now be able to cure me. I have confidence in you. Yes, even after what I've been through, I still have faith in some people. I know that I was merely, to my great misfortune, the victim of an exceptionally sick man.
Thank you, Doctor. It is rare that I get such a compliment as that. You really think that I have a healthy attitude and that that does a lot to assure my cure? How wonderful!
I'm so excited, Doctor. I knew things would start to get better for me as soon as that man left this world, to go to Hell, if there is any God above.
Yes, I was raised to be a Christian. And, I've always tried to act as charitably as I could. And, of course, I have the money to do a lot. In fact, the people at the charity agencies are my best friends. Maybe they just want to encourage my friendship so that I will give them a lot of money. But, can you blame them? They see all the horrors that poverty brings to the world, so naturally they find a willing donator, they try to get as much as they can from her. I would do the same. They don't always look at my nervous defects, or at least they pretend not to.
That's what really upsets me. How could such a sick, evil man exist without any outside reasons. He had money. He had everything that money could buy, and more. And he was so wicked.
I am talking about my brother, Doctor. He is the specter which has shadowed my entire life. He is now dead, and I hope to soon rid myself of his influence, with your help. I swear, I'd rather give all my money to charity than continue to live with my psychological problems.
Donny was ten years older than me. He was my mother's child from her first marriage. She had had two other husbands before my father, and she soon divorced Daddy after my birth.
Mother was I guess what you could call a cold woman. She was quite beautiful. She was born rich, and she accumulated a fortune five times the size of her father's by her sixth and last marriage.
Daddy was very fond of me, I believe, and I lived with him after he divorced Mother. But, he died when I was five, and I was in mother's custody again, as Daddy had no close relatives to take me.
Mother was always off gallivanting around Europe or Africa, after a new husband, or to get her picture in "Vogue". She only saw me once or twice a year. Donny and I lived in her house in Upstate New York, with our governess and tutor, and with some servants.
Mother adored her son, and Donny was given charge of all the house's business from the time he was thirteen. So, when I was five, and my father died, I was more in Donny's custody, than in mother's.
I had never liked Donny on my few visits with him, while I lived with Daddy. He was a supercilious bully at twelve, and he got worse from then on. Mother was never very fond of me, but she would do anything for Donny. He wasn't so fond of her, and what he asked of her was to be let alone, and given power over all the money and servants in the house. She gave him what he wanted.
So, when Daddy died, I went from his pleasant San Francisco apartment to the lush house in Tarry town. I was to be living with a much higher standard of living. Daddy was only moderately wealthy. Instead, he was a well-known architect. Mother had married him for his handsomeness and the prestige of his reputation. Then, boring of him after one year and a daughter, she divorced him, and bled him of every excess penny he had earned.
But, Daddy and I lived well enough in our apartment, and he designed some beautiful buildings in San Francisco, and in other parts of the West Coast. I am very proud of him, now that I am old enough to appreciate his genius. Anyhow, all that I can remember of my early life is happy.
Than, at age five, I had to move into Donny's domain. At first he seemed to be pissed-off to be stuck with a little girl, and her governess. He ignored me, and was rude to Miss Fairfax.
We lived well for a few months. I liked my governess, and she was very considerate of the sorrow I had to deal with after having lost my father. She was a good teacher, too. I was already beginning to read fluently, when Donny began to take an interest in me, and took it upon himself to fire Miss Fairfax. She had to go, as he had full control of the house in his mother's, my mother's name.
I didn't have any governess for a while, then, Miss Fairfax had filed a report to the county truancy officer, and he went to visit Donny. He told him that since I was almost six, I would need to either go to a school, or have a tutor. Donny assured the officer that his tutor or another, would provide for the both of us. Donny was just fifteen, you understand.
Well, Donny's tutor was an alcoholic who let Donny remain as ignorant as he chose, as long as he got his daily bottle of scotch. That was easy enough for Donny to give, and he made no use of the tutor except to have him sign papers to the effect that Donny and his little sister, Done, were getting sufficient schooling.
So, I was totally uncared for at the house. That was a better situation, however, than what followed. What followed was Donny. Donny took charge of me.
I'm told that I was a strikingly pretty little girl. An old friend of my father's said that my green eyes made me look precociously seductive. Donny no doubt saw that in me, but really, Doctor, I was just a little girl. I did not mean to suggest anything that he was to carry out.
Donny had had the house filled with servants who, if they did their jobs, and we did have a clean, well stocked house, I must give Donny credit for that. But, anyway, the other people in the house were all dependent in some way to Donny. Most of them were addicts of alcohol or other drugs, and did whatever Donny said, and more important, ignored whatever he did that was immoral and or illegal, for their daily dose. Some were just addicted to money, and Donny had plenty to satisfy their greed.
He wanted me, and I had nowhere to turn.
Our estate was very large, and surrounded by an impenetrable barb wire fence. The men at the gate had instructions never to let me out without his permission. So, I was totally helpless. I was also, you remember, only five going on six years old, so I wasn't mature enough to plan a way to save myself.
Donny must have found in me the ideal toy for his perverse games. I was young, very young, pretty, and totally defenseless. The only real relatives I had were him, and his doting mother, who was also mine.
I had no friends of any lasting worth, at my tender age. I tried to be friends with my half-brother, but you'll see how he treated me. Oh, Doctor! My life was such a nightmare! It's horrible to think of a young person, or any person being subjected to the things that I was subjected to.
You know, people think that since I'm rich, I've had an easy, desirable life. If they only knew the horrors that I've been through! Oh, Doctor! You must help me forget it!
Yes, thank you. I'm alright now. No, I don't want to stop the session. I must get over the initial hurdles of horror and shame. I want to get out the early part, at least, before we call it a day. Okay? Thank you.
So, I was Donny's to do as he pleased with. I remember the first few days. I would play happily by myself around the luxurious grounds. I didn't know what was in store for me. I was innocently happy like most children.
I do remember, though, Donny watching me. I tried to be friendly with him, despite my instinctual aversion to him. Children can forget things so easily, and I saw him as my only available playmate.
Well, one day he did consent to play with me, but only if we played a game of his choosing. I agreed, having exhausted my own imagination in my week of solitude.
So, my half-brother led me out on the lawn to climb trees. I had never been too successful at climbing trees, so I was glad at the chance to be instructed by such a big boy. Well, first Donny said that we would need some rope. He rang for a servant, and soon the servant had brought us some strong rope. Donny carried it over to a big broad tree. It had many low branches, and he said that it was a good one to start on.
Well, Donny was surprisingly nice at first. I was happy. He helped me to climb up onto the tree. Then, we kept climbing. He was virtually lifting me up to the high branches. We climbed and climbed, and soon we were so far up that I was afraid to look down. We must have been ten feet up.
Donny then said, "Now, we get out the rope."
I said, "What do we do with that?"
He said, "Well, to be sure you don't fall, I tie the rope securely around your ankles, like this. Donny secured my ankles with rope, then he coiled some more up to my knees. We were on a rather barren branch of the tree, and there were no branches directly below us.
Donny then said to me, "See, even if you were to slip off the branch, you wouldn't fall to the ground."
I said, ever so innocently, "That's good. I wouldn't want to hurt myself."
He said, "That's right See, even if you slipped, like this... " Donny had shoved me over the side of the branch. I screamed bloody murder, but he just laughed. He held onto the rope, but he let enough out so that I was dangling by my feet several yards above the ground. Then, Donny tied the rope securely onto the branch, and over to the trunk of the tree. Then, he jumped nimbly to another branch, and climbed down off the tree.
He stood next to my dangling head. My skirt was falling about my ears, and my panties and bare chest showed. Donny pointed this out to me.
I had never been raised by my father to be especially modest, so I said, "So? I'm not worried about that, I'm worried that I'll fall on my head."
But, Donny said, "Well, you should worn about that. That's more important. If you let your panties show you'll really fall. Didn't they teach you that in Sunday school?"
My father had taken me to an Ethical Culture Temple, and we had only been taught about love and freedom, no sin. With Donny, however, I learned about sin.
My first lesson was there, dangling from the tree. Donny said, "You should be punished for showing your panties like that."
I said, never having liked punishment, the few times my Daddy had made me stay in my room until I felt good enough to apologize for my naughty behavior. "Don't punish me! Can't help it if my panties show. I'm upside down!"
"Well, then, you should be punished for not being ashamed of your panties showing!"
Donny left me there. I saw him, upside down, walking among the younger trees. I saw him take out a pen knife. He cut off a green switch. He brought it over to me. What happened next totally shocked me. I had never been struck by my father. Nobody had ever touched me in a painful way.
But, Donny taught me pain, and the lessons became more and more intense. But, let me tell you about that first time. It is engraved in my memory. I guess you could call it a traumatic experience.
Well, Donny took that switch, its greenness made it even more sharp and stinging. He hit me with it. He didn't just hit me once, either. He had no mercy for my extreme youth. He had no mercy for my screams of pain and outrage. For, I had, indeed, started to holler loudly from the first moment that I felt his cruel green branch against my tender flesh.
Donny hit me and hit me. Then, he left me hanging there. My little white legs were red with the stinging lashes that he had given me. They hurt me. My little ankles were also in great pain from having to support my weight and the weight of gravity. The blood had rushed to my head, and the shock I had received did not help any. I was in terrible pain. I was confused and dazed.
Donny left me there for a long time. I'm sure it was over three hours. When he finally returned for me, I was faint from the pain and the reversed blood flow. He stood on the chair that he had brought with him, and cut down the rope. He let me drop a few feet, then he caught me by the legs.
He climbed off the high chair, then, he quickly turned me right side up. The sudden reversal did make me faint. I guess Donny got a little scared, and he called the tranquilizer addict upstairs maid. She took me to my room, and revived me. She would have felt sorry for me, I guess, if her eyes and mind weren't functionally dead.
Well, that was my first encounter with Donny's games. I stayed in bed, lying at a safe horizontal the rest of the day. My legs retained their pink welts, and my memory was scarred with the afternoon's events.
The next morning I was gruesomely greeted by my tormentor. Donny came in bringing me some cocoa. I refused to drink it. He threatened to put me up in the tree again if I didn't, so I had to.
Donny had put some sick sort of chemical in the cocoa, and it gave me severe, painful diarrhea. I'm not just thin for fashion's sake, Doctor. My system was constantly under attack from the various things Donny made me ingest. Until now, all the physicians that examined me thought it was just from pathological nervousness, but it wasn't just that.
Well, Doctor. I don't feel so well right now. I'd like to call an end to this session, if we could. Then, I'll return on Thursday.
I, of course, agreed. Dorie would come in two days, and tell me the rest of her terrible history. She got up off of my couch and walked toward the door. I may say that I had never come across such a brave young woman.
INTERVIEW TWO
Thursday Dorie came in cheerfully, and lay on my couch. However, she continued to chain smoke as she told me the rest of her life's story.
Well, Doctor, life with Donny got worse and worse. He may have been an extremely intelligent and creative person, if he had a heart. Instead, he used all his imagination to think up new tortures for me.
I had occasional free moments around the house, when Donny was away procuring the drugs that his servants needed. Or, my happiest times, were when Donny would leave for several weeks to be with our mother. I guess Mother had a strong resentment against my father, and it extended to me. She never tried to see me, and other than a very rare visit to our house, she left me totally alone with Donny.
Donny had, I imagine told her that he enjoyed looking after his little half-sister, and she was probably just as happy to not have to think about me.
The first time that Mother visited us after Donny had begun his terrible treatment of me, I was ingenious enough to try and complain to her. As soon as I uttered a word against her darling Donny, she slapped me viciously across the face, and told me never to speak like that to her again. So, my one possible outlet was gone.
Mother adored Donny, however, and she was always after him to come spend a vacation with her in Switzerland skiing, or on a safari in Africa. Occasionally, Donny would consent, more because he enjoyed violent or dangerous sports, than because he enjoyed Mother's company.
So, I did get some relief from Mother, although she didn't intend it as such. She never invited me, but rather than feel hurt, I rejoiced when Donny left without me. I would have a good length of time in which to feel free of the constant dread I felt around him. For, although they were totally in his power, the servants were not cruel to me of their own accord. They pretty much let me be. I spent my free time reading from the extensive library that had come with the house, and roaming about the beautiful grounds.
But, too soon, Donny would return and my nightmare would begin all over again, only it would get even worse. I swear, Doctor, if I hadn't come into my own inheritance and legal freedom when I was eighteen, last year, I probably would have committed suicide, for, Donny's tortures were escalating to an unbearable extent.
Our first few years, he was content to tease me cruelly, hit me, and serve me bad food. Then, as I developed into a more feminine creature, he got into more sexual tortures.
When I was just twelve, being totally under Donny's thumb by then, Donny was able to make me beg him to take my virginity. I knew what denial of any of his wishes meant.
One day, he said to me, "You are now becoming a young woman."
"Yes, Donny."
"Young women can easily sin. I am going to do you a favor and let you sin now, so you may repent with proper supervision."
"Yes, Donny."
"Is that all that you can say?"
"Oh, "thank you, Donny! Thank you for helping me in this way."
"That's better. You just better watch it or I'll take the steel-tipped whip to you. Remember? The one with the ten leather straps? You remember when I hit you with that, don't you?"
"Yes, Donny."
"It did you a lot of good, didn't it?"
"Yes, Donny, a lot of good."
"You didn't have a hint of insolence in your voice for nearly a week, isn't that so?"
So, Donny made me beg him to ruin me. First he made me strip. I was used to that. He had taken a keen interest in the development of my breasts and pubic hair. He would make me strip at least once a day in order to examine the progress of my puberty. This, of course, intensified the common agonies of that age. Donny would handle my budding breasts rudely, and he would pull at the first tufts of pubic and underarm hair, to judge their thickness. But, until that day, he had never been exactly sexual in his attentions.
So, I stripped, and he made me spread my legs. He made me stay there, as the alcoholic butler brought the ten thonged whip. Donny then held the whip at ready. I knew my cunt to be more sensitive, and I dreaded the lash of his cruel whip, there. But, he threatened to give me the worst whipping yet, right there, if I didn't beg him to fuck me. So, what could I do?
"Beg for it you little slut!" My half-brother said.
I gave in. I said, "Fuck me, fuck me, Donny. Take my virginity, please!".
So, he did. He stripped off his pants, and for the first time, but certainly not the last, I saw his penis. It was big and hard. It had raw red skin and bulging veins. He appeared to be very proud of it. I believe he often went into the nearest sizable town at nights, and went to the prostitutes. He was an experienced fucker, but he was no lover.
His cruel male member ripped into my virgin cunt. My tender pink skin tore and bled. I nearly fainted from the pain. Even after all of his whippings, I had never had such intense pain going into my body. The bad foods were another matter.
Donny, of course, gave me no respite. He only waited for himself to catch his breath, from the intense pleasure that the tight squeeze no doubt gave him. Then, he began to go swiftly in and out of my sore, bleeding cunt. I was tight, and I had no lubrication. He was mercifully quick about it, to his chagrin, and my secret, small pleasure. He was soon dribbling his come into my tight hole, and going soft. Then, he dropped on top of me, breathing heavily, like a hog.
And, I didn't tell you what Donny looked like. He was a big burly boy. He had reddish hairy skin. He was very muscular, and as the years went on and I got thinner and thinner, he got fatter and fatter. He was bloated with the excesses he indulged in. He ate rich foods, and drank wines and other alcoholic beverages to excess. He also smoked like a fiend, although I guess I'm one to talk about that. But, while I lived with him, he didn't allow me any drugs or foods to give me satisfaction. He liked me frail and slim, and if he thought I was gaining weight, although with the little amount he allowed me, that was nearly impossible, he would stuff me with purgatives. Then, to my intense humiliation, he would watch me agonize in the bathroom for hours.
So, Donny nearly smothered me with his weight. I lay under him for the many minutes that he rested there, catching his breath. I was sick with pain and revulsion. Finally, he got up.
My half-brother fucked me until he thought it was not hurting me enough, then, he looked for new twists on the sexual act. First, he decided to violate my anus. Again, we went through the forced begging, until I was down on my knees, asking him to bugger me.
He kept me on my knees, by then I was almost always required by him to go around naked, and he dropped to his. He forced his vile organ up my ass hole. It was even tighter than my vagina. It hurt unbearably. I was screaming and crying out with pain. Hot tears flooded down from my eyes, but the brute continued to batter his way into that hole which he should never have entered, and after nearly an hour, his penis was all the way up my ass.
He pumped in and out of me. He kept telling me all the time how he could feel my shit squishing around his prick. I was totally humiliated, but I couldn't think, being too beset with the excruciating pain.
Well, after that, Donny had to look for new things to do to me. The things he found were less sexual, in my opinion, and more just cruel. I guess I define sexual as something bringing orgasm, but he seemed to get his kicks by just doing horrible things to my body, especially my sex organs.
However, Doctor, I wouldn't know about normal, healthy sexuality, as I've been too neurotic to have a good sexual experience. All my lovers have turned out to be S&M sickoes of some sort. There was even one guy who got off on hearing me complain about what Donny used to do to me. I thought he was a nice man, and I was a little drunk, so I actually told him some of these things I was telling you. He sat there listening, and I thought he felt for the pain I experienced, but, then I saw that he was jerking himself off. Isn't that disgusting. Sometimes I really despise humanity.
I guess I should worry more about my own problems. Well, for a while, Donny liked to bring strange men in to fuck me. They were usually bums and drunks and addicts, if they were able to get it up. Donny got off on making me screw these disgusting creatures. For all my mental and physical repulsion for Donny, at least he was clean, and didn't smell. But, these men were filthy. They had scabs and lice, and stunk horribly. Donny enjoyed watching my horror at having them drool over me, and stick their old pricks up me, filling me with their stinking come. Oh, god, Doctor! It makes me sick even now to think I had to endure that.
Anyhow, I've read a bit about S&M since I left Donny's house, and I'm glad of one thing. I guess Donny knew that he wasn't beyond the law. He knew that I would leave him as soon as I was eighteen, so he didn't do any visibly damage to my body. I shudder when I read about things like nipple clamps, tattoos, brandings, and other horrible things that he probably would have liked to do to me, but he was afraid to without my consent. And, I certainly wouldn't have given my consent.
As it is, I'm not very healthy. Donny's mild poisons and his strong purgatives took care of that. His ass fucking also wrecked my eliminatory functions for good, I think. But, Donny could pawn all that off to my Doctors as nervous complaints, and the result of my own bad habits.
You see, Donny could pay off many people, and he was surprisingly persuasive even without money. He managed to convince everyone that I was a nervous wreck, probably from some congenital disorder. He had also gotten me so well trained to fear him, and bow to his wishes, that it was all I could do to leave when I was eighteen. I didn't have the strength to sue him or anything, or even tell a newspaper about his treatment of me all those years.
Then, he got more and more sickly from his years of bad living. He called me to his death bed. I actually found the Christian forgiveness to go see him. But, he stayed Donny even to his death. He had just sent for me to tell me that if I dared tell anyone what he had done to me, he had a good friend that he had paid to do more terrible things to me.
But, I got the courage, Doctor, to come see you. I know you will keep my confidences. I no longer want to tell the world the wrong that was done to me. I don't even feel the desire to spit on my mother when I meet her at jet-set parties. She didn't actually know what was going on, but I still despise her for her callous treatment of me, and for her adoration of that scum she called a son.
So, now I'm independently wealthy, and there are no more real physical ties on me. I even have the money to get myself reasonably fixed up medically. Now, I've come to you to fix myself up psychologically.
There's nothing stopping me from having a happy, and healthy life except my own memories, and my neurotic nervousness. I've come to you, Doctor, to help me cure myself.
I want to be able to resolve all the problems that Donny gave to me. I want to have a good, normal sex life. I want to be happy. I want to stop smoking.
Please, tell me that you can help me, Doctor. I really count on you.
CONCLUSION
I have the most optimistic prognosis for Dorie. I firmly believe that a young woman with her courage and conviction, and her assets, can achieve happiness. The strongest thing in her favor is her wish to become cured. That is very important.
Men like Donny are very sick. It is truly unfortunate when they have the power to control to a large extent innocent people's lives. Dorie is a smart girl, and I'm sure she will eventually reconcile herself to a world which has allowed her to be raised by such a sick young man. For, it is also a world which gives a fortune to a worthy young woman like Done, as well as looks and intelligence. And, it is also a world where legitimate psychiatric therapists exist to help troubled people conquer their problems.
CASE HISTORY THREE
SUBJECT: Rita R.
AGE: Seventeen
INTERVIEW ONE
Rita R. was one of the youngest patients I ever had. I am not a child psychologist. But, Rita was referred to me by the juvenile court. Her difficulties were of a more adult nature, so they wanted an adult psychologist, especially one who specialized in sexual aberrations, as I do, to look at her.
Rita had been held in juvenile court when she and a group of youngsters were found with a cache of stolen goods. They were also found with quantities of drugs. Many of these children had not been at their parents' homes for months, and it was strongly suspected that they were living in conditions which were, to say the least, unhealthy for young people.
Rita was not connected directly with any of the thefts, but she was suspected of drug abuse, and her case worker feared that she had been involved in unwholesome sexual situations. So, she was sent to me.
She came into my office, trying to act, as her friends would probably call it, tough. She wore a black leather jacket. On its back there was a pink satin logo with the words, "The Jack-knives". She wore a tight black shiny skirt, slit up to her thigh, and a pink tank top. Her breasts were high and round. Her nipples stuck out from the puckered material of her tank top. She had a gold necklace with a heart pendant. She also wore several gaudy rings.
Her hair was swept behind one ear, and she had a pink plastic heart comb keeping it back. Her hair was dyed a dark red. She had heavy make up on. Her eyes were especially darkened. But, underneath her heavy eye shadow, her eyes were clear and blue.
Rita lay on my couch, on her side, with her curvaceous hip in the air. Her skirt slid down, and the slit revealed her long, beautiful legs. She was wearing shiny silvery stockings, and very high, black patent leather shoes. She eyed me seductively as she began her narration.
So, what do you want me to say, Doc? I don't need no help. I've been doing fine. Yeah, I know very well that I've been arrested, but that's about usual for my type.
What type am I? I'm a tough chick, I'm part of a gang, and I'm proud of it. Yeah, we're called the Jack-knives. Not too many chicks get to wear the name on their jackets. Lots of chicks don't even get to wear leather jackets. But, I'm one of the top chicks. I'm Ricky's top chick.
Who's Ricky? He's the leader of the gang. He's the coolest dude around. People see him, they don't think much at first. He's real good-looking but he ain't big. He's got dreamy big blue eyes, and thick, wavy black hair. He-likes to keep it greased back when he has a long day. He's got a pretty boy face, but he's the toughest. He can beat anyone but Tool. Tool's this huge guy. But, he's real dumb. He's Ricky's bodyguard. He adores Ricky.
How'd I meet Ricky? I met him at the candy store. He looked so fine. He was buying some cigarettes. He didn't have enough change. I gave him the two cents he needed, and he started to talk with me. I already knew that I wanted to go out with him, so I started right away to flirt.
He was real receptive. He kept smiling at me, giving me the eye with those baby blues of his. Finally, he asked me if I wanted a ride on his bike. Did I! I jumped at the chance. But, I acted real cool, like it didn't mean much to me one way or the other. You don't want to make a guy think you're desperate or anything. Nobody-likes an eager beaver.
So, I consented to take a ride with him. He had a great hog. It was a Harley. He got on, and I climbed in back of him. I was wearing pedal pushers, and I could feel his tight jeans against my bare shins. I held him around the waist. I let my legs go a little closer around his than was really necessary, so he'd get turned on, and know I was willing, but so I wouldn't have to say anything to him. And, when we were going along, I leaned my head on his back, and held him tight.
Oh, I was skipping school that day. Ricky's a drop out. He don't need that bullshit.
But, anyway, we rode along, and he took me all that way out to the highway. He drove real fast, and real good. He dodged the other cars like an expert. He didn't wear a helmet or anything. It was really thrilling.
So, we were out in the middle of this highway, in the middle of nowhere. Ricky pulled the bike over to the side of the road. There's woods, so he leads me into them. I knew what he wanted and I was real hot and totally ready for him.
He let me sit on the bike, while he wheeled it into the trees. I felt so good. I'd had plenty of boyfriends before, but none as cool as him. So, we got well into the trees. It was a nice autumn day, but there were pine trees or something like that, so they were still green.
The floor of the woods was coated with pine needles. Ricky told me to lie in them. I did just like he wanted me to. I waited for him to kiss me. I was so excited.
But, he told me to take off my clothes. I was used to kissing and stuff first, but I wanted to show him that I was ready to do anything he wanted. I wanted to show him that I was a hot chick, so I took off my clothes.
Guys like my body. They like my tits and my ass. And I got long legs, too. Guys always want me to wrap them around them when they ball me.
Ricky looked for a while at my naked body. He didn't tell me how pretty I was, like most guys do. I figured he was too cool to say anything like that to a chick. I didn't care.
Anyhow, then, Ricky tells me to shove a pine cone up my pussy. There were all sorts of them lying around. He pointed a real big one out to me. I never did anything like that before. Most guys are in a hurry to get their own dongs up me. But, I figured Ricky knew what he wanted, so I opened my legs wide and started to shove the big thing up my hole.
I opened my legs so. that my pussy would face him. I gave him ,a good view of my curly hair, and my nice pussy. And I let him watch me push the pine cone up me, He didn't say anything. He just smoked a cigarette, and watched me.
It hurt quite a bit to shove that thing up me, but I wanted to show Ricky that I was a tough chick, so I didn't scream or nothing. The pine cone had all these ridges that stuck out, and scraped my cunt, and it had this sticky stuff, sap I guess, on it.
It took me a long time to get in up me, but I kept working at it. It was bigger than any prick I'd ever seen. It really filled me out. Aside from the pain from its surface, I liked having such a thick thing inside my hole.
After I had the thing most of the way up me, Ricky told me to get on all fours. I did that, wondering what he would do. I looked behind me. He was unzipping his jeans. He had a monster of a dick. It was beautiful.
He took his dick all the way out, but kept his jeans around his waist. His belt was even fastened. He just had his dick taken out of his fly.
Well, he got down on his knees right behind me. I was waiting for him to take out the pinecone and stick himself up me. I was good and ready for him. But, he didn't take out the pinecone. Instead, he left it up my cunt, and started to stick his dick up my ass-hole.
Nobody ever did that to me, Doc. I didn't like the idea much, but I was willing to let Ricky do whatever he wanted. Then, maybe I could be his chick. And it worked, I am his chick, or his top chick, because I'll do anything he wants me to do.
So, he sticks his two fingers up the sides of my ass-hole, and spreads it out. This didn't really hurt much. It felt sort of good. But, his fingernails dug into me a bit. I didn't say anything, though.
Then, Ricky put his cock to my ass-hole, and started to shove it in. That hurt. But, I just bit my lip. I figured it must feel real good to him to stick his cock up such a tight hole, and I wanted to give him a thrill, so I let him fuck my ass.
It felt terrible, though. It felt like he was ripping my skin there. The pine cone was pushing my cunt into my ass-hole, so it was even tighter than usual. Ricky's cock up there, just my hole insides about ready to burst. It felt good to be so filled up, but everything was straining my soft inner skin, and that hurt. That hurt a lot.
Ricky kept going until he was all the way up me, then he started to fuck. He pumped in and out of me. From his heavy breathing and his exclamations, I could tell that he was enjoying it.
He kept saying things like, "Oh, Jesus! Jesus Christ!" And he also made all these moaning sounds and said, "That's beautiful, that's fine. Oooh!"
I was glad to be giving him a thrill. I hoped he would appreciate it, and make me his chick. That was what I wanted most.
He kept ass fucking me. Then, finally, I heard him say, "Mary, Mother of God! I'm coming, Jesus, I'm coming!" And he did come. I could feel his warm come all inside my ass-hole. Then. I wasn't so filled up. He was getting softer, and soon he took his cock out of my ass-hole. He left the pine cone up me though.
He just lay there on the pine needles for a while, catching his breath. I turned to look at him. He was such a hunk! I hoped he would want to fuck me again. I kept the pine cone up my cunt for a while, then I decided to take it out.
Just as I was starting to pull at it, he opened his eyes. He said, "What are you doing?"
I said, "Just pulling this thing out of me."
He yelled at me, "Did I say you could take it out? If I tell you to put something up you, you don't take it out until I tell you to!"
"Okay, okay. Sorry!"
I was real sorry that I had upset him. I really wanted him to like me. So, I pushed the bit of the pine cone that I had taken out, back into me. Then, he smiled at me. I was happy at that. He has such a nice smile. It's real sexy.
Then, he said, "Okay, get your clothes on. Leave the pine cone up you. I've got to get back to the city."
So, I put on my clothes. He zipped himself back into his pants, and we walked the motorcycle back to the highway. We rode back to the city.
The pine cone vibrated inside of me from the rumbling of the motorcycle. It started to feel real good. I wrapped my legs tightly around Ricky's legs, and I held him tight. He was so sexy, and that pine cone was vibrating in me. I was having an orgasm right there, riding with him on the motorcycle. It was wild!
Well, he dropped me back at the candy store. Then he zoomed off. I wanted to ask him when I would see him again, but he didn't stop for conversation. He's so cool.
So, I didn't know if I'd see him again. I really wanted to, you can imagine. And finally I did meet him again.
I was too busy thinking about him to fool around with any other guys. So, one night I was just hanging around with some girl friends. We thought we'd go to the movies. We got dressed up. I wore a purple satin dress. It's even tighter than this. I had my hair up. My cousin, Roz, is a hairdresser, and sometimes she comes over and if I'm nice to her, and she's in a good mood, she'll do my hair. She was the one who first dyed it red. I haven't seen her for a while, so I had to do it myself the last time with this girl, Maria who's in the gang.
Anyhow, I was looking good. I felt good too. I'd won a little money at the bookie's. This guy in our building makes book, and he lets me do it with any extra cash I have. Well, I felt really lucky that day. I'd won ten dollars, and the day was just generally good, like I'd gotten Roz to do my hair. She did my nails, too, and for the first time in I don't know how long, I had ten perfect long nails. Roz shaped them, and painted them passion pink. I felt fine.
So, me and some girlfriends went to this movie. It turned out to be a pretty stupid flick. We thought it would be cool, it was about a racing car driver, but it turned all syrupy half way through it. And the chick was this dying rich bitch. Actually, it would have been better if she had been a bitch, but instead, she was a spiritual creep.
So, me and my girlfriends just ate popcorn, and talked. Some old ladies kept telling us to shut up, so finally, we just walked out, making a lot of noise as we left. The old bitches were crying and all this crap.
So, we went to hang out in front of the theatre. There was a pizza stand right next to the movie, so it wasn't a bad place to hang out. There would usually be a few cool guys hanging out there.
I was beginning to think that I'd never see Ricky again. I liked him better than any guy I'd ever seen, but I wasn't about to give up on guys, if I couldn't have him. So, I was thinking of flirting with this cute guy that was in the pizza place.
It was lucky that I didn't start right away, because soon, Ricky and some other Jack-knives came there. I saw my girlfriend Blanche look at something and I turned around, there was Ricky, and three other bad looking dudes. I smiled at him, and started to go up to him.
I was real upset because he didn't seem to recognize me at first. I wanted all my girlfriends to see that I knew this hunk. They were all watching me. Then, I was real happy. Ricky smiled at me. He said, "I remember you. What was your name?"
"Rita, remember Ricky. You took me for a long ride on your bike."
"Sure, I remember. Hey, I had this chick stick a pine cone up her cunt, and then I fucked her up the ass."
Ricky's gang laughed. One of them said, "That's pretty cool. Was her ass tight?"
Ricky said, "Yeah. I think it was virgin, although her cunt probably wasn't. And you know what? I made her keep the pine cone up her all the way back to the city."
"Great. I bet she got off on that."
"You liked that, didn't you, Rita?"
"I liked being with you, Ricky."
Yeah, I guess I was a little embarrassed at the way that he was telling all these guys what he did to me. They were all looking at me lustfully. And, I was even more embarrassed to have my girlfriends hear what I did with him. I had told them that he had just fucked me, and that he was a good lay. Some of them were even virgins, and they had frowned on my fucking him on the first date. Now, they knew I'd done even more.
But, it didn't really matter to me when Ricky put his arm around me and led me into the pizza parlor. I was real proud to have such a hunk with me. And he was so cool. Imagine saying stuff like that to your gang!
He snapped his fingers and his gang followed him inside. My girlfriends came in a bit after them. They milled around nervously. Ricky was nuzzling my neck. He even put his hand to my tit right in front of the waiter. I was a little embarrassed, but I knew that Ricky was tough enough to do whatever he wanted, and I would do whatever he wanted.
Well, I went with Ricky that night to his gang's place. Most of my girlfriends went home before we went there. They were scared. So, just me and Ramona went. We were the only really tough chicks in the group. The other girls panicked when the guys with Ricky tried to put their hands on their knees. What jerks. I have much cooler girlfriends now.
At the gang's place, there were a few other guys and a couple of chicks. One of them went up to Ricky, like he was her guy, but he told her to get lost, and put his arm tighter around me. He said, "I've got a new chick, Cindy. This one will do whatever I want."
She looked really mad. She said, "Fine. Get fucked. You and your gang can all get fucked."
Then, she left the place. Ricky shrugged his shoulders. He said, "She'll be back. You can have her then, Tool."
I saw Tool there for the first time. He usually went everywhere with Ricky, but that night he had had to go to a family dinner party. A big shot cousin of his was in town. Anyway, I saw Tool then.
He is the biggest thing I've ever seen. He kept his hair in a real short crew cut, flat across on top, and he wore huge boots, and loose black jeans. He was real dangerous, but he acted very nice to me. Cindy did come back, about a week later. I was living at the gang's place by then.
Well, I'll tell you about Tool and Cindy, but first let me tell you about how I got started good with Ricky. Well, that first night, all the guys with chicks stayed in the big room. The other guys went into the side room where there was a TV There were mattresses all spread on the floor, and all the guys and chicks would get down on the mattresses and fool around. Ricky was allowed to touch any of the chicks that he wanted, but nobody could touch his chick unless he told them to. But, that first night, Ricky didn't go for any of the other chicks there. I felt it was a particular honor to me that he only fucked me. He didn't touch one of those other chicks.
Well, we all went at it there in the dark.
This time Ricky fucked me in the cunt. He was a real stud. It was kind of strange listening to everyone else do it beside us. But, I just thought about how cool my new guy was.
After he fucked me once, and rested a bit, Ricky went over and turned on the light. All the other couples snapped to attention. He was a real leader. He said, "Everybody's gonna watch Rita blow me now."
Everyone clapped. Then, they all sat in a circle around us. Ricky also called the guys out from the TV room. So, everyone was there to watch me blow him.
I was a little embarrassed, but I was also proud to show everyone that I was Ricky's chick. He kneeled. I had to get down pretty far on the rug. He had his big, beautiful dick sticking out. I put it into my mouth.
He started making noises right away. I thought it was real cool, that he didn't even have to act cool while he had sex in front of everybody in his gang. I licked at his great rod. I moved my tongue all over it. I could feel his pulse galloping. I sucked on the big, smooth dick. It was great. I never really liked blowing guys, but Ricky was something else.
After a while, he was making more and more noises, and then, I felt the come begin to spurt out of him. I swallowed every drop of it. I wanted his gang to see that I would do everything for him.
After he was finished ejaculating, Ricky pushed my head away from his cock. Then, he quickly zipped it back into his jeans. I was totally naked. I wasn't ashamed or afraid that Ricky had taken all my clothes off and I was totally bare in front of all those people. I knew that nobody would bother me. I was Ricky's chick.
Ricky said, "Go get me a cigarette, and some of your mascara."
I did what he asked me to do. I brought him the cigarette. He struck a match on his fly. I thought that was real cool. He lit the cigarette and took a drag. He told me to put the mascara down beside him on the carpet. Then, he said, "Turn around. Put your little ass out to me."
I didn't know what he was going to do, but I did what he said. My bare ass was out in the air. He ran his hand between my legs, along my cunt, then away. He said, "That's my pussy."
His gang laughed. Then, he took his cigarette and put it to my ass. I screamed in pain, and one of the gang chicks said, "Be quiet, Ricky's girls have to be tough."
So, I tried to make as little noise as possible. It was real hard, though. The cigarette really hurt. Ricky was like burning lines on my ass.
It went on for a long time. I had never felt such pain. Then, he took up my mascara, and began to rub it into the burns.
What he had done, I saw when one of the chicks brought me a mirror, was, he had burnt his name into my ass, and made it dark and permanent, by rubbing my mascara into it. It was sort of like a tattoo or a brand.
When I knew what he had done, I didn't mind all the pain. I was really Ricky's girl, with his name eternally on my ass. I found out that most of the girls in the gang had Ricky's name written on their ass, but that didn't matter, as I was his top chick. He told me so.
SECOND INTERVIEW
I must say that I was shocked by these things Rita had told me. I never had read much about teenage gangs, and I didn't know that they lightly indulged in activities that I usually see in very disturbed adults. I had let Rita leave as it was time for her appointment with a judge, but I couldn't wait to see her again.
She came again the next day. She was wearing tight black pants, and high heeled black pumps. She had a yellow mohair sweater on. Her hair was in a pony-tail. She wore the same amount of make up, and her narration was just as blithe.
So, how ya doing, Doc? I'm okay, except that bastard of a judge won't let me see Ricky. He's being held on an assault charge. The judge says that he'll let me go if you say it's alright. I wouldn't mind being out, but I'd really like to see Ricky. He means a lot to me. I'm his chick and all.
Well, you want to hear more about what me and Ricky did in the gang? After he had marked me with his name, I was a full gang member. I spent most of my time in there place, and pretty soon, I stopped going home. My parents were too nosey about my new boyfriend. I never got along with them too much anyway. But, I guess I'll have to go back there now, huh?
Anyhow, life with the gang was a blast. The chicks didn't really do too much of the stealing and rumbling, although we did have one fight with the chicks of another gang called the Ropers. Now, isn't that a stupid name? We won. It was sort of fun really pulling those stupid chicks' hair, and stuff.
Anyhow, you want to know more about me and Ricky. Well, Ricky liked to show how devoted I was to him. I was glad to do anything he said so I could show everybody that I was his top chick.
I especially had to watch out for Cindy. She came back to the gang pretty soon after I came into it. She used to be Ricky's chick, but he told her to be Tool's chick. Tool was very shy with chicks, so Ricky had to tell chicks to go with him. Tool wasn't very good looking, and he was stupid, but he was big, and lots of chicks dug him. Anyhow, the first time that she came back, Ricky said that she would have to fuck Tool and all the other guys in the gang while he watched. But, he didn't touch her. I was real glad to see that. I could tell that Cindy was hoping that he would go back to her, but he didn't.
Cindy thought that just because she was blonde, she was the best chick, but I have a news for her. Ricky doesn't like hot chicks that talk back to him and give him a hard time.
He wanted to give Cindy a lesson when she came back to the gang. So, he made a special night for us all to stand around and watch Cindy get gang banged. He even brought in more people from the outside. I think he may have even charged admission for the outsiders.
So, first, us chicks stripped Cindy. She didn't know what she was in for. She thought it would be easy to just stroll back into the gang, but she had to be on trial first. The door was locked, and Cindy knew better than to try to fight all of us, so she had to let us do what we wanted with her.
She-likes to think that she's better than the rest of us chicks, so we were happy to rip her clothes off of her. She was wearing a new dress, too. Then, she had to go around naked in front of all those people. The really hilarious thing was, she had her period. And she was just wearing a minipad, so we ripped that off of her, and she had to go around with blood dripping down her legs. She was really embarrassed.
Then, one after the other, the guys in the gang fucked her. Ricky encouraged them to fuck her up the ass, and some of them did. She was screaming the whole time. Some of the guys went into her a second and even a third time. They were all real fast and rough with her.
Then, Ricky noticed that Tool hadn't fucked her. Since she was to be his chick, Ricky didn't think it was right for him not to fuck her. So, he said, "Hey, Tool. Let's see some action from you. We all know you have a giant dong."
You could tell that Tool was too shy to work on his own, especially in front of all those people. So, Ricky started to tell him what to do. He told him to get a chain. Tool would do whatever Ricky told him to do.
So, for her final lesson, Ricky had her future boyfriend hit her with a thick chain, the kind they tie down their motorcycles with. He let the heavy metal fall again and again on her blonde skin. She was really learning her lesson. We all watched. Some of the chicks got a little squeamish when the blood started squirting out, but the rest, like me, were tough. We knew she had it coming to her.
Hell, I wouldn't scream so much if Ricky made me do all those things. A chick is supposed to do whatever her boyfriend says. And if she's a chick in a gang, she has to obey her gang's leader. I let Ricky do whatever he wanted to me.
Once he decided, as a special sign of my being his top chick, to write his name somewhere else on my body. I was really excited. He took a knife and carved a heart on my right tit. He wrote our two initials in it, just like it was a tree.
I thought that was real romantic. It did hurt, though. It really stung to feel the sharp knife cut into my boob. The bright red blood started to shoot out immediately. I just let it drip, and didn't say anything. I bit my lower lip until Ricky had finished cutting.
After he was done, he rubbed some ashes from the ashtray into the cuts, so that they would keep the design. Then, he undid his pants. He was big and hard.
He took some of my blood in his hand, and, I was naked then, too. So, he rubbed my pussy with the red blood. It looked nice against my white skin. Then, he turned me over, and fucked me up the ass.
He seemed to like doing that. I preferred to fuck regularly, but I let him do what he wanted all the time. I was a good girlfriend. I even tried to take the rap for his theft charge. But, the judge could see that it was the guys that did everything in our gang.
Us chicks just did a little shop lifting for groceries, and covering for the guys when they went out on a job.
So, I was perfectly happy being Ricky's chick. But, now I won't be able to see him for a while if he's sent away to prison. I'll wait for him, though. A chick can't go looking for another guy right away when she's had a real cool guy's name written twice on her body.
I love to look at my tit where he drew the heart. And, whenever I can get a mirror in the right position, I like to see where he wrote his name on my ass. That really means a lot, I think. I think he really cared for me.
So, Doc, what else can I tell you? I only want Ricky to be freed, and you can't do that.
So, there's nothing much you can do for me, is there?
CONCLUSION
I didn't know what to say to Rita. She had no complaints about the way that her boyfriend had treated her. Her gang had its own codes of behavior. It is as difficult to persuade a teenager that her gang is sick, as to tell a savage that his tribe has immoral habits, and both activities are philosophically dubious.
So, I gave her my good wishes. I did recommend, however, that she have a medical doctor look at her burn and her cut, to make sure that they weren't infected. I told her to also see a proctologist and a gynecologist, if there were ones at her local free clinic, to make sure that she hadn't harmed herself with her abnormal sexual activities.
Other than that, I could do nothing. I gave my diagnosis to the legal department, and she was let go. I hope she is happy in the life she chooses.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
SUBJECT: Susan L.
AGE: Twenty-one
INTERVIEW ONE
Susan L. was not a spectacularly beautiful girl, as many of my patients are, she was, however, pleasant looking. Many men would, I am sure, find her attractive. I would say that her most attractive part is her aura of sharp intelligence and humor. Susan came to me as she was having some problems doing her work in graduate school. She was a brilliant literature scholar, and she had won full fellowships to her prestigious graduate school, but she was finding it very difficult to adjust to graduate school.
She came straight from a small, very good, liberal arts college in the Pacific Northwest. At first I thought she might have been having problems with adjusting to a city environment and a big university, but I soon learned, from her own lips, that her troubles were of a more sexual nature.
Susan was on the short side. She came of peasant Irish stock, and she really looked it. She had a flat face, except for a strong, jutting jaw. She had a small, pug nose, and she had a sprinkling of freckles. She opened her mouth very wide when she laughed, and her sense of humor was delightful. Her eyes were hazel and round. Her hair was thin and straight and dark. She wore it in a poorly done layered cut. She dressed like an academic person unconcerned with her looks.
She went over to my couch, very matter-of-factly, and lay down. Then, she told me about her experiences at college which continued to weigh on her at the big university.
I've never been to a head doctor before. My family is very lower middle class, and Irish. We don't go in for such nonsense. But, my academic career is the most important thing for me. I am also a poet. But, I am interested in the relationship between reading and writing, and I consider it crucial to go through grad school, and hopefully get a teaching post. I want to spend my life teaching, reading, and writing literature.
I guess you could call that an insular viewpoint, but I don't consider it so. In any case, I haven't been able to concentrate on my studying, because my mind is preoccupied with somebody back at my college. I'd be with him now, but my academic career is too important to drop it for one relationship. And, now that I'm away from him, I see how crippling that relationship was. And, I guess it's guilt about all the things I let him do to me that is keeping me from writing my papers, and speaking in classes. So, I've come to you. I must rid myself of these morbid thoughts, so I can get on with my career in literature.
I spent four years in the same little college. I loved the place. It was one of the few places, I believe, where learning is still going on for its own sake. I mean, anyone'd be crazy to go there in order to get a career to make money. They could go for much cheaper to an easier and more popularly prestigious place.
I fell in love with the place as soon as I got there. It was done in Gothic style architecture. There was thick ivy all over the buildings, even though the school has only been around since nineteen twelve. Anyhow, I liked it right away. I had spent the whole summer waitressing at a snobby country club near where my father lives in Manchester, Massachusetts. It's a lower middle class, Irish Catholic town. It's got a nice earthiness to it, but I was glad to escape from it, and from the snobby, WASP Massachusetts country club to go to a place where my poems and my literary knowledge would be appreciated and developed.
This school was the place for me. Or, at least, I found my place there. About half the school was filled with dedicated scholars like me, the rest were there because the school was known to be a refuge for sixties hippy-types. We were all there because there were no varsity sports, no fraternities or sororities, and the drug and dorm rules were very lax. But, I disapproved of many of the people there. They were not taking advantage of the academic excellence of the school, and most of them were being supported by their parents, while I had to slave away every summer, and live cheaply on grants and loans, in order to go there. But, I really appreciated the excellent teachers and the classical course structuring.
Everybody had to take a course called Humanities their freshman year. It was an excellent course. The first semester we did ancient Greece. We read both Homers, Hesiod, the lyrical poets, the major philosophers, the first historians, and we also looked at the art and social structure of the society.
The course was based around lectures, lots of readings, and three hours of class discussions a week. Humanities was basically .the major course of the freshman year. It was not only to give us a good background in Western Civilization, but it was also a big paper writing course. And we had private conferences with our teachers for each paper. The second semester we could either study the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, or pre-industrial England. I chose to study the Renaissance. I love Dante and we would study him thoroughly in the course.
My Freshman Humanities teacher was to be the most important person to me for my four years at the school. He came to rule my life. Now, that I am away from him, I find it hard to do anything on my own.
Robert was just an assistant professor. He often made joking remarks about tenure, but I know that the subject really bothered him, as it bothers most untenured young teachers. The academic world is really a jungle in that sense. People tell me that I'm crazy to go to graduate school in literature, but I'm still idealistic.
Robert is even worse off than I will be. At least a literature major has the option of going into publishing, or journalism. It's also a good background for advertising. I even know of one literature Ph.D., who lives in my building, who's writing pornography for a living!
But, Robert is a religion scholar. He can only get a job teaching at one of the few colleges which have a program in religion. He studies it academically, you understand, so he couldn't even work for a religious institute or be a rabbi or anything. He's Jewish, but he's a non-believer, or actually, he takes a Freudian interpretation of religion, so he supports it. He would probably support me going to see you, if I wasn't about to tell you all the horrible things that he did to me.
I liked him right away. He reminded me of Woody Allen. You know, there's sometimes a strange attraction for Christian girls for wimpy, Jewish intellectual types. Have you noticed that?
Well, Robert is pretty pathetic looking. He is quite short, and he is somewhat overweight, or at least he has a broad build, so he doesn't even have the spare boyish body of a short man like Woody Allen.
He dresses like his mother in the Bronx sends him clothes from Korvettes. He wears baggy corduroy pants most of the time, and short sleeved knit sweaters and shirts. He occasionally will wear a suit, and he looks even worse. Most people look better in suits, but his make him look even more awkward and broad. He wears brown shoes, and worst of all, he wears a stupid windbreaker like some twelve year old mama's boy. And I think he may well have been a mama's boy for all the intellectual distance there now is between him and his parents.
Robert had curly red hair. I like red hair, but his was ugly. He wore it short, with no style. There's not too much to do with curly hair nowadays, I guess it's gone out of fashion. The only thing to do with it, my fashion conscious roommate told me, is to either let it grow out into dreads, or leave it cut very close to the skull. However, Robert had a badly shaped skull, so his short hair didn't suit him. It just made him look more like a wimpy Jew boy.
Now, I must add one more thing to his negative portrait. He always had saliva hanging around the corners of his mouth. He would get all excited talking to our class, and he'd have to stop to swallow it. It was pretty disgusting. My first few weeks in his class, however much I liked him, I couldn't bring myself to think of kissing him with all that crap around his lips. I hate sloppiness in bodily functions.
The other thing was, he was obviously a loser sexually. None of the girls in his classes could imagine him dating. He allowed students to call him any time of night. He was a night person, and slept between four in the morning and noon. So, we figured that he never went out on dates, and basically had no social life outside of the college. In classes, he seemed somewhat intimidated by the more aggressively sexy girls, and I shuddered to think what his nervous movement of bringing his knees far out and then in, very fast, while he sat in his chair meant.
Now, you might find it hard after all this to believe that I found myself intensely attracted to him. Well, it's true, and I bet you could ask the girls in his classes, and at least half would give you the same answer. There's something very attractive about a pathetic man. A girl wants to make him nervous, and then teach him to get enjoyment from sex. Not that I was very experienced sexually. I'd only been fucked by two boys before I went to college, and neither of them taught me much.
Robert was also cute. He had a constant patter of stupid, occasionally funny jokes. He was friendly and young. And, he was very intelligent. Within one week of classes, I had a great respect for his intelligence and his knowledge. I had been raised a mediocre Catholic not too religious, not too informed.
But, Robert taught me things about religion that I hadn't even thought were there to find out about. I found religion a fascinating subject. As well as Humanities, I also began to take introductory Religion with him. I found it invaluable when reading such poets as Dante, Eliot, and Pound.
Well, I was a bright, eager young thing. I was determined to make the most out of this very expensive college experience, so Robert got to know me right away. I was one of the biggest talkers in the conference.
I was also one of the most intelligent students in the class, if I may say so myself. I think Robert began to like me right away. I wasn't all sexy either, so I didn't intimidate him, even though I was a female.
Well, I grew more and more attracted to him. I decided that I would kiss and fuck him despite his physical ugliness, if I ever had a chance. By the time my first private paper conference came around, I was thinking of actually seducing him. I thought it would be a kick to have seduced a professor, and I wanted to be more intimate with him, as well.
Well, I did get more intimate with him, but it was he who seduced, and enslaved me. He was not nearly as pathetic as he made me once he got control over me.
I went to my first private paper conference in my one low cut sweater, and my tightest pair of pants. I had purposefully scheduled it for the last hour of the day. It was six o'clock. I thought I might get him to ask me out to dinner, and we'd see where it went from there.
Well, I went into his office, closed the door, and sat down in what I considered my most seductive position. Robert sat behind his cluttered desk, and spoke to me about my paper. He told me that it was a good paper, but he had some corrections in structuring and logic. My spelling, as it always is, was horrible.
I leaned over his desk, exposing the top part of my breasts, to look at the paper. I thought I detected an air of nervousness about him. I felt triumphant. Then, to my great joy and surprise, what I had dreamed of happened. Robert asked me out to dinner with him. I of course said yes, and we went out to his little car. It was an old, dusty thing. But, I felt wonderful riding alone, next to him, going out for Chinese food.
We went downtown, and sat in a dark booth. Robert, being from New York knew more about Chinese food, so he did the ordering. And, indeed, from that time on, he did all the ordering. He ordered me, and everything to do with our relationship.
After we ate, he asked me over his house, or rather, he assumed I would go with him. I was happy enough to go along with his sudden masterfulness. He drove us to his dingy little flat. I don't know, the other assistant professors seem to dress and live better than he did, and I think they made the same salaries.
Anyhow, Robert led me into his little apartment, and then he locked the door. I thought it was a curious gesture, but I wasn't about to complain. I wanted to sleep with him.
It happened surprisingly fast. I was no sooner in the living room, then he grabbed my wrist, and through me down on the couch below him. He smothered me with his body, and he bit my mouth greedily.
I was pleased to succumb to his rough embraces. I figured there would be plenty of time later to teach him to be gentle. In fact, I found it arousing to have a man apparently overcome with passion. So overcome that he was slurping and biting at me.
Soon, Robert was trying to tear off my clothes. I helped him along, and I was soon naked. Then, I assisted him in taking off his pants. His cock was erect. I drew off his boxer shorts, and exposed the member to my sight.
His cock was on the small side. It was quite short, but it was reasonably thick. He had red pubic hair, and freckles all over his body.
Robert was drooling over my naked body. He sucked on my tits, and bit them painfully.
Then, he tried to get himself in position to fuck me.
I willingly spread my legs, and wrapped them around his thick waist. I pressed my hot cunt to him. He moved his throbbing cock near my hole, which I was spreading open with my own fingers for him.
He was nearly spastic with excitement. He was breathing in gasps, and his mouth was foaming. Then, all of a sudden foam was coming out of somewhere else.
Poor Robert had prematurely ejaculated. He had gotten so excited that he had come before he could enter my hot pussy. I was disappointed, but, again, I was appreciative of the fact that I had made a man get carried away with passion.
Robert's face looked like stone. His cock looked the opposite. It hung dejectedly, half its mediocre erect size.
I was just about to comfort Robert. I was going to tell him that I didn't mind. I was going to kiss and caress him to new erection, and then show him how to fuck slowly and well. Even my meager experiences had shown me how to do better.
But, before I could carry through my plan, I felt the painful weight of Robert's hand. He had struck me! I couldn't believe it. He must have been carried away with shame and anger, I thought. But, I soon found out that his behavior was normal, and not unique to that one moment. By then, however, I was stuck in my love and pity for him, and he could do whatever he wanted to me. I suffered all the shit he through at me those four years, because I cared for him. I wanted to help him. Instead, he ruined me.
Robert didn't just slap me once, he continued to hit me. My body was defenseless and naked. He hit my breasts, making them shake and turn red. He bruised my arms and legs. He concentrated his blows on my poor pussy. He pounded on my pussy until my clit was almost bleeding from being continually battered between his knuckles and my pubic bone.
I was moaning in pain, but he kept on pressing his weight over me, and beating up my poor body. He seemed to get excited by what he was doing. His penis filled up with blood, and I thought he would enter my cunt finally. But, he had other plans. I guess he was not about to experience another premature humiliation.
He pressed his knees on my breasts, and lay his crotch down on my face. He grabbed my cheeks between his cruel hands, and told me to suck him off. I had never done that before.
Robert's cock smelled of stale sweat and urine. I nearly gagged from nausea as I took it into my mouth. He commanded me to lick and suck him, and I had to obey. I didn't know what further tortures he had in store for me.
Fortunately, he had a quick orgasm. Soon, after his cock entered my mouth, it was dribbling come into it. Robert pulled my hair and told me to swallow his come. I let the disgusting fluid drain down my throat. I was totally offended. But, I still chalked everything up to Robert's shame at his unsuccessful fucking.
I even stayed the night with him. He beat me again in the morning, and I had to sneak back to my dormitory the next afternoon, and be sure I'd be alone in the shower, so that nobody would see all the black and blue marks on my body. But, fortunately, Robert only got one more erection. And, he was content to have me jerk him off with my hand, as he kicked at my shins.
You would think, Doctor, that I would have stopped seeing Robert after that night and morning. But, I guess I'm not healthy. I let him call me up, and take me out the next day, and I went through the whole scene again. And, I continued to let him abuse me, for four years.
I could see that Susan was too overwrought to continue the session. I suggested that she come back the next day. She got up, brushed herself off, and left.
INTERVIEW TWO
Susan came back the next day. She was as calm looking as she had been when she first came to my office. But, she would soon become even more upset than she had gotten on her first visit.
Well, so I began a long term relationship with Robert. Things weren't always bad, you know. I did learn a lot from him. We had fascinating intellectual discussions, and I did still get a thrill from knowing that I had a secret lover, and knowing that that secret lover was a professor.
You see, Doctor, I didn't tell anyone about my affair with Robert. I left my dormitory, where I had kept a low profile, after the first Christmas vacation. I got a small studio apartment, all to myself, near Robert's place. My parents didn't mind my move, as it cost less to live off-campus than on.
I didn't have any close friends to notice my relationship with Robert. I had a lot of academic acquaintances, a lot of people that I discussed classes and books with, but none that I was personally close with. So, nobody even suspected that Robert and I were sleeping together. In fact, I even joined in conversations with girls in my religion and Humanities classes to laugh about how Robert must never get his rocks off, and all.
And, actually, he really did have that problem. I soon realized that Robert's abusive treatment of me stemmed from his virility problem. Do you think that that's a good analysis, Doctor? Oh, yes, I guess you would have to have a thorough personal session with him to say for sure.
In any case, Robert rarely kept his erection for more than ten minutes, and if he actually kept it long and firm enough to enter me, he came within seconds. If he was in anyway touched, his cock would go off like a gun.
I began to notice that he often had pants that stuck to him during the day at the college. like, it wasn't really noticeable to an outsider, it just looked, at its worst, like his pants were bunched up. But, I saw a lot when I went home with him, that his pants stuck to him when I took them off of him. Then, I learned to tell when he had been sexually incontinent during classes.
He would have a lot of trouble getting it up when he needed it up, and it was almost impossible for him to retain his hard-on, but he often got one when it was uncomfortable, like in the middle of a class, when a sexy girl spoke to him. And, he would soon be triggered into orgasm, and make a mess in his pants right there in the class. I learned to tell what his foamy-mouthed pauses meant. It only took him a minute to come, fortunately, and nobody noticed what was happening. They just thought that he was a foamy-mouthed wimp.
At his place, Robert put away all his inhibitions. He let loose on me all of his rage and fury about his physical disabilities. And, I let him. I still admired his admirable points-his academic abilities, his sense of humor, his friendliness to students and I even felt honored that he was letting me get intimate with him. I felt that I would be able to cure his problems. I wanted to help him.
When he wasn't in the midst of venting his rage on me, Robert would foster these feeling in me. I know now that these were just ruses to get me to stay with him and put up with all the shit that he would throw at me. I've read a bit about abused women, and I read that many conspire in their own abuse. They like to feel needed.
I guess feeling needed also makes you feel superior in some way. I guess part of my tie to that sick relationship was that I was able to feel superior to a teacher. But, never academically. Robert was not only a physical male bully, but he had to always be on top intellectually.
Robert never let me forget that I was an undergraduate. He was always throwing bits of philosophy in Latin, names of esoteric scholars, stuff like that, at me. He made me feel incredibly inferior to him. He also believed that women are intellectually inferior. I spent so much time with him, and he really was better educated than me, that I began to believe that, too. I at least felt that I was infinitely inferior to him.
Sexually, he had me totally bowed down. I got so used to him, that I forgot what normal sex was like. It didn't help to read pre-twentieth century novels where one got no picture of sexual women which didn't have them groveling in sin. I believe that Robert felt that way somewhere in his psyche. Yes, I know it's wrong for a lay person to speculate on people's psyches. Anyway, he seemed less disturbed by his sexual aberrations because he viewed me as a loose, Catholic girl. Even though it's the Spanish and Italian Catholic girls that are loose, not the Irish ones.
But, Robert had me believing that it was my lasciviousness which made him come too soon. He even blamed me for his in class orgasms. He said that it was me who was weakening him sexually.
A typical night of ours would go like this. I would come over after dinner. After my dinner, that is. I would come in, and Robert would make me fix dinner for him. He didn't like to feel that his electricity and food was going toward my dinner, so I wasn't allowed to eat with him.
Robert couldn't cook at all. Before he started going with me, he survived on canned beans and M&Ms. But, I treated him like a Jewish mother. I made him full dinners, with foods from all four food groups. I made him soup and salad and everything. He never said thank you. He just wolfed the food down, getting crumbs and stuff all over his chin and shirt. I liked to see him getting proper nutrition, though, so I didn't mind if he never thanked me. I felt that he was benefiting from my services.
After he had eaten, I would do the dishes, and he would go read the paper, and watch the news on television. When, I was finished, I'd join him in the living room. After a while, he would go take a shit. This usually took a long time.
Finally, he would be ready to fuck me, if he as up to it. We usually did it in the living room, as he didn't want me dirtying his bed, as he said.
Robert would come out of the bathroom, and expect me to be ready to serve his needs. He usually asked me to strip before him, while he lounged on the couch. Sometimes this made him hot.
I would put on his record of "Scheherazade" and begin to strip. He liked to shift his eyes between me, and the cover of the album. It was quite and old album, from the early sixties. It had this woman on the cover. She had dark hair and eyes, and pink and purple make up. She had gold and purple jewels hanging down her forehead. She was supposed to look like a Scheherazade, I guess. Maybe that was Robert's ideal.
He spent so much of his time studying ancient texts. He was steeped in old, middle eastern culture. I guess he wished he had a harem, or temple prostitutes. He seemed to like dusky colored women with quiet, mysterious auras. Fortunately, there were none like that at my college. The few Iranian girls were loud and crazy.
Anyhow, I would strip for Robert. I learned by practice to be quite good at it, if I may say so myself. Robert would tell me how to face and what to take off when, and how.
I would teasingly take off my shirt, pulling on the sleeves. Then, pants would slowly descend, as I wiggled my hips. Next, I would take off my bra for several minutes, revealing and covering my tits until Robert was slobbering. Finally, I would have nothing but panties on. I would take a long time removing them. When my pussy showed, it was a great moment.
Then, I would go over to sit by Robert, and take his clothes off. I made sure to take his pants off the last minute possible, so as not to over-excite him. But, he usually came once, before he could even have me blow him. Then, I would have to do all sorts of things to get him up again. As soon as he was part way erect, I would try to shove him up my cunt. As often as not, he would spurt out come all over my pubic hair before he could even penetrate. But, even when he did get himself up me, he came within two jerks of his pelvis.
Then, he would start to beat me. He was not fast about his hitting of me. He could continue to abuse me for hours. He would slap me around until my whole body was tingling. Then, he would grab my tits and squeeze them until they turned white, and I cried out.
Robert liked to pound on my cunt until I screamed in torture. Many times he kept doing it until it bled. It's a horrible thing to have the inner lips of your cunt bleeding. It's one thing to get your period. It's another thing to see your inner area bleed for another reason.
He also pulled at my head hair and my pubic hair until tears came to my eyes. I didn't resist him, but he would just keep on attacking me. If I began to cower, he would shove my shoulders back, and bite on my tits.
As the years went by, he thought of more and more ways to hurt me. He would hit me with anything that he could hold in one or two hands. I was battered with lamps, chairs, books, lots of books, and other blunt utensils.
Robert would frighten me by threatening me with a knife, but he never did anything directly to break my skin. He just liked to bruise me up.
He also yelled at me, until I thought my ears would burst. He would yell horrible, abusive things. He really put me down.
By the end of the night, I'd be reduced to tears. My body would ache, and I'd be so tired. But, Robert didn't want me around in the morning. He studied in the very late night and early morning, and he slept in the late morning.
So, I would be kicked out. I would have to walk home through the dark streets at any hour that he had decided that he had finished with me. He never offered to drive me home. Even when it was pouring rain outside, I would have to walk.
Fortunately, I lived close to him. But, still, I was petrified. There were a rash of rapes near my school, and I was sure that I would be a victim. Although, I doubt it would be much worse than the beating that Robert gave me nightly.
So, things went on like this, unchanged for the four years I was at college. Then, I finally broke away from him, to come here to go to graduate school. He acted as if he didn't care. He said he was sick of me anyhow. But, I like to think that he was letting me go for my own good. And, I like to think that he'll miss me. I think I did a lot for him.
Now, Doctor, my problem is forgetting him. I bet there are lots of intellectual bastards in academic circles who would relish a woman who would do to them what I did with Robert. But, I don't want to get into that scene again.
I want to be able to be confident, and sure of myself. I want to take care of my needs, not some man's. That's why I've come to you. I want to spoil myself and get over these guilt and insecurities I have. Please help me, Doctor.
Susan was silent. She waited for my reassurances. I looked at her heaving chest. I could tell that she had gotten aroused by her narration. I knew that she was still sexually tuned to abuse, even in the mere telling about it.
CONCLUSION
I think that a woman of Susan's intelligence has the hardest time to overcome her bad habits. I could see that she had spent four years justifying her attraction for abuse..
However, I told her that if she were to conscientiously work at her psychoanalysis, she would probably conquer her habit. She obviously would get ahead better if she did not have this taste for having herself put down.
CASE HISTORY FOUR
SUBJECT: Sharon D.
AGE: Twenty-five
INTERVIEW ONE
Sharon D. was a very neatly dressed young woman. She came into my office with a very sexy manner as well.
Sharon walked briskly into my office, and lay down on my couch. She had a trim figure, but it was mostly hidden by her linen suit. She wore some small jewelry, and a silk scarf around her neck.
She wore a modest amount of make up, and her hair was tied back in a low pony tail. Her hair was honey blonde, and her eyes were blue-green behind her large, pink-tinted glasses. She had pale brownish-pink polish on her nails. She had flawless teeth, and she smiled continually.
Sharon had come to me because a friend of hers had suggested that she see me. It was a fashion among her group to get psychoanalyzed. However, I soon found that it was a lucky thing that Sharon had come to me. She was indulging in sexual aberration, whose consequences can be dangerous. This is her story, as she told it to me.
Well, Doc, what should I tell you about? This is really strange, having someone sit and take notes while I tell my stories. I'm used to it the other way around.
You see, I'm a secretary. I went to the Kay Francis Secretarial School, as soon as I graduated from high school. I learned typing, shorthand, and stenography.
I was tops in all my classes, and I got a job right away. They place you from the school, which is a really good deal. So, right away, when I was just nineteen, I got a job as personal secretary to Mr. George Reeve of Harrison, Moffet, Jamison, & Reeve. That's a law firm. Mr. Reeve is a partner, even though he is only thirty-five years old.
You can imagine how pleased I was to have landed such a neat job, right out of secretarial school. I soon learned from the stenographer's pool gossip, that Mr. Reeve liked pretty, young secretaries. So, I guess I was just really in luck. Most personal secretaries are at least twenty-seven in my firm. I didn't have any paralegal experience or anything. I was really grateful to Mr. Reeve for getting me the job.
Well, I came to the office my first day, and I flipped when I saw Mr. Reeve.
What a dreamboat! He had dark hair, thick and a little wavy. He had deep blue eyes, and tanned skin. He stood up to shake hands with me, and I saw that he was quite tall. Just my type. He had a baritone voice. It's a really sexy voice, even when he's just talking to a client on the phone.
Well, in short, every secretary's secret dream of having a handsome boss was answered. Did you ever see the movie, "Thoroughly Modern Millie"? It's with Julie Andrews and Mary Tyler Moore two of my favorite actresses. No? Well, there's a scene in that movie where Julie Andrews goes to see her boss for the first time. She's a secretary, too. She starts to hum "Babyface" to herself, and her face lights up. That's how I felt when I first saw Mr. Reeve. God! I was creaming through my nylons!
Well, he was nice as could be to me. He showed me around the office, introducing me to people as his "right-hand man". Everyone laughed because I'm so obviously not a man. And he didn't load the work on me right away, even though he's a very busy man.
So, I was in cloud nine for my first few weeks on the job. I soon learned the ropes, and I think Mr. Reeve appreciated my work. He was in the midst of an important corporate case. Pretty soon, I was working overtime to help him get everything done in time. I didn't mind, though. Working with George was better than going on any date.
Yeah, I guess you could say that I fell for my boss. We had a few lectures in the Francis School about office romances. They strongly suggested that we not get involved with our bosses, especially if they were married, and George was, and is married. But, who could resist such a hunk? Besides, we all knew, us girls, that a secretary often gets very intimate with her boss. After all, she sees him more, and in a more vigorous mood, than his wife does.
I didn't even feel guilty once I met his own wife. What a bitch! She's one of those women that probably never worked in their lives. I know she had a maid at home to do all the cleaning, and they had a cook, too. She also used to have a nurse to watch over their two little kids, until the kids got old enough for school.
I was really sorry for George, to be saddled with such a woman. She treated him like shit. She probably sees him as just a meal ticket. George told me that he married her as soon as he was made a partner in the firm. I bet she was waiting for him to show some earning potential. Even though he knew her since he was little. They both grew up in the same upper middle class Connecticut neighborhood. Then, when she is introduced to him again, and he's the partner in a law firm, she latches on to him. She probably did nothing but stay at her parents' house and play tennis before that.
Me, I had to work since I was sixteen. I don't respect people who don't work. How can they respect themselves? Why, if I could marry George, even though he makes plenty of money, I'd still work. I'd like to still be his secretary. Unless he wanted me to stay at home. Then, I'd work my tail off making it a clean house, and cooking, and raising his kids. You wouldn't catch me at the shops all day, spending his hard-earned money, while the servants did all the housework.
Yeah, Mrs. Reeve is not bad looking. But, I wouldn't say she's better looking than me. I hope this doesn't sound too boastful. But, I have no bounds when it comes to that bitch.
Well, she's older than me. I prefer older men. Someone about George's age is just about right for a woman my age, I think. I guess Mrs. Reeve was very pretty when she was younger, and she sure looks like she does everything she can to stay young looking. She spends all day at Elizabeth Arden, and places like that. George always grumbles to her about the bills.
George and his wife are always bickering. She talks up to him like he owes her something. I can't see that. All she's ever done is put her name on the adoption papers. Apparently, she either couldn't or wouldn't bear kids, and George really wanted some. So, they adopted two. Then, she got a nurse to take care of them. So, she's really done nothing as his wife. All she does is invite people over for dinner parties, and act the hostess, while caterers do all the work.
Well, because of the way I feel about George being stuck in an unhappy marriage, I'm not ashamed that I started to fool around with him. I'm discreet about it. I don't beg him for a divorce, although I want nothing better from life than to be Mrs. George Reeve. But, I realize he has a lot of things to worry about, and Mrs. Reeve would probably stick him for an outrageous alimony, although from what I can see, she's done all the benefiting from their marriage.
It all began in my second month at the office. George had another urgent suit, and I stayed late everyday to help him prepare it. Finally, the case went to court, and George was successful. The next day, he told me I could have a raise. I was astonished to get such a treat, so soon after getting the job. It was already a high paying job, too. I decided to spend my extra ten dollars a week to get nicer clothes to wear to the office.
Then, even better than the raise, George invited me out to dinner. We were staying late to tidy up some last minute things in the case, and it was already past seven. I, of course, jumped at the chance. George smiled at my enthusiasm.
"You're so refreshingly young." He said to me.
"Oh, you're very young yourself, Mr. Reeve." I said, rather shyly.
"You flatter me. I'm more than ten years older than you, Sharon." He said.
"Oh, but age is different for men than for women. A woman your age might not be young, but a man is." I was a little afraid that he'd see that I was making a dig at his wife.
But, he said, "Perhaps that's true. I know my wife is my age, and she is not nearly as lively as a young woman. Sometimes I feel she's positively middle aged."
I didn't say anything. As much as I wanted to encourage him to p r down his wife, I thought it would be gauche to be blatant about it.
But, George seemed to want to talk about his unhappy marriage. He said, "My wife doesn't understand me, I guess."
I was thrilled that he would confide in me that way. I tried to be understanding, and warm, but not vulgarly curious. I remained silent, but I looked at him soulfully.
"I guess I shouldn't burden a young girl like you with my problems."
"If you want to, I don't mind, Mr. Reeve."
"You're my first personal secretary that I've picked out myself. My first years after I was made a partner, I had this old battle axe. I guess I shouldn't say that about her. She was a very competent secretary, and she was a nice woman. But, she was old and ugly, and strict. I never felt comfortable with her. But, I was afraid to fire her. I was still too new at my position, and I didn't want to make waves. Mr. Moffet had sent her to me. He said she knew as much as many of the senior lawyers, and she would be a great help to me. I guess she was."
"Where is she now?"
"Oh, she finally retired. Or, rather, her husband retired, and they moved to Florida."
"Oh."
"Then, I got to find my own personal secretary. I liked you right away when I interviewed you. I picked you right away, and I cancelled all the other interviews."
"Thank you, that's very flattering."
"It's true. I thought you were the prettiest, brightest little girl I'd seen. I couldn't wait to have you working with me."
"Well, thank you. I was pretty thrilled to be working with you, too."
"Well, I hope we can get even closer, since we have such a mutual admiration society."
You can imagine, Doctor, how my heart skipped a beat when he said that. I was a virgin, and I couldn't think of anything better than to give my virginity to my boss.
Well, we went out to dinner, and George became even more intimate with me during the meal. We both had a few cocktails, and our tongues were loosened. We began to be really friendly, and we spent most of the dinner laughing.
After he paid the bill, from his expense account, George asked if he could escort me home. I said yes, of course. I hope you don't think me terribly wicked for letting him have me so easily, Doctor.
George drove me to my place. I was making enough money to live alone, and I was really glad of it at that moment. I had lived with a roommate during secretarial school, and I although I didn't have guests over night, she often did, and I remember how awkward it had been. I had had to tip-toe around, not to run into her and her man friend.
But, George and I had the whole place to ourselves. I kept my place nice and neat, and I was very happy when George complimented me on it. I sat with him on the divan, and then I said, "Can I get you a drink?"
"No, but, I'd like to make one for you in a little while."
"What sort of a drink?" I asked.
"Let's have that be a surprise. But, let's kiss first."
I closed my eyes, and turned my pursed mouth up to him. He grasped my head in his strong hands, and kissed me hard. I had never been so thrilled in all my life. He was an intense kisser. He bit my mouth and everything. I was too carried away to mind the pain. I even enjoyed it.
Well, he kept me in his strong grasp, and he started to take off my shirt. He started with the bottom buttons, and worked his way slowly up. He caressed my belly and chest as he worked his way up to my tits. I was panting with excitement.
Finally, my blouse was totally opened. He kneaded my breasts with his strong hands. I almost fainted from the excitement and sensations. Then, he ripped off my bra. My nipples pointed out hard at him. I was so excited to be topless in front of my boss.
He put his head down, and bit at my tits. It hurt, but it also aroused me. My panties were all sticky. As he sucked and nibbled at my nipples, he stuck a hand down my skirt. I wriggled with pleasure.
I had never had a boy get to bare tit on me, and nobody had ever touched my bare pussy. But, I let my boss do whatever he wanted. I was ready and willing to have him totally.
George rubbed at my sticky cunt, and I started to throb with desire. He did not seem particularly aroused. He was working my body like he was a technician or something. He was breathing regularly, and all.
I began to worry that I wasn't exciting him. He was making me so excited, and I was failing him. I didn't think that was right. He just kept rubbing my cunt, and I was about to come, but he didn't make a move to take off his pants. I didn't see any bulge in his crotch, either.
I was really getting worried. Then, just before I felt my first orgasm, he drew his hand away. I looked at him with hurt. He looked down. I said, "What's the matter, Mr. Reeve. Aren't I exciting you? Please, I want to be good for you. Tell me what to do to excite you."
He said, "I'm afraid I can't tell you. You are too nice a girl."
I was desperate, I said, "Please, Mr. Reeve. Tell me what to do. I'll do anything for you!"
He was silent. Finally, he took my shirt, and tied my hands behind my back. I was frightened, but I was willing to do whatever he needed for arousal. Then, he took off my skirt and tied my legs behind my with it. I was like a calf at a rodeo, only the other way around.
He carried me into the bathroom. He put me into the cold tub. I was startled by his actions, but so far, nothing had hurt me very badly. The cold tile felt uncomfortable, but that's all.
Then, my boss pulled down his fly. I was happy, I thought he'd at last gotten aroused to fuck me. I thought it was a pretty strange way to lose my virginity, but it didn't matter as long as I lost it with my boss, my handsome boss.
Well, George did not have an erection. I wondered what he was going to do. He waved his dick over me, holding it with one hand, and he said, "You want me to get aroused?"
I said, "Yes. I want you to take my virginity."
He said. "Oh, you're a virgin, that's good. I like to be the first."
"I'm glad I can give it to you, Mr. Reeve." I said.
"You're a good girl. I bet you'll be just right for my needs. You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, yes, sir. I really would. I've felt that way about you since I met you."
"I thought you would do anything for me the first time I saw you. That's why I hired "Thank you, sir."
"You'll stay with me for a long time as my secretary if you work out well."
"I hope so, Mr. Reeve. I love my job."
"Good. I want you to enjoy every minute of it."
"I have, sir."
"Even now?"
"Yes, especially now, Mr. Reeve. I want to have sex with you. I want to serve all your needs. I know your wife doesn't."
"Well, she once did. That's why I married her. But, since we got that piece of paper, and she was safe, she refused to work with me anymore."
"You poor man."
"I'm a man with special sexual needs, Sharon. I need a special woman to fulfill them."
"Yes, Mr. Reeve?"
"I want you, Sharon, to be that woman."
"Oh, yes, sir! I so much want to be yours, all yours. I'll do anything."
"Good. Now, I'm going to take your virginity tonight, Sharon."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Reeve. I couldn't dream of anything better than to let you have my most precious gift."
"Good. But, first, I feel the need to piss. I want you to take my urine, Sharon. I want you to prove to me that you love me, and will do anything for me, before I allow you to fuck me."
Well, Doctor, I had never heard of such a thing. I was too astonished to answer him. But, he didn't even wait for my answer. He began to piss all over my bound, naked body. I felt the warm stream flow over me. I was shocked.
I couldn't even protest, when he jammed his cock into my mouth, to shoot the last bit of urine into my throat. I closed my eyes, and tried to wake up from the strange dream. But, when I opened my eyes, I was still there in the tub.
Mr. Reeve took the shower and sprayed warm water all over me, to rinse me off. Then, he toweled me dry. Once I was dry, he carried me into my bedroom. He placed me on the bed. I could still feel his warm stream of piss splashing on my pussy. I was dazed and humiliated. Mr. Reeve just smiled at me, though.
George took off his pants and shirt and tie. I looked at his gorgeous body. He really was a hunk. He had an erection, too. I had never seen a man's prick before, but I could tell that his was exceptionally large. It was long and narrow. He had thick dark hairs on his balls, and a lot of bluish veins on his thighs and stomach.
My cunt was washed clean of piss, and open facing him. He bent over me, and stuck his cock to my virgin hole. With one thrust, he broke through my hymen. I was in great pain. I could feel the blood surging out of the violated skin.
George thrust again and again into me. I screamed in renewed pain, but he paid me no mind. He just went after his own satisfaction. He had a lot of stamina, and he kept on pumping in and out of me. Each time he went deep into me, I felt a stab of pain. My face was a mess of tears.
Finally, after many minutes of pain and humiliation, George came. I felt the liquid bubble inside of me. I could be getting pregnant, I thought. Then, what would I have done. He took no precautions, and he knew I was a virgin and had taken none.
I realized that George was using me for his own satisfaction. He didn't care about me at all. And, I let him. I wanted him to take all he could from me. I wished I had even more to give him. I wanted him to know that he could possess me totally.
I said to him, "You can do whatever you want with me, Mr. Reeve. I'll be the perfect secretary."
He didn't say anything. He just got dressed, loosened my ties, so that I could remove them myself. I walked him to the door. I was still naked. He didn't say goodbye. He only said, "I'll expect you at work a half hour early tomorrow."
I said, "Whatever you say, Mr. Reeve. I'll be there to serve you."
Sharon seemed to have come to the end of her rope. She seemed too tired and excited to continue. I suggested that she return later for a second interview. She agreed. I could see that she was rather proud to tell me of her total subjugation to her boss. I knew that the following interview would tell of even worse humiliations.
INTERVIEW TWO
Sharon returned the following week. She was as well-dressed, and modest in attire as at our first interview. She smiled at me with her white teeth, and lay on my couch. Her legs squirmed with excitement as she continued her story.
Well, Doctor, I went early the day after my boss had pissed on me, and broken my virginity. Mr. Reeve wasn't in the office until his usual time. I had nothing to do but sharpen all the pencils, and straighten up his desk. At nine o'clock, he finally came to work.
I asked him, "Didn't you want me to come early today?"
"Yes, I told you to come early."
"I didn't find anything to do. I thought you would come early, too."
"I just wanted you to get up early. It's good for you. You don't spend enough time in the office. From now on, I'm extending your hours by half an hour in the morning, and two hours at night."
"And what shall I do in those extra hours?"
"Whatever I tell you to do. And, if I don't tell you to do something, then you should just wait."
"Yes, sir."
"Now take a letter to the Burling Game Corporation."
"Yes, Mr. Reeve."
So, I went through all my normal secretarial activities. The only change in the day was, whenever George had to take a piss, I would have to come with him to his private bathroom, and kneel on the tile floor, while he pissed all over my face, and into my mouth. I had to keep a special pile of towels to wrap around my neck, so that I wouldn't get my suit pissed on.
I didn't enjoy getting pissed on. It was only enjoyable because by letting him do that, I was showing him I cared about him a lot. I've since read of perverts that get off on that. But, we're not perverts. We just do it for the symbolic effect. It is a sign of our relationship. It shows that I am totally his, to do with what he pleases. I will even let him relieve himself in me.
You see, Doctor, I've always dreamed of having a beautiful man boss me around. I always had stupid, ugly teachers at school, and I dreamed of a perfect boss, who would only boss me around, and who would be worthy of my service. I found that boss in George Reeve. I am very happy working for him.
I constantly look for more ways to show him how completely he has hired me. He owns my services. I even made him decrease my salary so I was more dependent. He has to know that I am dependent on his money. So, I take enough to live on. He also says it gives him more of a sense of dominance when he pays me to do all the things he does to me, so he pays me five dollars every time he pisses on me, two dollars every time he fucks me, three dollars for a blow job, and twelve dollars for anal sex.
He soon introduced me to all those variations on fucking. He taught me to give a good blowjob. After a while he got tired of my cunt, and since then, he's mostly been butt-fucking me. That hurts, but we both consider it more humiliating, so we like it better.
But, during the day, he-likes me to just give him a quick blow job, while he takes a break in his work. Sometimes, he pisses a little into my mouth, before he gets hard. Then, I suck him to erection, and he pumps in and out of my mouth until he comes. I swallow every drop of his come, just like swallowing all the piss he shoots into me.
I'm an excellent secretary in the usual ways, too. I always have a pot of coffee ready for him in the morning. I spend my early half hour brewing coffee and getting him a nice Danish. I have to walk several blocks to get the type he-likes. Sometimes in the middle of the day he'll get a craving for something, and I'll have to walk out and find it. That usually takes a lot of effort since our office is not in an area with a lot of stores and restaurants around. I sometimes bake him things at home. He never notices them. He eats them like they were from the lousy cafeteria in the building, but, I'm glad to know that I've served him well.
I always stay late to finish portfolios for him. He never has to call in an extra typist from the pool. I don't want those girls around my boss. I'm jealous. I want to be his only personal employee.
I work so hard for him. I really have no personal life outside of my office life. The only time I look at another man is when George wants me to flirt with a client or an opponent of his.
Well, once, George had a potentially very big corporate client. This man took a liking to me, and he suggested to George that if he found me nice, he'd probably give George a retainer.
So, George told me to flirt with the man, and to let him seduce me. This guy was gray-haired and wrinkled, and he was short and fat, but I did what George asked. I let the man invite me to dinner when George was out of the room.
I went out to dinner with the client, then he suggested we go up to a hotel room. I agreed, trying to look enthusiastic. The only way I could do that was to think of the service I was doing my boss.
George had told me to do what the man said, and if he didn't ask for anything special, to give him a blow-job. Well, the man just fucked me very quickly, after a little kissing and tit squeezing. He went in and out a few times, came, and withdrew. He lay beside me, wheezing, and it looked like that was that.
He said, "Well, I'm sorry I was so fast. If you give me another hour or so, maybe we can try again."
He turned on the television, and we watched the "Cher" variety show. I could see that the man was getting aroused watching it, but his prick wasn't responding with him.
I slid down to the other end of the double bed, and began to lick the man's thighs. He smiled at me with surprise. He said, "Why you charming little girl! Who taught you to do that?"
"Nobody, sir. I just want to make you feel good." I said.
He sighed, and continued to watch Cher try to sing and act, while I licked his hairy crotch. I got his loose hairs in my mouth, and I almost gagged. I can't stand that feeling. George's hairs are smooth and stay in him.
I licked the man's balls until he was moaning with pleasure. I then began to flick my tongue on his cock. But, I only touched it a bit at a time, until he was all teased up, and I saw it swell up a bit.
I then began to make long strokes with my tongue along his cock's length. He ran his fingers through my hair, but continued to watch the television. Finally, I took his whole cock into my mouth.
I sucked hard on it, while I ran my tongue along and around it. Finally, he got hard. I kept sucking and sucking. He must have been going wild, because I could hear him groaning, and making all sorts of noises, and he was wriggling his flabby hips with pleasure.
I sucked and sucked. Finally, he squirted his filthy come into me. I even swallowed it. After I felt him get all soft again, I gently removed my head from his dick. I looked up at him. He was beaming at me gratefully. I guess he couldn't believe that he had gotten a blowjob from a young blonde without paying her anything, or being her boss.
But, what he didn't know, was that my payment was in getting a good client for my boss. And, I'd do anything for George. I proved that when I went to a motel room with a silly old man, in order to land a contract for George.
But, then, after all that, the bastard didn't even put George on retainer. As soon as George learned that the man had gone to somebody else he said to me, "Didn't you give him a good time at a motel?"
I said, "Yes, Mr. Reeve. I fucked him, and gave him a blow job. He looked like he was really grateful. He even sent me a bouquet of flowers the next day."
"Well, you must not have done well enough, because I lost the account. I thought you were going to serve me well."
"I did all I could, Mr. Reeve. I did everything you said to do."
"Don't you talk back to me like that! You obviously weren't serving me well if I didn't get the contract, and you will pay for it!"
"I'm sorry, so sorry, Mr. Reeve. I'll do anything you say to make it up."
"Yes, you will. You will pay for this loss to me.
I couldn't imagine what he was going to do. Then, I saw him take out his belt from his pants. He locked the door to his office. He said, "Take off your clothes."
I took them off. Then, he said, "Stand against that wall."
I stood against the paneling, and George began to strike me with the belt. The leather really hurt me. It stung my skin, and the force of the lashes shocked me. I was in tears. But, I was also happy that George was getting out some of his frustration for losing that big retainer.
He hit at my breasts and at my cunt the most. My pussy stung from the belt. Then, after all the whipping got him out of breath, George came over to me. He took the belt buckle, and worked it into my cunt. The corners and the cold metal didn't feel good. But, I let George do what he wanted. He took the belt, and kept feeding it into my cunt until it was all the way up it.
Then, he told me to keep it there all day. I was extremely uncomfortable to wear it up me under all my clothes, and walking around all day, going to the Xerox machine and the stenographer's pool. I even had to walk six blocks to get George Chinese food for lunch.
But, I did it for my boss. He needs me. Every important man needs a personal secretary to do every little job for him, and to let him vent his frustrations on her. My boss can do whatever he wants to me. After all, what's a secretary for?
CONCLUSION
I felt that Sharon's relationship with her boss was very unhealthy, not to mention unprofessional. However, both of them, according to her report seem to benefit from the situation. In such cases, I do not feel that it is necessary to interfere.
I told Sharon to watch out that she does nothing to harm another person in her boss' service. I also told her that if she ever feels that she is dissatisfied with her working situation, she should come see me. However, I don't believe she ever will grow tired of her position. She seems to have deep seated needs for hard work and submission.
CASE HISTORY SIX
SUBJECT: Nellie M.
AGE: Twenty-three
INTERVIEW ONE
Nellie M. was a rather plain-looking woman. She had bedraggled hair, and a dumpy dress. But, I could tell that at some point she had been lovely. She still had a pretty face, and very large breasts whose nipples stood our erect from her dowdy dress.
She had large light blue eyes, and olive skin. She had brown hair which had been streaked with reddish-blonde. She had a gap between her two front teeth, and a wide smile.
She came in rather nervously, and I invited her to lie on the couch, and unburden her psyche. She got up on my couch, and began to tell me about her marriage.
I've come to you, finally, after five years of marriage, Doctor. I've suffered those five years, but I always kept thinking that things would get better. But, they only got worse, so finally, I ran away from him. I'm staying her with friends, and I'm seeking your help.
Nobody, none of my friends knew what was going on between my husband and me. They still don't know all the facts. All I've told them, even Pam, my best friend whom I'm staying with, is, that he was mean to me, and I couldn't take it any more.
So, you are the first person, Doctor, that this story will be told to. I trust it won't be told to anyone else. You have a code, don't you?
Well, Doctor, I was just a silly teenager when I got married. I'm of Syrian Jewish stock. I was born in Lebanon, actually, where my cousin lived. When I was eight, we moved New York, and since then, I've considered myself an American. However, my family virtually arranged this marriage for me.
It's funny, I've heard my American friends y that I was the least ready of all of us girls hung out with to get married. We were a silly bunch. Me and Pam, especially, spent all day gossiping and screaming with laughter, or stifling giggles.
Neither of us were very experienced sexually. We were very typical girls from Queens, I guess. Pam was born of American parents, and raised all her life in America, but, you probably couldn't see any difference between us in those days. We were both as American as the Yankees.
We went out on Saturday nights, and flirted with the cute boys we saw. Neither of us had a boyfriend for any length of time. We had more fun just flirting around, and giggling over it all later. We went to movies and dances at the local high schools.
Then, just when we were about to graduate from high school, and Pam was set to start Queens Community College along with me, my parents told me that we were going on a trip to Mexico City, to visit some relatives.
These relatives were very rich, although they came from Syria at the same time as we did, when we found an opportunity to escape Arab persecution. Well, they'd had a tip to go to Mexico from friends of theirs, and they did very well there. It's also, of course, a lot easier to live well in Mexico. You're either rich or poor. And they're rich.
Anyhow, it was my parents' intention that I meet and marry my second cousin. His name is Sam. He's short, quite short, but he can appear attractive until his true character shows. He has light brown, wavy hair, and a handle bar moustache. He has the same blue eyes and olive skin that I do. It runs through half of our family.
Well, what with both our family's fondest wishes, and being constantly thrown together, my much more sophisticated second cousin soon was proposing marriage to me, and I was accepting him. I was too silly to know any better. I didn't realize that marriage would mean a drastic change in my life, and marriage to Sam would be especially drastic. But, nobody knew how drastic his type of marriage would be. Much, as my parents liked the connection with our own close relatives, and wealth, I'm sure they wouldn't have allowed me to marry such a monster if they had known his true nature.
Well, I all surprised, and some mumbled about my naivete', but they mostly just wished me luck. I would be going to live in Mexico City, and although my new family had plenty of money, they didn't use it to travel. They hadn't been once to New York, and that is why I'd never met Sam before. They expected my parents to come down, at their expense to visit them. So, Pam and I had a number of crying jags about the distance that would be between us.
So, I graduated, with no honors. I'm no student. That's perhaps one reason why I rushed into marriage. I really could think of no other thing to do with my life. I wasn't going to become a student. Community College doesn't count for much. I was just going to take typing, and hope to get a secretarial job. But, I doubt I would even be that good in that. So, marriage to a seemingly charming cousin, in an exotic city, with a huge villa, and plenty of money seemed like a good deal. I wouldn't even have to do any housework. Sam had many servants. The poorer Mexicans are happy to get a job, any job, and they work for very little pay. So, I would have nothing to do except be gracious, and have sex with my husband.
I was most excited about that prospect. My mother told me all about what to expect. She brought me to a gynecologist to get checked up, for the first time, and to get a diaphragm. I insisted on seeing a female gynecologist, as I couldn't imagine a man looking all up me like that.
My mother told me to be patient with my husband, and to let him lead the way in sex. She told me that she suffered in sex for years, but lately, using some of the new manuals, she was learning to enjoy it. But, she suggested that I let my husband go at his own pace, until at least the third year of our marriage.
The only reason for a wedding is a wedding gown, and my mother-in-law had a gorgeous one made for me from Mexican lace. It just dripped lace, all over the bodice and skirt, and then I had a veil that trailed in the back for five feet. My little cousins held it and threw flowers along the red carpet, and it was just a magnificent wedding.
We all danced and ate and drank, and had a great time at the reception. I'll never forget my wedding, no matter what horrible memories intrude on it. Sam looked fine in his white dress suit, and he was acting charming to everyone. Everyone was happy.
Then, after the reception, Sam and I left for our honeymoon. He had arranged it to be a surprise for me. It certainly was a surprise.
We flew to this island which arranges private vacations. Sam arranged it all. So far as any of us knew, it was a legitimate vacation hide-away. But, it was horrible. It was this thing especially set-up for sick, perverted rich men. They could bring their victims there, from the place.
There were some waiters there, but they were all perverts who enjoyed helping the customers get off in their sick way. Sam had apparently been there before. Many of the waiters knew his name. They winked at him when he said I was his bride. Apparently he had taken many poor "brides" there, but even more horrible than renting a prostitute, or kidnapping a poor Indian girl to go to the island with him, was Sam taking me, his second cousin, and real bride, to honeymoon at that awful spot.
Oh, Doctor, I shudder just to think of it. Can you imagine what a horrible, sick perversion of a honeymoon it was?
I guess Sam had ordered the honeymoon special. Everything was set up to make me really get tied to him, to become his. This way. I was totally horrified, but I could do nothing but submit.
When I first stepped off of the little boat to the island, I was man-handled by some burly waiters. They tore off my new traveling suit, and began to tie me up. I screamed. Sam was arranging for our luggage to be brought to the house. I expected him to come and protect me. I thought we'd have a romantic saving, and I could kiss him even more fondly on our wedding night. Well, he did come to my call, but he just stood there laughing evilly. I looked at him in disbelief. He said, "Welcome to our honeymoon, Nellie. This is something you'll never be able to forget."
I looked at him wildly as the men finished tying me up. Then, they threw me, naked and bound, into an old rusty wheelbarrow, and wheeled me to the house. Sam walked beside them, talking excitedly with them in Spanish. I couldn't understand much with my high school Spanish, but I knew enough, just by their tones of voice to know that my bridegroom was deciding what to do to me next.
Well, they wheeled me to this big old house. It must have been constructed in colonial days. It looked like a haunted mansion. You know, the type that they're having a big competition on television between two of them in New Jersey? I don't know why. I would never pay, even to see a simulated, "fun" version of the place where I was initiated into my husband's sick version of marriage.
Sam had the men dump me in this big room. If it had been in lighter colors, and the tone of the servants pleasanter, I would have thought it was a honeymoon suite. But, it was for a dark honeymoon.
Sam just let me lay on the floor, all tied up, while he told me a little of what would be in store for me on our honeymoon week. His eyes shined as he told me that first, he would make me his. I thought he meant sex, but he meant something different.
The men returned, Sam having rang the bell for them. They put me back in the wheelbarrow, and wheeled me to this stable. Sam followed us. I saw some beautiful, black horses in the stable, but we weren't going riding.
There was this older man waiting for us in the corner of the stable. He wore a dirty, leather smock. He smiled at Sam. Sam said, "This is my wife. She must take on my name."
The man said, "Very good, sir."
Sam wrote down his name for the man. Then, I noticed the coal furnace, and the irons. You can guess what happened next. My husband had the man brand me like a bull. The man had branding irons for every letter of the alphabet, in capitals and small letters, as well as the Spanish accents.
We have a rather long last name, although Samuel is mercifully short. But, I soon had my new name firmly engraved in my mind. The hot irons seared my skin. I was in intense pain. I was also totally humiliated. I cried to my husband for mercy, but he only laughed. Finally, it was all too much for me, and I fainted.
But, they threw the cold water that they kept to cool the irons in on my head. I woke up to more pain. The men had tied me so that my back was flat and exposed. That is where my new name was branded onto me. My nerves were totally frazzled by the excruciating pain. It was only the introduction to the horrors to come, however.
I could see that Nellie was too upset to continue. I told her to return the following day. She wiped off her tears, and got up. She left my office.
INTERVIEW TWO
Nellie M. returned the next day. I can't say she looked any better. We were still in the midst of her narration, and she was reliving all the terrifying details of her marriage.
I still had several more outrages to endure before my marriage would be consummated. My husband was making a horrible mockery and torture out of the time I had often dreamed about.
The honeymoon traditionally centers on the breaking of the wife's hymen. I knew that this involved a bit of pain, even perhaps shame, but my husband made it something so much more gruesome.
They wheeled me back to the suite, and left me alone for several hours to recover. One of the men even spread a healing liquid on my bums. I was partially untied. Only my ankles and wrists were connected, so, I could have my body straight or curled, as I wished.
I slept fitfully those few hours. I guess that's the body's natural release from unthinkable horror. But, my release was short. All too soon, the door was unlocked, and Sam entered, along with a man in a long white coat, as well as the two henchmen.
The man in the white coat was carrying a big black leather bag. He set it on the table near the bed, while the two henchmen adjusted my binds. They put me into a position where my pussy was spread wide and slightly lifted up off the bed. They had my hands and legs spread, and attached tightly to the four posts of the bed. They had put an old pillow under my ass to lift my pelvis up. It was a filthy thing, with blood stains, and other dark sorts of stains. By the time they finished securing me into that position, the man in the white coat was ready. First, he took out an old fashioned straight razor. He put it to my cunt. I shivered with fear. I kept perfectly still, so the blade wouldn't slip and mutilate me. He shaved my pubic hair off.
All of the men stood around, and watched. I had never been so humiliated in my life. I, who had never even gone past second base with a boy, was having my bare, bald pussy observed by my new husband and three strange men.
You know, Sam had hardly touched me during our courtship and engagement. That was one of the things I had liked about him. I thought it showed that he was a real gentleman. The farthest he had gone was to kiss me goodnight, with a light peck on my closed lips. I figured that he was waiting for marriage. He was, but he wasn't waiting for a nice, normal sex life.
After I had no hair on my pussy, the man in the long, white coat took a jar out of his bag. He put a large cotton wad to the mouth of the jar, and let the red liquid soak into it. Then, he dabbed my bald pussy with the red stuff. It didn't hurt, and I was thankful for that.
But, what followed hurt even worse than the branding. The man took a long hook needle out of his bag. He dipped it in another jar, and then held it up before his eyes. I looked at it with terror. I was right to feel terror.
The man put the needle to my pussy, and jabbed it through my outer cunt lips, near my hole. The pain was unbearable. Then, the man drew the needle through the other lip. The back of my cunt lips were then connected by the thick needle.
The man let me writhe in pain for several minutes, while he twisted the needle around. He was trying to thread the end of it with a sturdy, clear thread. It looked like nylon thread. He didn't seem to have a very good eye, and I was in agony for several minutes before he had the needle prepared.
Then, he pulled the needle out of my cunt lips. I was very relieved, the thread did not hurt nearly as much as the needle had. But, my relief was short-lived. The man in the white coat punctured my cunt lips again, slightly farther up toward my clit. The agony repeated.
This time, the man did not stop to let me get used to the new pain. Very quickly, he made another stitch through my cunt lips. I never got used to the pain of the sewing. Each new stab of the needle point, each new long traveling of the cold steel through my bleeding skin tortured me anew.
As I tried to faint, each new stab would awaken me with fresh pain. But, finally, the work was done. The doctor put his hands to the end of thread, and made a thick knot in it. Then, he bent down, and cut the thread from the needle with his teeth. As he pulled on the thread with his teeth, my cunt was pulled, and that increased my already excruciating pain.
My vulva was almost totally sewn up. The very top was open, I guess to allow my urine to escape. My cunt was a mess of blood and shredded skin. I was finally free to faint. I took my escape.
As I lost consciousness, I could see and feel the man in the white coat wiping my blood off with a wet cloth that one of the henchmen had given him. After that, he dabbed my mutilated cunt with something that stinged it.
I was left alone after that, and I remained unconscious until the next morning. Then, I was awakened by my bridegroom stomping into the room. He stood over me and yelled until I opened my eyes. I looked at him. He smiled like a devil.
"Now, is the moment you've been waiting for." He said to me.
Then, he took off his pants. I could see his cock. It was erect, but it wasn't so big. Then, my husband took something off of the table. It was a big sheath to cover his cock. He put it on.
It was made out of brown leather, but the tip was covered with metal. Sam strapped it around his thighs, and leaned over me. He put the covered cock to my cunt hole. As soon as he touched that area, pain shot through me.
I had hardly gotten time to recover from the stab of pain before my bridegroom shoved the steel into my virgin hole. He ripped through the hymen. The pain was little compared to the sewing of my cunt lips, but everything irritated me there.
I was totally dry and contracted. Sam shoved deep into me with the leather and metal. I feared that my stitches would break. I was so afraid that my cunt would really be ripped to shreds, but thankfully, the thread held, and only my hymen was perforated.
Sam pumped in and out of my tight hole. I just closed my eyes and endured the pain. Finally, I guess he came. He pulled out of me. I kept my eyes closed while he took the dick cover off of himself.
I had to open my eyes when he shoved the thing into my mouth. He said, "Suck the juice out of this."
I had to drink up the come that he had spurted into the leather sheath. I obeyed his command, fearing what would happen to me if I refused. After I did that, Sam left me.
I sank back into half-consciousness. But, I was soon awakened by the return of the man in the white coat. He came in, followed by Sam. The henchmen were absent.
They came over to me. Sam said, "I rave taken her virginity. Her cunt is of no more use to me. But, I don't want it to be of use to anyone else."
The man in the white coat said, "I understand."
He opened his bag up on the table. I shuddered with the memory of his previous work on me. He took out the red liquid again, and soaked the cotton with it. Then, he dabbed my vaginal area with it. He covered the opening of the vaginal canal with the red stuff.
I knew what must come next, but that didn't make the pain any better to take. He took a smaller, straight needle this time, and he threaded it before he punctured my delicate skin with it.
I gritted my teeth. I couldn't stand the pain. I screamed in agony, as he closed up my cunt hole with his diabolical sewing. Again and again the needle pierced my tender, pink skin.
Finally, he was through. My middle orifice was totally closed up. Sam bent down to examine the man's work, as the same stinging liquid was dabbed on my bleeding wounds. He said to the man, "You do good work, Mr. Pierce."
"Thank you, sir." Said the man. "We aim to please."
Oh, Doctor! That was the end of my sex life. My husband was relatively kind to me for the rest of our week there. I was untied, but I was locked in the room. I was fed meager food, but that was just as well, as elimination had become extremely painful for me.
My husband would come visit me everyday.
He would sit and tell me that I would be the mistress of his large house in Mexico City. He said that I would bring great disgrace on myself and our family if I tried to tell anyone of his treatment of me. He said that even if I got away from him, I would never get married again. He said that I would be a figure of derision to everyone, or, at best pity. He convinced me that the best thing for me would be to remain with him.
He promised me to keep my secret. He said that he even had special doctors who wouldn't care about the strange state of my genitals. I could go to them if I had any medical problems. Sam even suggested to me that he might change. The eternal feminine hope of changing her man convinced me to stay with him, and try to make the most of our marriage.
Well, when our week was up, we returned to Mexico City. I became the mistress of the house whenever we had company. Each time I thought to rebel, and confide in somebody of my horrible married life, Sam found a way to give me hope to hang on with him.
We didn't entertain much. When we did, I played gracious hostess. But, other than those few rare occasions, I was locked into the house, and treated like shit by my husband and his servants.
All the servants were specially trained to disregard my wishes. They were all on his side. He paid them to be that way, and they were too desperate for jobs to rebel. I was totally alone in my house.
Sam never talked to me except to put me down, and to convince me to stay with him. He never fucked me, and I was totally starved for affection, but he made me watch him fuck the servant girls.
He would go at them in front of me, and tell me how much prettier and sexier they were than me. My self-esteem became totally non-existent, as you can imagine. Our family does not believe in divorce, and I didn't dare complain to them.
So, I endured his brutal treatment for four years. What a waste of the best years of my life! I don't know what he wanted me for, except to bring his own self-esteem up. Apparently, he wasn't too popular with his own family. They had been happy to pawn him off on me.
He never tortured me much physically since our honeymoon. He'd slap me around occasionally, but nothing that left a mark that would show. It was mostly psychological torture in our house. He had me believing that I could hope for nothing more from life than my dismal existence under his rule. He had me convinced that the only affection I would ever receive would be watching him fuck a twelve year old servant girl. Life was very bleak for me. Then, a servant girl came into our house who was not totally under the sway of Sam's money. She took pity on my state, and I assured her that I would find her another job, and give her a bonus, if she helped me escape. She was going to marry a man in her village anyway, so she wasn't even committed to staying with Sam, or anyone as a servant. Sam must have slipped in taking her on. I guess he didn't check her out fully because he wanted her very pretty young body too much.
Well, this blessed girl helped me escape one day, and I managed to steal enough from my husband's household to fly to New York. Now, I am set to divorce him no, not a Mexican divorce. I won't go back to that country.
I'm ready to start a new life. I am prepared to blackmail Sam's family for the money I need to repair my cunt, and my psyche. Now, that I am out of his influence, I see that he has no power over me.
Now, all I need from you, Doctor, is some building up of my self-esteem. I still fall back into the depression that Sam fostered in me for all those years. I depend on you, Doctor, to help me to go toward a normal, healthy life.
Nellie sat up and looked at me. I smiled at her reassuringly. She had tears in her eyes.
CONCLUSION
I had high hopes for Nellie M.'s recovery. She soon received a large sum hush money-from her Mexican relatives. She used it to get skin grafts and plastic surgery. She was soon in good physical shape.
Her psychological recovery was to take much longer. But, she was on the road to health.
CASE HISTORY SEVEN
SUBJECT: Karen E.
AGE: Thirty
INTERVIEW ONE
Karen E. was a pretty, plump girl. She looked like a German country maid. She had shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair and lightly freckled skin. She had a cute, up-turned nose, and bright, blue eyes. She had thick eyebrows which gave her face a pleasant earthiness.
She looked like the sort of woman that many men would consider a nice bed-mate, but that they wouldn't fall in love with. She had no mystery, and she looked slightly stupid. However, she had a very pretty smile, and a self-assured manner.
Karen had been sent to me by her parents. They had kidnapped her away from the religious cult in which she had lived for three years. She still insisted that she wanted to go back to her cult. So, they sent her to me for psychotherapy. I am not a de-programmer, but it was suspected that her tie to the cult was more sexual than religious, or brainwashed, and, I am an expert on sexual deviation.
My parents want me to come to you, Doctor. You look like a nice man, so I don't mind. But, there's really nothing wrong with me. My parents disagree with the people that I used to live with. They insist that I stay with them, or live with a roommate. I'm not brainwashed, Doctor. I'm even willing to come see you, and stay a while with my parents to convince them of the sincerity and genuineness of my membership in the cult.
Well, it's the Universal Love Organization, actually, Doctor. We never call it a cult. It transcends all religions, it is not a small deviation. But, living so long with my parents, I've started calling it a cult, just to be quick about it.
Our leader, our father is Jim Smith. Oh, Doctor, this man is something else! He truly loves each and every one of us. We are all his children, his wives, his mothers, his pets. He loves us with every facet of his love. And, his love is universal.
How did I get into the Organization? Well, Doctor, it's something I'll never forget. I went through the whole sixties trip. You know, drugs, sex, communes. I dropped out of school when I was sixteen, and went to the East Village to live freely.
The whole thing was really nice through the sixties. I got into folk music, then I easily got into the hippie scene when that started. I took a lot of acid, as well as other drugs. I lived with a series of guys. I played a little guitar, and made candles. Mostly my guys took care of me.
Then, in the seventies, things started to fall apart. It was harder to survive without a straight job. I didn't have a boyfriend for a long time, and I had to take a job as a cashier in a grocery store. I hardly had enough to live on. And, that wouldn't have been so bad, but the whole scene was dying out. There weren't all the great enthusiastic people that there used to be. I got really depressed.
Then, my grandmother died, and left me a pretty good legacy. I could quit my job, and live nicely. That kept me excited for a while, but then, I started to feel guilty. Here I was, an old sixties radical, living high on the hog. The money was gotten through the exploitation of the people, and I had inherited it. I hadn't even made it honestly.
But, I couldn't really identify with any of the movements that were still around. The biggest things seemed to be gay lib and women's lib. I'm not gay, and I like to be feminine. I like to be treated special. I really dug the sixties, when the women could be gentle and lovely. We always called ourselves "ladies". like Joni Mitchell. We had our old man, and we were his lady.
As for the political movements. All the people were dull, and intellectual. I'm not very smart, I guess, and I just don't get into endless discussions on praxis, or whatever they call it. In the sixties revolution was fun. But, now, it's just serious business.
Anyhow, for about a year, I was going around guilty and depressed. I was also lonely as hell. There were no good men around. No strong dudes like before. I never had trouble getting a guy, but, all of a sudden, guys started telling me that I was depressing.
So, I got into watching a lot of television, letting myself sink into apathy. Then, one day I was walking down the street, with nowhere special to go, and this nice young man came up to me. He asked me if I was in a hurry. I said, "No, I'm not going anywhere."
He said, "You seem depressed."
"Oh, it shows. I must really be in bad shape."
"State of the world getting you down?"
"Yes. There doesn't seem to be any excitement anymore. Nobody seems to care about anybody else."
"I bet you're the sort of person that would really like to do something to change the world."
I was really complimented. The man was so sincere. He really seemed to care about me, and about the world. We talked for a bit, then he said, "A group of my friends have dinners every Wednesday night. They're really nice people. They really care. You're welcome to join us tonight. It's a free meal. We only ask for donations."
"Oh, that's very nice." I said.
So, I went with him to his dinner. It was in a loft in mid town. It was in a very nice section, on the East side, and the room was really nicely decorated. There were all these posters of one man on the walls. That man looked so nice. His face just beamed with love. It was Jim.
But, anyway, I went into the room with the young man, whose name was Alan. Everybody in the room was really friendly. They all said hello to me as if they were really glad to meet me. I went and sat down next to Alan.
Before the meal began, this pretty woman with black hair, tied severely back, came into the room. She held a little pot in her hands. She said, "We like to think that we live on love. Any money you can give is also love. Please give what you can. If you have nothing you can give, give love. Let your energy flow into our pot."
She handed the person sitting closest to her the pot. I saw the person put several dollar bills into the pot. They passed it from hand to hand. Most people looked poor, and only put in a few coins. When it got to me, I looked in it. I saw that it wasn't very full.
I figured that I was richer than probably anyone there. I had quite a bit of cash with me. So, I put a twenty into the pot. A few people noticed it, including the woman with the black hair, but nobody said anything.
The pot went the rest of the way around the table, and then the woman with the black hair went out of the room with it. She then came back into our room, and sat down on the other side of me. She was very attentive to me throughout the meal. I thought it was really nice to be so well received. Apparently, I was one of the few new people at the table.
It was a low, Oriental style table. Everybody sat on their knees on the carpet. It was like the old days in crash pads, only then, we'd passed around joints, and rolled on our backs.
Everyone at this place was very straight looking. They sat primly, and talked politely. The only thing passed around was food. It wasn't the sort of food that I was used to. I went through a vegetarian phase in the sixties, but we ate different food than this. Jim Smith believes that vegetarianism is the only civilized philosophy of food. I got used to the food in our communes, and I often helped cook it after I began to live with them, but at first I found it strange.
It was very sweet, for one thing. The other thing was the predominance of starchy foods. There was nothing substantial. No salads, even. Everything was mushy. Later, I learned that Jim Smith thought that our society is so violent because we eat too many red meats, and chewy things. He told us how the Food and Drug Administration tell us lies about our food requirements.
Anyhow, I ate the food, and after all the dishes were cleared away by the women, all of the women except me and the black-haired one. I wanted to help, but she said that I should sit with her, and talk.
She asked me all sorts of questions about my life. I told her about what I did during the sixties. I told her about my depression. I told her about my inheritance. She was really friendly. She wanted to know all about myself. She was really concerned about my search for meaning. When the women came back, somebody brought out a guitar, and everyone started singing. They sang great old folkie songs like, "This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land", "My Darling Clementine", and "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer", only they changed it to jam instead of beer. You see, Jim Smith doesn't believe in the use of intoxicants. Even at our Church services we use Kool-aid instead of wine.
Alan asked me if I had ever sung professionally, as I knew all the words to the songs we sang, and my voice is pretty good. I told him that I used to play guitar and sing, but only at private parties. He and the black-haired woman, whose name is Samantha, insisted that I play. They told the guy with the guitar to give it to me.
I was a little shy at first. It had been a long time since I had played in front of anybody. But, they were all very encouraging, and I began to play. I did some Peter, Paul and Mary songs, and a one by Phil Ochs. Then, I decided to play one that I had written in sixty-eight, when I had just broken up with this guy, Kim.
Everyone clapped as much as they had for the other songs. I stopped. People didn't recognize some of the songs, and they asked me who they were by. I told them. Then, someone asked me who had written the last song. I finally admitted that it was of my own composition.
Everybody said it sounded like a professional song. I was really pleased. I had stopped playing the song in front of people, as so many had told me that it just didn't make it. I confided that to them, but Samantha told me that it was a fine song, and I shouldn't bother with what people say. Everyone agreed with her. They asked if I had written anything else. I had given up song writing after everybody had told me that my first song was bad, but, in the midst of my depression, I had written one song. It was about my inheritance and wanted to do something about the shape of the world. I sang it for them. Everybody listened intently to it, and afterward they clapped a long time, and told me that I had real talent. I had never been so happy for a long time. I had never, ever met such nice, friendly people.
Well, finally, the dinner party was over. At the end, Samantha led us in a little prayer. She told me that I didn't have to participate, but I told her that I wanted to. She had told me a little bit about Jim Smith during the evening, and I was really interested in him. She told me how full of love he was, how he cared about me, even though he had never met me. I believed her, just by seeing those posters of him.
Well, I had to leave then, but Samantha told me that Jim Smith was coming to town that weekend, and everybody was going out to a camp to be with him. She and Alan invited me to come see him. Of course, I said I'd love to come.
I was really excited the rest of the week. I couldn't wait to rejoin my friends, and to meet that wonderful man that they called their spiritual leader. I could do nothing all week but play my guitar and sing. I made up a new song just about the evening.
Finally, Saturday came. I had given Samantha my phone number, and she called me bright and early in the morning, as she had promised, and told me where to meet them. I went to the corner she said, and all my friends were there in a big school bus. I hopped in, and we drove to the camp, singing all the way. I had never met such a bunch of happy, always cheerful people in my life.
We drove out to the country, and finally we got to the campsite. It was a big, Baptist camp that Jim Smith had rented for the weekend.
Well, the first thing we did was find our designated area to put our sleeping bags. Then, once we were settled, we went to the big meeting hall. We got our seats. There were a lot of people there. You could feel the excitement. Everyone was waiting for Jim to arrive.
Alan sat next to me and told me how riveting Jim was. He told me that he had seen him many times, in fact he had spent a year in Jim's private estate. Only the very best of the groups get to live with Jim.
Well, finally, the big moment arrived. The lights were dimmed, and a group of people climbed up on the stage. Then, one man stood forward, and a spotlight fell on him.
I swear, he didn't need a spotlight. His own magnetism, and love shined out of him, brighter than any electric light. I was totally absorbed in his speech. I had never been so taken with a man. Even when I had really been hung-up on a guy, I'd never felt so great.
I felt all trembling and warm, and totally excited. I felt that my cheeks were burning. You know, I sort of felt like I was having an orgasm, only slowly, and better than any orgasm I'd ever had. I looked around to see if anyone saw my reaction, but everybody else was staring as raptly at the stage as I was. I felt how good this man was. He spread his love on all of us. But, I also wanted him to pay special attention to me. Well, the rest of the day was taken up with dinner, outdoor games, and sing-alongs. I had a lot of fun. I felt like a kid again. Everyone was so friendly. I even got to sing my new song for them, and for more people. Everyone told me that it was a good song.
Samantha told me that Jim would probably like to hear it. Samantha apparently knew Jim personally. If she hadn't been so nice to me I might have been jealous of her. But, things were really different among those people. You couldn't feel things like jealousy because Jim's love was universal.
Well, to my surprise, late that night, I was awakened in my sleeping bag. It was Samantha. She told me to wrap my robe around myself, and to follow her. She wouldn't tell me the reason that I alone was being awakened, but I had learned to trust her implicitly.
Well, where do you think she took me? She took me to see Jim Smith, in person! I was stunned. She just led me to this big, beautiful bedroom in the main building. She told me to sit in this wooden chair, and wait. Then, she left the room. I was really curious to see what was going to happen.
Then, a few minutes later, who should walk into the bedroom but Jim Smith himself! I must have looked totally astonished. He came over and put his hand on my shoulder. I could feel his great energy of love flow through his hand and down my body. He stood above me. He said, "Don't be shy. I love you. I know who you are."
Well! I was so happy, you can imagine. I couldn't even speak. He didn't make me talk. He sat in front of me on the bed, and said, "I hear you have written a song about our friends. I wondered if you could sing it to me."
I said, "Oh, oh, yes! But, but, I have trouble singing without a guitar."
He said, "Of course, how thoughtless of me."
He picked up the phone, and said, "Bring a guitar to my room, at once."
Within moments, a young man was at the door with a beautiful guitar. It must have cost two hundred dollars. Jim took it from the man, and the man left. Jim closed the door behind him, and brought the guitar to me. He slipped it into my lap, and I felt his hand brush against my thigh. I blushed. I felt very aroused sexually by the man. He had such an aura!
Anyway, he had called me there to play my song, not for any reason I might wish. So, I sang my song for him. After I finished, he said nothing. He just looked into my eyes. Then, he put his head back. He put his hands behind his head.
Jim's a very handsome man, you know. He's probably about fifty, but he's in good shape. He's got one of those cleft chins, and a rugged jawline. He's got the most beautiful, sad brown eyes. And he's tall. But, most of all, he's got this incredible personal magnetism. It all comes from his universal love. I could tell just sitting there, that he loved me more than anybody ever would. And, I wanted to be loved by him more than by anybody else in the world.
Finally, Jim spoke. He looked deep into my eyes again. I looked into his. I was afraid that he wouldn't like my song. But, even if he hated it, I knew that he loved me, and just being in that bedroom with him was enough for me.
Well, Jim said, "That was grand, just grand, Karen. In fact, I'd like to take you around with me to sing your song for all the people hungry for love out there."
I was so happy, I couldn't even speak. Tears came to my eyes. Jim came over to me, and kneeled by my chair. He put his hands on my shoulders, and looked in my eyes. He said, "You'd like to come with me, child?"
Finally, I was able to blurt out, "Oh, yes! I'd like nothing better!"
He said, "Good. You realize you must first become a full member of our organization, don't you?"
"Yes. I would have joined anyway." I said.
Jim said, "Good. I can see that you'll be a joy to work with."
Then, Doctor, then, he kissed me. He pressed me close to him, and kissed me. I had never enjoyed a kiss so much. I was just vibrating with his body energy. He was drinking up my mouth juices. I was in heaven.
Jim said, "Do you love me?"
I said, "Oh, yes! I love you so much!"
Then, Jim said. "I love you."
Then, Doctor, he took my right hand in his big hands. He stood up. He is quite tall, and the chair I was sitting on was rather small. Well, he straddled my chair, and my body with his long legs. Then, he let go of my hand, and undid his fly. I saw his huge, beautiful male member jump out of his trousers. I stared at it.
Then, Jim stepped a little forward, and touched my lips with his penis. I felt a surge of universal love energy. I knew what he wanted me to do, and I was happy, so happy to do it for him.
I took his cock into my mouth. I gave him the best blow job I knew how. I ran my tongue all around his cock, then, I stuck it down to his balls, and touched them lightly. I heard Jim moan, and I was so gratified to be able to give this man, who gave his love to so many others, I was so happy to give him some pleasure, some love.
I washed his cock with my thick saliva, until I heard him groan with ecstasy. Then, I sucked everything down my throat, including the come that he began to squirt into me. I can't tell you how fulfilled I was, Doctor.
Well, after that, Jim picked up the phone. He said, "I'm done."
He zipped up his fly, and stood by my chair. Then, Samantha came into the room. She said, "Is Karen going to join our Organization?"
Jim said, "Yes, and I'm sure she'll be an excellent worshipper. You see to everything, Samantha."
I stood up, and Samantha led me out of the room. At the door, Jim took my hand in both of his big ones, and said, "Bless you, child. You have a lot of love to give to our organization."
My heart was singing as Samantha brought me back to my sleeping bag. The next day she woke me up before everybody else. She told me to get dressed and come with her. Then, she brought me to a station wagon. This man called Irv drove me back to town.
INTERVIEW TWO
Karen returned the next week to continue her story. She was just as cheerful as ever, although she told me that she missed Jim Smith and the Organization.
It was a whole two weeks, Doctor, two weeks of sheer agony before I heard from Samantha. She finally called me up. When I asked her why she hadn't called before, she said, "We like to be sure of our new members. So, we like to test their faith a little. You did believe we'd call you again, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes. I believe in Jim's love." I said.
"Good." She said. Then, she told me what to do to join the organization. First of all, I had to give up all my worldly goods to the cause. I was happy to turn my entire inheritance to Jim. I knew he would use it for the good of all men.
My bank representative was not very happy to let me take out all of my money, but there was nothing he could do to stop me. So, I handed all my money and investments over to Samantha when she came to my apartment. Then, I gave the title on my apartment to Jim Smith. It was a co-op, you see. So, I was done with all my worldly goods except my clothes. I left everything in my apartment to the Organization. Samantha said I had more love than anyone she'd met in a long time. That made me feel really fine.
Well, after all of that was taken care of, I got to go with Samantha and join Jim. I was to live with him, and travel with him. But, for the first few months, we didn't do any traveling. I just got to fly with him, on his private jet, to his estate in California. It was in Northern California, deep in the lush forests and hills. It is so beautiful there. I wish I could go back.
What were my duties on the estate? Well, other than singing, and helping the other women clean up and cook, I got to be one of Jim's personal helpers. Samantha was also one, and she became my special friend. There were five other women, too.
Well, we would take turns sleeping with Jim, or sometimes he'd like two or three of us to sleep with him. Jim's such a virile man. We all adored him. He was such a good lay!
Things went on like that for about a year. And for four months we were on the road, giving public lectures, and having camp-outs. I got to sing a lot of my songs to a lot of people. You see, I began to write more songs, mostly about the organization, and about Jim. I wrote one about how beautiful Jim's cock is.
He really liked it, but, he wouldn't let me sing it at the public meeting. I always got to sing it at the special love gatherings.
Special love gatherings? Oh, that was when the very closest of Jim's disciples would get together to practice loving each other. There'd be about thirty of us. Jim would sit naked on a big throne, and all the women would line up, me and the other top women at the front of the line.
We'd all take a turn, making one lick on Jim's cock. If he hadn't come by the time that the twentieth, or so women had finished, he would point to one woman to finish him off. It was a big honor. I was picked several times. You see, the celebration of love couldn't really begin until Jim had come, Well, after that, the ten or so other men got to pair off with the women that Jim appointed for them. Usually, Jim kept the prettiest ones for himself, although all the women were lookers.
Well, a few times, when I'd annoyed Jim by singing off-key, or being under the weather, I had to fuck a man that he appointed me to. Jim's male disciples were all pretty bad-looking. But, they were full of love. For Jim's sake I was happy to give them my love.
Anyhow, the couples would have to all take turns and fuck in the middle of the circle that the other ones made. During this, the woman that Jim called to, would sit at his feet, and lightly play with his balls, while he watched the love sessions.
Well, after all the men had fucked, Jim would point to women to make love with each other. This is something I had never done before, even though I'd been in a few orgies. But, for Jim's sake, I would eat pussy. Jim especially enjoyed watching. He wouldn't let the other men watch, though. After they fucked, they got to leave with the women they had fucked. That woman would be his for the rest of the night, to do with what he wanted. So, it was a real disappointment to have to fuck one of the men, because then, you'd miss the rest of Jim's celebration.
Anyhow, Jim would watch the women eating and playing with each other. Then, as soon as his cock got real big again, he would have one or two women of his choice fuck or suck or fondle him. It was a great honor, you can imagine, to be one of those women. We all worshipped Jim.
Well, after about a year and a half of this, Jim announced that he was sick of the old routine, and he was going to institute better love meetings. We were all excited. We wondered what could be better than what we usually did. But, we all wanted to give Jim as much love as we could.
Well, the next special love gathering, we were all standing around in our special seductive clothes, waiting to hear what Jim wanted us to do. He said, "I'm tired of those frilly night gowns and underwear. I've had new clothes made for you. These are more seductive."
All of us women, for the men, of course, were in plain suits, were excited. like all women, who are an inferior sex, but need their silliness, according to Jim, we loved to get new clothes. We stood giggling excitedly, until the helpers came in bringing our new stuff.
Jim had gotten us all sorts of chain outfits. They were strange to put on. They squeezed our tits and our asses between their cold metal links. Some women had to wear chains between their legs. Some had chains going between their teeth.
Then, there were some rubber things. Some women had to wear masks over their heads, like close-fitting hoods, with zippers or holes where the eyes, nose and mouth were. If there was a zipper, she had to keep it closed until Jim let her open it. Some of the masks didn't even have opening for the eyes.
There were also rubber things to fit over nipples, and into the cunt and ass holes. Well, every woman got a different combination to wear. I got a chain between my thighs, and rubber suction cups to wear over my nipples. But, I didn't have anything on my head, except for a chain around my neck.
Samantha had to wear a mask without eyeholes, since Jim had been annoyed with her for burning the noodles at dinner. I felt sorry for her. But, then Jim told us that by our discomfort, we were showing our love for him. So then, all the women craved the most uncomfortable, heavy, and painful outfits.
Well, that first time, we only had to wear the outfits, and as best we could, go through our normal fucking and lesbian routine. The poor women with zipped mouths were sometimes not allowed to lick Jim's cock during the opening ceremony. He only let Samantha get unzipped when she bowed her head to the floor, and kissed his feet.
Well, Jim promised us that he would get whips and all sorts of things to further let the women prove their love for him, but after that first session, my parents had me kidnapped. So, I've been at home with them. I'm really pissed off about that. I was so looking forward to finding new ways to give my love to Jim.
CONCLUSION
I don't believe in interfering with religious customs. I told Karen E.'s parents that I would be happy to continue to talk with their daughter, but they must let her chose her own life.
However, my words were unnecessary. Soon after our last interview, Karen E. was taken back to her beloved leader by some of his disciples. At this minute, she is probably giving all, or as much as she can, of her love to him.
CASE HISTORY EIGHT
SUBJECT: Diane K.
AGE: Thirty-six
INTERVIEW ONE
Diane K. was a very chic woman. She wore a very well-made pants suit to my office. She had a hat on which few women could have gotten away with, but she did. She wore her hair sleekly cut, and her face was impeccably made up.
She had a tall, slender body, like a fashion model's. But, her face had more character than a model's. She did not look her age in any negative sense, but she had the depth of character that age, too rarely, brings. I found her particularly attractive. I prefer women with their own personalities. I was surprised to see her come to a psychiatrist. She seemed more like someone I'd meet at a party.
When she began to unfold her tale to me, I saw how badly I had misjudged her. She was far from calm inside. She was a woman fraught with insecurity and worry. And she had been mistreated.
Hello, Doctor. I am no stranger to the analyst's couch. If I had not had my own deep problems, I still would probably be going to a shrink, as it's the thing to do among my set. If you don't have an analyst, you simply don't know yourself.
I don't mean to put your profession down, Doctor. But, I would probably not be spending sixty dollars to see you for fifty minutes if one of your colleagues hadn't have screwed me up.
You see, Doctor, I did in fact go to my first analyst just because it was the fashionable thing to do. I was a rising young journalist, and I felt my position warranted the luxury. I had a few minor problems. I had the usual trouble finding and keeping a good man. I'd just been dumped by this bastard. He was a novelist that I had interviewed for my magazine.
In case you're wondering how a journalist got hoodwinked, I'm not the muckraking, research type of journalist, I just write witty articles for a fashionable ladies' magazine. Yes, thank you, Doctor! I pay a lot of attention to clothes for my personal satisfaction as well as for my job.
Well, I was on the rebound from this guy, but nobody was there to catch me. I was also a little dizzy from rising so far and so quickly in my job. There was already talk of making me an editor. Well, I'm an editor now, and it's really less work than being a writer, although there is more pressure.
Anyway, that, and some par for the course family problems from way back you know, early toilet training, the whole bit. Anyway, I really wasn't so messed-up, but I thought I should see a shrink, anyway.
Well, my senior editor recommended this psychoanalyst that everybody, but everybody was seeing. Well, I called him up, but he said that he was filled up. So, he suggested I go see a young doctor, who was a friend of his, an old friend of the family's. I thanked the prestigious old guy, and called up his young colleague. I was just as glad to see a young fellow.
Well, this shrink was just starting his practice, and he had plenty of time to see me. He suggested that I cone twice a week. I figured, what the hell. He was a little cheaper than the old guy anyway So, I went to my first interview with Dr. Rice. He had no secretary, even. He had just gotten out of shrink school, or whatever, and was working on a shoestring. Already I liked the guy. If I'm not being the victim for some bastard, I'm falling for some pathetic slob, often they both happen with one person.
Well, I go lie down on the guy's day bed. He can't even afford a leather couch, so he had this little bed. Anyway, I lie on it and wait for some guidance. This guy's been trained in the old manner, and he won't say a word until I do. Well, I'm an innocent little thing, and I don't know what to do. So, we spend the whole fifty minutes, the entire thirty dollars in silence.
At ten to, he says, "Well, Diane, your time is up. I hope we have gotten through some of your aggression toward the analyst in this very informative fifty minutes."
He tells me he'll expect me the same time three days later, and I actually come back! What a fool I was! I was too intimidated by his degree in analysis to insist that he give me some direction.
Anyway, I told my friends what happened, and they all laughed hysterically. I was the laughing stock of the office for an entire month. I decided after that to never tell anybody what went on at my shrink's, even if it was unusual. Especially, if it was unusual.
Well, I returned to my shrink for my second appointment, and this time I knew that I was supposed to talk. I began to tell the shrink about my childhood, as that's what my friends had told me was what shrinks liked to hear. I guess you hear that a lot, Doctor, huh? Please, how can I talk to you when you're doubled over with laughter!
Anyhow, I told him about my childhood. I told him that I was toilet trained at a very early age. He finally said something. He said, "How do you feel about your bowels?"
I was a little taken aback, but finally I said, "Well, I guess I'm a little prudish about them, if that's the right word. I don't like people to know when I have digestive problems, and stuff tike that. I never let guys that I'm sleeping with touch my ass hole."
He said, "I see. You are extremely inhibited about your anal and urinal functions."
I said, "Well, I wouldn't say extremely inhibited."
He said, "Don't fight the analysis, Diane." Well, then he said to me, "Diane, I have learned a new type of therapy at the institute.
You seemed to be fighting the older, non-directive method. So, maybe you would like to try something else, yes?"
I thought it was a bit hokey that he was putting on a German accent all of a sudden, but I said, "Sure. Whatever you think would be best for me."
He said, "Good. See, you've lost a lot of your aggressive reaction already."
So, the shrink began his new program. First on his agenda was my anal problem. He said that I had resolved my oral difficulties at their proper age. You see, I'm not at all obsessed about eating, and I don't smoke, or talk too much, or anything, throw up a lot, you know.
But, my shrink said that I did have a serious anal complex. He set out to resolve it through this new therapy of his. I was game. I had so much respect for his, and your, professional calling.
You know, Doctor, I would let him do anything. It was all just therapy to me. So, anything could be excused. After all, if my senior editor went to a shrink to confess her deepest traumas, and her sexual desires for her father and her sister, for instance, shrinks were special people. They couldn't be judged by normal standards.
Well, my shrink wouldn't have fit into any normal standards. This is how he proposed we cure my anal complex. He wanted me to become used to shit and piss. First, I was to come to sessions with him, ready to go to the bathroom. You know, so I'd eat a lot a few hours before, and drink a lot of water. Then, at the session, he'd have to watch me on the toilet.
Well, I found it very embarrassing, as you can imagine. I used to dread camping trips where there'd be open outhouses. He would sit on the sink, and make me tell him what I was feeling as I did my business. If I didn't take a shit, he'd say that I was resisting him, and that was a word I came to dread. The more I resisted him, the more I was mentally ill.
Well, after about five weeks of this, and when I wasn't on the toilet, he'd make me spend the whole session with my bare ass to him, and telling him about all the things I could remember that had happened to me, or that I had fantasized about relating to shit or piss.
Oh, did I tell you that he made me get bare below the waist while I was on the toilet, and as much as possible, I had to spread my legs, so he could see everything that was happening?
Well, I grew to dread my twice weekly sessions. I had never had such humiliating experiences in my life. But, he had me so convinced that what we were doing was necessary, that I kept going.
Finally, he himself noticed my reticence. So, he suggested a new tack. Instead of my shit and piss, I would have to deal with others'. The only other available, of course, was his.
So, I'd still have to remove everything from my waist down, for the entire fifty minutes, but instead of him watching me on the toilet, I had to act as his toilet. This didn't happen right away. First he made me put my head right by the toilet while he went. Then, he'd spray my face with his piss. Finally, I was drinking the stuff, right out of the faucet, so to speak.
Can you imagine how I must have been ready to do anything to help him to cure me, Doctor? I let him jam his cock up between my teeth, and let his hot piss cascade down my throat. And I swallowed it all!
Jesus! What domination he had over me! He had me kissing his ass! Hell, he had me eating out of his ass-hole! Because that's where it inevitably led. I was eating my analyst's shit!
How humiliating! I would sit on the tiles of the bathroom floor, and he would stoop over me. This was after I'd taken a full, stinking mouth load of piss from his cock head. Well, I would have to wait there, with my mouth open, and my head back, while he strained to get his shit out.
I was thankful when he was constipated!. A few times he had the runs, and God! Was that disgusting! Can you believe, Doctor, that I allowed that man to subject me to such treatment for two years?
Finally, after many sessions of chewing on his turd, looking up at his ass-hole, and cupping my lips around his limp, pee-filled cock, he decided that I had been cured of my anal complex.
Well, I guess I was. It didn't bother me to go into the filthiest bathroom after that, or to walk in the Bowery subway stops. The normal little embarrassments about asses and toilets meant very little to me. It was peanuts compared to eating my shrink's diarrhea.
Well, can you believe that I was still so much under his control that I continued to see him twice a week. He made me call him every night as well to report on my bathroom activities. Then, he started calling for other information.
He had finished with my anal stage, and he proceeded to my Oedipal stage, or Electra stage. Well, he had me confess repeatedly for my desires for my mother, and then there replacement by my desires for my father, and my suspicions of having been castrated, my cravings for a penis.
Diane's narration had greatly interested me, but it also disturbed me. I had never listened to a patient describe a colleague's methods. I myself was too confused to proceed to this man's Oedipal therapy. I told Diane to return three days later.
INTERVIEW TWO
She returned wearing a sheer, simple dress which showed off her high, firm breasts to perfection. She lay on my couch, and her jersey dress clung to her slender body. She continued her story.
Well, I was on to the Oedipal stage, right, Doctor? So, my shrink's method for the Oedipal stage consisted of two stages. The first stage was to break down my resistance to the idea that I did desire first my mother, then my father. I had to confess that I wanted my mother dead, or away so I could have my father to myself. I also had to tell him how I thought I had been castrated, and that's why I wasn't like my big brother, and I had to tell him about how I wished I had a penis.
So, for about a month, I only had to talk to my shrink, although he still made me go bare-assed, and he encouraged me not to go out with a man, except one one-night stand which I couldn't avoid, all during my analysis. My analyst kept telling me that I wasn't ready, and I believed him.
So, anyhow, in Japan, I met this great guy. We began an affair. I didn't tell him all the things that the shrink had made me do, I didn't want him to think that I was the sort of girl that would let a man walk all over her. But, I did mention that my analyst would be very upset if he knew I had slept with a man.
Soji told me that no reputable analyst would tell a mildly neurotic woman not to have a good affair with a good man. And Soji is a good man, he's a wonderful man, in fact. So, I decided to drop my shrink, for once and for all. I finally decided that his methods were hokum and that he had his own problems.
So, I came to you, Doctor, to resolve some of the problems that he gave me in my self-esteem. You see, since I stopped seeing him, and accepting what he was doing as therapy, I've been flooded with shame for the things he had me do. Because outside of the sanctity of therapy, what I did was really sick, I'm really humiliated.
Well, I'd like to resolve some my feelings of humiliation with a normal method of therapy. And, I was also curious to see how you would feel about my first shrink's methodology, Doctor.
CONCLUSION
I told Diane K. that I could not comment on my colleague's methods. Perhaps they had helped her. It would be unethical to say anything against him. And I knew that his institute engaged in some more avant-garde forms of therapy.
However, I told Diane that I was sure we could work through her feelings of humiliation, and she would be ready to have a normal life with her good man. Diane was very happy to hear this, and I began right away, using my own methods.
GENERAL CONCLUSION
So, we see that the submission on women is an increasing phenomenon. Some women want to be dominated, some like to prostrate themselves, and give themselves totally to a man that they admire. Others are unwilling partners in their man's domination fames.
I feel that consenting submission can often be a good way for a woman to find her identity in this increasingly confused world. Who are we to deny a woman her psychological well-being, even if that involves letting herself be totally dominated by her man. If a woman seeks her happiness by letting her man beat her skin raw, by letting him bind her with cutting chains, that's her prerogative. If she-likes to eat her man's shit, if she lets him dribble his piss as well as his come all down her naked body, that's her choice. I can not say it's wrong if it makes her happy.
However, if she does not consent to it, she has every right to fight back, to run away, and to take the man to court. Everyone must find their own way to happiness, but not by infringing on anyone else's happiness. After all, these men that want to dominate can easily find a woman who would gladly submit to them.
