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Marriage Therapy
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
rec.arts.erotica. Anyone can do anything with this story, as long as
nothing is changed (including this statement) and no profit is gained.
If "Therapy" is included anywhere else, including ftp sites, fanzines,
and ezines (or whatever) besides rec.arts.erotica (and a copy for
personal use), I insist on being notified (you're welcome to do it, just
let me know). Please do not repost this to other groups or distribute
in such a manner as is unwelcome (i.e. don't email copies to nuns on the
net). As my site doesn't allow me to read rec.arts.erotica (I guess I'm
just not mature enough), I thought of posting this to several
inappropriate newsgroups, in protest, but decided against it (which I
guess means I am mature enough, so there!). Critisism and comments are
always welcome, and I will try to acknowledge each personally.
copyright 1994 Christopher Jorgensen
What follows is a true narrative, written by a man who was
committed in 1987. The police found him in the kitchen of his
home, singing lullabies to a corpse. Once removed from the
vicinity of the corpse, he fell silent and refused to speak.
Only shortly before his death did he begin to communicate once
again. This is his story, in his words. Wherever possible,
nothing has been changed. However, it is believed that little
would be served by exposing the names of any that are yet living.
Therapy
I'm an evil man with a black heart and my hands are stained
with blood. Forgive me if I fall into cliche. I'm not a writer.
I only put these words to this page because I am forced to. I
deserve much more of a punishment.
I've been here for a long time now. I used to keep track by
scratching little marks in my arm with a small sliver of wood --
three meals I counted as a day -- then, when infection set in I
lost my "calendar" (and almost lost my arm).
I don't want to write this! Why should I be forced to
relive past events? Why should I subject anyone else to the pain
I've gone through? Why?
I do not expect an answer.
I realize that I am being repetitive. Every paragraph thus
far has started with an "I." Amazing. I didn't know I could be
so....
Predictable. hhhmmm.
Variety? I suppose. I will try.
Do I have your attention yet? or have I scared you away with
my meanderings? I hope so. No one should have to read this.
The events started innocently enough. I met her in a
bookstore. Oh, wait, I have failed to introduce who "she" is.
Let me call her Vesper. Two reasons compel me to do so: one, I
like that name. Two, it is her name. (I will change nothing.
This is a true story.) Anyway, I met Vesper in a book store.
She was working behind the counter and I had asked her if some
unimportant book or another was any good. She told me that it
was, and that she was a member of a reading group that was just
beginning the book, and she asked me if I would like to join.
God, I'm boring myself. I know that this isn't what I am
supposed to be writing about. Let me skip ahead as none of this
is important.
After many meetings of the reading group and after stopping
by the bookstore almost everyday, I finally worked up the courage
to ask Vesper out. She agreed.
I'm still doing it. I know what needs to be said, I just
can't bring myself to do it. Why can't I just forget?
Vesper is dead. There. It has been said and I am content
now. Vesper is dead and her death is my fault. I didn't do the
deed myself, but still I am drenched in her blood. I am as
responsible as if it were my hand on the knife that slit both her
wrists in long diagonal cuts.
This is therapy? I laugh at you.
If you've read this far, I guess I am obligated to give you
what you want. After much romance (the usual late night walks,
flowers, candies, and bad poetry), I convinced Vesper to come to
my bed. She confessed to me that she was virginal. This fact
mattered little to me.
I can still remember entering her for the first time.
Penetration has always been my favorite part of sex. My cock
pushed against her and for a moment I thought there would be
difficulty, but I am not to be denied. I slipped into her with a
shudder. A small whimper was Vesper's only sign of discomfort.
I'd tried being gentle, starting with small strokes only, until I
was slick with her wetness and blood (I found out this fact
after). It wasn't long though before my lusts rose up and took
over and our passionate love making turned into something a
little less than rape. Vesper screamed several times and
eventually began to beg me to stop. I cruelly used her. It was
her pleading that eventually brought about my orgasm.
I apologize for the graphic words that flow from my pen. I
do feel it is necessary to convey the brutality and the horror of
my final betrayal. Perhaps dialogue would better help this
narration. Perhaps. I will try.
"Never again ask me to stop unless you mean it," I said to
her. "I will take nothing by force." I was a little out of
breath.
"I didn't want you to stop. I just couldn't take it."
"Come with me. You are going to wash off my cock. After
all, it is your blood."
She said nothing to this, but only followed me to the
shower. I had half expected her to refuse or to at least show
some sign of disgust. Perhaps she thought that my requirement
was not so strange.
We entered the shower and with hot water splashing off our
flesh she took my cock in her hand and caressed it lovingly.
Vesper was the first woman I'd made love to in several months.
It wasn't long before I was hard again.
"I'll do anything for you," she said.
"Never say anything you don't mean."
"I mean it!" a cute pout appeared on her face. It was fake
but still beautiful.
If only I was a better narrator...I'm sure many would be
able to tell this story much better than I. I have yet to
describe Vesper! Something I should have done right away.
Vesper: nineteen. Short cropped blonde hair. Small bodied,
but full figured. (When I say this I do not mean "fat!" She was
padded and had good-sized breasts.) Neither of her ears are
pierced. (Forgive my tense difficulties, I am still trying to
accept her death.) Her eyes were deep green. I would even go so
far as to call them emeralds, but I will not be accused of
poetry. What more can I say? Imagine any beautiful young woman.
It doesn't matter. I found her to be desirable and in the end
that is enough.
We were in the shower. I believe that's where I left off.
Vesper was rubbing my penis, making sure it was devoid of any
traces of blood.
"Suck me," I said.
"I don't think I would do a very good job. I've never done
that before."
"Never question me. You said you would do anything I asked,
now do it. I'll be the one to decide if you are good or not."
She got on her knees and put her hand under my cock. It was
already standing straight out. Vesper tried to look up at me,
but the spray of the water was hitting her in the face. She
closed her eyes and engulfed my cock with her mouth. She didn't
do anything though, just held it, sucking lightly. I let this
continue for perhaps ten seconds before I came to the conclusion
that she did not intend to do anything more, that she did not
know any better.
"Move your mouth up and down," I said.
Again she tried looking up at me, again the water stopped
her.
Vesper began to suck me like I wanted, so I leaned against
the shower wall and enjoyed it. Her fingers began to explore the
base of my cock and she cupped my balls in one hand. She
squeezed gently.
"Faster," I said. She obeyed.
Both her hands slid between my legs, and grabbed my ass. I
wanted to grab her head and force her down onto me. I wanted to
hear her gag. I wanted to feel my cock slide all the way to the
back of her throat. I did nothing.
"You're better than you thought. Soon, I will come in your
mouth. You will not spit or swallow. I want you to hold it in
your mouth. I want you to savor my come--the first come to ever
enter your mouth."
Vesper began to rub her wet breasts with her hands. She
kneaded them while she bobbed on my cock. They were totally
white, probably never having been exposed to the sun. She
lovingly licked my penis. I came onto her tongue.
She did as commanded and held my come.
I pulled my cock from her mouth and taking both her hands I
helped her stand.
"Do you like the taste?" I asked.
She shook her head no.
"Yes you do. Now nod your lovely head yes, swallow, and
tell me you loved it."
I heard her swallow, "I loved it."
"Will you do that for me whenever I ask?"
"Yes."
I pushed her against the wall, reached up and redirected the
shower-head, then reached around her and touched her pussy. She
winced in pain as I inserted a finger. I had expected this. I
knew she would be sore.
"Did you have an orgasm before, when we fucked?"
"No."
With my right hand I slowly touched her vagina. My left
hand cupped each of her breast one at a time. I squeezed her
breast, lightly pinched a nipple. Vesper groaned. It wasn't
long before she began to come. I forced her against the wall,
and no matter how much she struggled, I continued to touch and
hold her. There was no escape. She made the most beautiful
noises.
She turned and hugged me tightly.
"I love you," she said. I knew that this would happen
eventually.
"Good," I said.
We dried each other off and went back to the bedroom.
How much of this is relevant? Perhaps none. I don't care.
If I am to be forced to tell this story, I will tell it in my own
way. I hope to better understand why everything happened the way
it did. I'm amazed the doctors trust me with this pen, even
though it is felt tipped.
Our sex life progressed much as could be expected. We
continued to try new things, such as light bondage, anal sex (I
had to possess her completely), and anything else I felt like. I
made her perform oral sex on me at least once every other day,
making her always wait for permission to swallow. Once, I made
her wait ten minutes.
Everything was progressing normally, then evil entered into
my mind and I couldn't shake it. At first, there were small
fantasies that I was able to suppress for awhile, but these dark
imaginings always resurfaced. Eventually, I decided to act on
one.
That night I prepared everything. I made Vesper bathe
thoroughly, then I carefully and lovingly shaved her pussy, until
it was smooth. Her lips barely peeked out. I told her to go
bathe again and to put her hair up in a French braid when she was
through. While she did so, I prepared the bedroom.
I heard the shower shut off, and knew that she was through.
I went to the bathroom and watched her dry and put up her hair as
instructed. She looked at me.
"Don't say anything, until I give you permission."
The bedroom! So much of this story is to be played out
there. O cursed place! I tied her to the bed with short pieces
of nylon rope. One limb to each corner. She lay spread-eagle
and her pussy was open slightly. I touched her there, putting a
finger slightly inside her. I wet the lips of her mouth with the
lubrication on my finger.
"Lick your lips," I said. She did.
The doorbell sounded then. I had been expecting it.
"Wait here," I said, laughing at my own joke.
Vesper looked worried.
I hate exposition, so once again, let me skip ahead.
Vesper, her boss from the bookstore (J------ B----), and I
were in the bedroom. She was still tied. I'd arranged
everything with her boss. For two hundred dollars he was allowed
to do anything to Vesper he wanted, for an hour, with three
exceptions: 1. nothing was to be permanent. 2. he could not
come in her mouth (although he was to be allowed to be in her
mouth) and, 3. there was to be no kissing of her mouth.
I looked at Vesper once before I left the room. She said
nothing, but begged me not to do this all the same.
Occasionally I would hear noises from the bedroom. The bed
would smash into the wall, or Vesper would scream, or the sound
of flesh being cruelly slapped would resound through the house.
Guilt filled my erection in place of blood. I wanted to
interrupt, to interfere, to tell him the deal was off, that he
had to leave, that it was all a big mistake. I wanted to gather
Vesper into my arms and beg her forgiveness. The hour passed
slowly.
But pass it did and J------ left. I could hear her crying
from the bedroom. I could not go to her. I paced like a madman,
even going so far as to throw a lamp across the room. Finally, I
went to her.
"You will never have to do that again. I'm so sorry. I
hate myself." Perhaps if these words had passed my throat,
everything would have been different. These words were not
uttered. Instead, "Did you like it? Did he come in your pussy?
or maybe your ass?" Large red welts decorated both her breasts
and her sides. I did my best to ignore them. "Answer me."
"I only liked it if you say I liked it."
I could not show weakness. There could be no regret or
guilt in me. You understand this don't you? A mistake had been
made, but I could not acknowledge this.
"You loved it, you little bitch. Now tell me, where did he
come?"
"He didn't," she said, "He only stroked himself in between
striking me with his belt. He made me kiss his cockhead several
times, but never did he push it into my mouth. He tried to give
me an orgasm by licking my cunt, but I was too afraid of him."
"You lie!" I screamed, "He came in your ass didn't he? This
is why you don't want to tell me! You're too embarrassed." I
began to take my clothes off. "Tell the truth. Where did he
come?"
"Wherever you say he did."
"In your ass?"
"Yes. He came in my ass. Way up inside me, but some still
leaked down my crack. When he was through, he licked my anus
clean."
I put my cock against her cunt, and with a violent thrust
forced it into her. I thought I felt a tearing, but Vesper did
not cry out, and as I watched myself thrust in and out of her,
there was no blood. She became wetter and wetter as I fucked
her. Sweat broke out on her body and I felt close to orgasm.
I pulled my cock from her. It was dripping with her natural
lubrication and glistened in the soft light of the bedroom.
Violently I forced my dick (yes, I use the word dick) into a new
hole. I slipped my dick into her ass. She called out to God.
I'd done this to her before, but always with plenty of warning.
I was surprised at how easily she accepted my thrusts.
It did not take long before I shuddered in orgasm.
"I should leave you like this all night."
My penis was still in her ass, but was becoming flaccid. I
withdrew and went to the bathroom to clean up. I returned after
a quick shower. My body was still mostly wet. I climbed on top
of Vesper once again.
"Would you like to be sold again?" I asked.
"Only to please you."
The ropes were easy to untie, and I was able to accomplish
this task rather quickly. Vesper rubbed her wrists and ankles.
I left the bed and crossed to the closet. I withdrew a camera.
"Masturbate."
She did as told. I snapped picture after picture of her. I
made her open herself to the camera, pulling her lips wide. I
got a close-up of her sucking my cock. I took a picture of
myself penetrating her pussy (I was rather proud of this one, as
I actually took the picture of us fucking, by shooting at the
mirror). One picture had her inserting a black vibrator into her
cunt. Another with her bent over, looking at the camera from
between her legs. Her shaved lips protruded nicely.
"If you ever leave me," I said, "I will send these pictures
to your father, and whoever your new boyfriend is."
She looked horrified at this idea (or so I thought), but I
was wrong about what was disturbing her.
"I would never leave you. Don't say such things. We're
forever."
She took my cock into her mouth as though she were trying to
reassure me that she would never leave, or perhaps she was trying
to convince me to never leave her. I don't know. I ran my
fingers through her hair and cried as she sucked. Eventually I
came.
Can you see the end coming? Have I been too obvious?
I decided to test Vesper's love for me. I decided to see
how far she would allow me to take my role as master. I pierced
her left nipple with a thick piercing bar. J------ became a
regular customer, eventually building up enough courage to make
Vesper masturbate him. I took hours after hours of videotape and
many rolls of film, all depicting Vesper engaged in some form of
lewd behavior. There was nothing that she wouldn't do for me. I
took to starving her and depriving her of sleep. I made her quit
her job at the bookstore (by now I was blackmailing J------ with
compromising pictures). We didn't need the money from her job.
Vesper lost weight and seemed to move in a daze.
This went on for several months. I fed her scraps of food,
always making her earn them first. If only she had refused me
just once. I tired of this. I tired of her. Here was the great
betrayal. Not the giving of her to another man. Not the
violation of her body in ways that still seems sacrilegious.
(How can one desecrate perfection?) I grew tired.
One day, I told Vesper that she could eat what she desired.
I did not give her a command to earn her food. She ate like a
ravenous piranha, then waited patiently for my desire, wishing
only to fulfill some fanciful whim or another. She did not ask
or question why I did not seek pleasure upon her. Perhaps she
thought this was some kind of a test, or a new torture, but she'd
been trained too well to question me.
I gathered all of the film and cassettes in a box. Also, I
added all the sex paraphernalia. In went the camera, the
vibrators, the ropes. Anything that had touched her body in a
sexual way I added. I took this box into the backyard and doused
it with gasoline. It blazed in a pyre of sin.
I watched it burn for some time.
Vesper joined me, unbidden. Tears were running down her
face. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her everything would turn
out fine, but I knew that this was a lie. I tried to justify my
actions to myself. I wanted to believe that I was setting her
free.
"You're free," I said. "I want you to leave by the time I
come back tomorrow."
The next day I found her lifeless body, cold and stiff.
She'd killed herself shortly after I'd left. There was no
dramatic last scene of her dying in my arms. Only a corpse lying
on the kitchen floor. I kissed her forehead and removed the
metal jewelry from her nipple. How could I have forgotten to add
this to the blaze?
Well, that's the whole damn story, you bastards. Am I
cured?
Christopher Jorgensen <argent@iastate.edu> '94
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