Total Humiliation: Making Girls Behave Sexually
by Unknown


GENERAL INTRODUCTION 

As a specialist in aberrant sexuality and perversions, I have met many 
beautiful, innocent young girls whose lives have been nearly devastated by 
cruel and abusive use of the enema bag. Their girlish bodies tremble with 
rueful recollection when they confide their shocking stories. Often the 
horrid episodes of their humiliation are too painfully traumatic for them to 
describe. 

For this book I have selected the most shocking cases I have been privy to 
in my career. 

Isabella Q., 13: "I was a virgin when I met Kevin, but the first time I saw 
his cock I knew that I had been wasting my tight little girl hole. I could 
not get enough of him in my pussy. When he asked if he could shove his hard 
meat in my asshole, I was only too glad to sacrifice another cherry for his 
pleasure. His huge cock was heaven at first, but I soon learned that he had 
other plans for my little shit box." 

Lana T., 17: "Mr. Pointer was such a famous acting teacher that 1 would have 
given anything to be in his class, but when he told me that my acting was 
constipated and gave me an enema of ice-cold Vodka, I wondered if maybe I 
should just become a secretary, or something." 

Terry S., 16: I always tried to please my Daddy, because he was the most 
important man in my life. But he was accused of raping another little girl 
and had to go away to prison. When he was away I had to console myself with 
other men. He came back and said that I was a little slut and needed to be 
punished. I would have taken almost anything from him, but not a enema bag 
full of his urine!" 

Joan A., 15: "Mark said he was tired of my cunt and wanted to fuck my 
asshole. When I tried to fight him, he said that my ass did not deserve his 
cock. Imagine my horror when he filled an enema bag with scalding hot water 
and pushed the nozzle up my tight shithole." 

Diane Joan F.,17: "I didn't believe it when I heard that Daphne, my best 
friend was fucking Egor, my husband. But I saw it with my own eyes. When 
they caught me staring at them through the window, fingering myself in 
excitement, they decided that I had not suffered enough humiliation. Daphne 
and Egor filled an enema bag with shampoo and shoved it up my helpless 
asshole. While I suffered in discomfort and torment, Egor rammed his cock in 
Daphne's ass, while my disloyal friend made me eat her pussy. 

Nadine C, 14: "All the girls at school hated me because I was beautiful and 
rich, except Jacqueline, my lesbian lover. But even she betrayed me when she 
joined the other girls in tying me to my bed and giving me an enema. 

 CASE HISTORY ONE 

SUBJECT: Joan A. AGE: Fifteen 

INTERVIEW ONE 

When Joan A. came to my office for her first private session I automatically 
assumed her to be an ordinary high school student with ordinary adolescent 
problems of adjustment. I fear that I even expected her to be a boring 
patient. She an attractive young girl with long and luxuriant red hair, 
beautiful green eyes, superbly developed breasts for a girl her age, and 
long shapely legs. Her physical pulchritude was extraordinary, but her 
background was not. Her parents were responsible citizens, hard working 
people who neither smoked nor indulged in alcohol, and their marriage was 
free of tension or strife. Joan A. came from an altogether typical American 
family, a background which is not likly to produce interesting neuroses. 

However, after only a few minutes of listening to this beautiful young 
girl's story, I realized that I had presumed erroneously. Hers was a 
gruesome tale of unspeakable sexual depravity. The poor innocent girl had 
been horribly abused and tortured by her high school sweetheart. I became 
fascinated by Joan's narrative of the young man's aberrant behavior. 

The following is an unedited transcript from our taped interviews. 

I know what you think, doctor. You took one look at me and decided that I 
was just another pretty young teenager who is having difficulty adjusting to 
the shocks of becoming a woman. But I assure you I am not just another 
pretty body who worries that she might be a lesbian, or something. I'm sure 
you get quite a few of those. You probably also have many young patients who 
are shattered by bad experiences with drugs, or who have become teenage 
alcoholics. I wish that my problem was that simple. If it were I would 
really have no need of this consultation, because I can take ordinary 
troubles in stride. I have never had any experience with drugs. I've never 
even smoked grass, doctor, and my parents never drink or entertain so there 
has never been any liquor in our house. I've only tasted liquor once, at a 
slumber party. All the girls were drinking Gin and tonics, so I tried one. 
It made me sick, doctor. I retched all night. 

Certainly I never worry about my sexual tendencies. I don't doubt my 
heterosexuality and I never fret about being a lesbian. I'm more or less an 
innocent young girl, in terms of vices, I mean. But I am not a virgin. I've 
always thought that I was a good girl. I deny myself drugs and liquor, and I 
don't even smoke cigarettes, so I suppose I've always thought that I was 
entitled to have sex more or less when I wanted. 

I don't mean all the time, and certainly I don't mean anything ... well, you 
know, kinky. I was perfectly happy just having ordinary, healthy, all 
American sex, if you know what I mean. Just boy and girl, cock in the cunt, 
pump, hump, come. 

Mark is the only boy I have ever fucked with, doctor. I know that sounds 
unusual, and maybe a little hard to believe, but, I swear to you, it's the 
truth. Mark and I started fucking two years ago, when I was a freshman in 
high school and Mark was the handsomest boy in the sophomore class. 

The first time I saw his cock I thought I would just die in my pants. I 
mean, it was so enormous. So far I haven't been able te compare Mark's cock 
with other boys or men, because I have not seen any other cocks. But I'm 
sure that Mark must have one of the biggest pricks in the world. 

When he pulled it out that first time and made me take it in my hands, I 
knew that my young little pussy would suffer unbearably when he stuck it in. 
But I wanted it. I felt my hole getting hotter and wetter than it had ever 
been. Even though I was convinced that his cock would kill me, I felt my 
cunt dripping and swooning in anticipation of the delicious death that Mark 
alone could give me. But he poked it in my hole and gradually eased it all 
the way inside me, and to my surprise I did not die. In fact, for the first 
fuck of my life it went amazingly well. I had my first real orgasm with a 
felicitously full cunt. It was heaven on earth, and it was the start of a 
glorious relationship. 

Everything went marvelously for the longest time, doctor. Mark and I would 
meet after school or on weekends. We would go to each other's houses when 
our parents were away, or we would go to friend's places. When we couldn't 
find a house and a bed, we would rub our wits together and come up with 
alternative places to delight in our young bodies. We couldn't get enough of 
each other, and we let nothing stand in our way. If we could think of no 
other place to go, we would go into the woods. If it rained we wouldn't 
care; we'd just bump our horny bodies together, fucking in the storm and 
coming in the mud. 

I know that Mark's big cock was on my mind every minute of my life, and I'm 
just as certain that he couldn't get my tight juicy cunt out of his always 
horny thoughts. 

It was only a few weeks ago that things started to become strange. Mark and 
I were in bed at his house. His parents were away for the entire weekend. We 
had already enjoyed the most glorious Saturday of out lives, and were half 
way through Sunday, blissfully exhausted from hours and hours of feasting on 
each other's hot flesh. 

We had awakened in each other's arms sometime in the early morning, probably 
around six, or so. I remember that the dawn was coming up and the sky was 
mysteriously grey outside the window. 

Mark pushed my head down between his muscular thighs and made me suck his 
morning hard on. 

I didn't mind at all. I was only too happy to take his huge swollen thing in 
my mouth and suck it for all I was worth. 

He was a little rough with me, and this was unusual. Our fucking had always 
been sweet and slow, a little on the gentle side. But I always liked it that 
way. I liked it any way that Mark wanted to give it to me. I only wanted to 
make him happy, because the happier I made him, the happier he made me. 

That morning he pulled me by the hair and forced his cock in my mouth, all 
the way, deeper than it had ever gone. I felt his huge stick stretching my 
cheeks apart as I sucked eagerly, and the head of his thick long rod went 
down my throat. I could hardly breathe, but I didn't care. 

No, doctor, I had no objections, although I was a little surprised, of 
course, at the change in Mark's behavior. His cock seemed bigger in my mouth 
than it had ever seemed before, and each time he pulled at my hair, dragging 
my face down to the huge throbbing base of his rod, he seemed to swell in my 
mouth to even more formidable proportions. 

To tell you the truth, doctor, I was more delighted than concerned. Mark and 
I had indulged in so much sex the day before, and Mark had shot so many hot 
sperm loads in my cunt, each one hotter and harder than the one before, that 
I had been afraid that he would have fucked himself out. I had not expected 
to have much sex on the second day of our weekend, so I was overjoyed when 
he started to fuck my face at dawn. 

He forced his way into my mouth and began to hump my tight sucking lips. I 
could not believe how hard and powerful he was, especially after the 
debauchery we had already enjoyed without shame. 

When he began to strike my soft young breasts with his hands, I felt tides 
of excitement rushing through my flesh. At first the slaps were light, and I 
was more titillated than frightened. When Mark struck my little tits with 
his hands I felt my nipples harden and my pussy began to drip. I wanted his 
cock in my cunt, although I was ecstatic to have his potency in my mouth and 
did not for a moment want him to take it out. Mark's cock is so big that I 
have often wished it could be divided in two. If it were half as big as it 
was there would still be plenty for any girl's hole, and if he had two cocks 
instead of one he could fuck my mouth and pussy at the same time. Believe 
me, Doctor, were this little wish to come true Mark's two cocks would more 
than fill my hungry holes. 

I kept sucking tightly on his hard cock, contracting my cheeks and working 
with my tongue to give Mark's fuck rod the most pleasurable thrills. Mark 
kept spanking my darling young tits, forcing his meat into my mouth, feeding 
me more than I could swallow and making me gag with utterly rhapsodic 
contentment. 

From the way his body tensed and the way he began to pound his humping cock 
into my wet mouth, I could tell that Mark's orgasm was building in his big, 
cum-filled balls. As I felt his heavy bag of nuts banging hard against my 
chin my pussy began to flood between my legs, and my sweet little clit 
throbbed with the quivering ecstasy that was surging through my over heated 
blood. 

At that point, Doctor, I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life, 
although I didn't realize it then, of course. It was only after the horrid 
events that I could trace the beginnings to my next move. I really should 
have known better, I suppose. 

I opened my mouth, more or less interruping my expert cock-sucking, and 
begged Mark to ram his stiff dick deep into the ditch of my wanting pussy. I 
could feel my juices boiling in my snatch, and I knew that cock was exactly 
what my hole needed. 

"Please, honey," I whimpered, "fuck my cunt with your big cock." 

From my pleading voice Mark could surely tell than I needed him desperately, 
but for some reason he did not want to give me the total pleasure on which 
my life seemed to depend. My cunt was making me suffer hideously. It needed 
so badly to be fucked by Mark's pulsing meat. 

I cajoled Mark and he became terribly angry. The slaps on my breasts, which 
had been playful until I groaned my request, became harder and more violent. 
He struck my tits with more force, even hurting me. I cried out in pain, but 
Mark was relentless. He seemed not to care about the feelings of my body. He 
was utterly absorbed in the sensations of his cock. 

Forcing his meat brutally down my throat, he lowered his strong hands and 
began to slap my tender buttocks. I could feel his cock throbbing in my 
mouth as his hands stung my soft white asscheeks. 

I resigned myself to the apparent situation. It seemed clear that Mark was 
going to fuck my face until he shot his spermy fireball into my mouth, down 
my throat and into my body. Somehow my mouth would have to transfer its own 
pleasure to my aching pussy and my needy clit, which was striving with my 
empty but Doiling cunt towards climax. 

Although I was resigned in my mind, I was less resigned in my cunt, which 
nagged at my consciousness between my thrashing legs. The mind, as I am sure 
you know Doctor, is more apt to acquiesce than the cunt, which is not a 
pragmatic organ. 

Once more I mumbled through my mouthful, begging Mark to take his cock out 
of my mouth and shove it in the wet female cave between my thighs. I yearned 
to feel his fat rod in my hot oasis. 

Mark did indeed take it out. He held the thick root of it in his fist, and 
my eyes sent a telepathic telegram to my cunt, telling it that the tumescent 
tool was coming to the rescue. 

I remember the tremors of bliss that galvanized my cunt when I saw the 
enormity of Mark's fat pulsing dick. 

But my hot pussy was overly optimistic. 

Mark held his huge cock tightly in his fist and proceeded to slap it against 
my wet cheeks. He was not gentle at all, Doctor. He was angry and rough, and 
I was alarmed by the sinister expression on his face. 

Slapping his iron-hard fuck weapon against my tender cheeks, Mark began to 
slap my delicate ass with both hands. These were not playful spankings; they 
were brutal and violent. 

And they hurt. 

"Greedy cunt!" Mark hissed at me, "you should be grateful that I fuck your 
stupid face. I'm tired of your cunt. I can't go on fucking it forever. My 
cock wants something different." 

I could see Mark's giant balls swinging as he used his cock as a whip on my 
face. His fat hard rod struck my left cheek, then my right. Then he began to 
slap my eyes. He stabbed them with the purple head of his blood-engorged 
prick, and I was terrified that he would poke them out of my head. I felt my 
body trembling with revulsion and fright. 

I felt my heart leaping in terror inside my chest as a wave of fear splashed 
through my hot body. I was excited, terribly excited, but I was also numb 
with panic. I was so frightened I could not enjoy the heat of passion that 
lingered in my pussy. 

Fright overwhelmed my body, and I struggled, stupidly and futilely to 
escape. Under the bulk of Mark's strong body I writhed and trembled, 
fighting to get away. More than anything I wanted to get out from under 
Mark's weight, out of the room, out of the house and to safety. 

Of course, Doctor, I could do nothing. Mark was sitting on my body, his bulk 
burdening me. The hard muscles of his hairy masculine buttocks pressed 
painfully against my tits. I was paralyzed under his dominant bulk. 

Mark was enraged by my vain attempts to escape. He would tolerate no 
resistance to his masterful domination. 

Angrily, he stuffed his enormously swollen balls into my mouth, making me 
massage them with my tongue. Mark has often fed me a mouthful of his 
sperm-filled nuts, and I have always loved it. But this time I felt myself 
revolted by the taste of their massiveness. His attitude altogether 
disenchanted me. Even if he had put his cock in my cunt, where only moments 
before I had wanted it so badly, I would have been unable to enjoy the 
thrills in my hole. 

But, of course, an orthodox fuck was the last thing Mark had in mind. 

Keeping his huge balls in my gagging mouth, Mark pressed his groin harder 
against my face and slapped me ruthlessly with his huge cock. 

"Trying to get away, bitch? How stupid are you! Can't you see that there is 
no possible escape for you. I'm going to make you suffer, you stupid cunt. 
First, you dare to instruct me where to put my cock, which hole to shoot my 
load in, as though the pleasure of your cunt were my concern! Secondly, you 
try to escape from the discipline you deserve. For that you will have to be 
punished even more cruelly than I had planned. I have to make you regret 
your female stupidity. You will be lucky if I ever fuck your cunt again. 
Your hole hot only bores me, it stinks. I'm going to fuck your asshole." 
Mark shouted obscenely, slapping my asscheeks with his brutal hands. 

Knowing that I would attempt escape again, Mark looked at me without pity. 

"Don't try to move, bitch. I don't want to see a muscle twitch. I don't want 
you to move as much as one hair on your cunt. Stay perfectly still while I 
get the things I need to teach you the lesson you have coming. 

Then Mark shifted his weight, relieving me of the terrible burden of his 
bulk. He left the bed, and for a split second I did debate whether or not I 
dare flee. His voice had been so harsh and angry, and my body froze so 
totally with terror, that I decided to obey, no matter what. 

Mark opened a closet. I lay on the bed, shuddering with fear, my naked body 
trembling and sweating on the rumpled sheet. 

At first I could not see what Mark was taking from the closet. I knew it 
would be something dreadful. Then I saw the leather cords in his hands, and 
I knew that he was going to strap me to the bed, making me defenseless. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

Unfortunately, Joan became far too distressed to continue our first session. 
She had been quivering with emotion during most of our interview, but when 
she began to tell of her reaction to the cords, her quivers became trembles. 
Her steady breathing gave way to gasps and she began to weep uncontrollably. 
I have rarely seen a patient in such an agitated state. It was necessary to 
give Joan a sedative before she left my office after our first session. 

A week later she returned for a second interview, in which she told the 
horrid conclusion of her grim tale. 

I am sorry that I lost control last week, Doctor. But it is still painful to 
recall the shocking episode. 

Mark walked back to the bed, his stiff prick protruding ominously from his 
coarse dark pubic hair. 

Mark seized my hands and tied them together in one of the leather cords. I 
felt the leather digging into the delicate flesh of my wrist, cutting the 
circulation of blood to my hands. 

"Please," I begged, "Mark, don't do this to me. I can't endure it." 

But Mark had no sympathy. It was as though he did not care about the fear 
and revulsion that throbbed in my aching body. 

"If you don't shut your mouth, bitch, I will have to shut it for you. Your 
voice annoys me, so keep still and be quiet!" Mark hissed vindictively 
through his teeth. 

Then Mark seized my ankles and made me lift my legs. He pulled me by the 
feet, bending my legs back so that my knees pressed against my tits. I could 
feel my stiff nipples rubbing against my knee caps, and Mark tied my ankles 
to the head of the bed. 

Both my hands and feet were bound to the bed and my ass was raised high in 
the air. My body was contorted for his attack. It was a most uncomfortable 
position to be in, especially as I was powerless to move in any way. I was 
totally powerless to resist, Mark had my body fully in his command. I have 
never been subjected to such hideously inescapable authority. I was a 
helpless slave. 

Having tied me firmly to the bed, Mark opened the drawer of his bedside 
table and took out a jar of lubricant. At first this did not cause any extra 
terror. Mark had often rubbed this on my tits while we fucked. 

"This should get your hole, ready," he said. 

I was baffled by this, because my cunt was already moist and juicy, and he 
had just said that he had no intention of putting his cock in my pussy. So, 
I did not know what to think until I felt his finger stabbing the sensitive 
opening of my tights little asshole. 

Mark greased his fingers and plunged them into my ass, causing me a 
discomfort such as I have never known. He poked deep into my asshole and 
moved his fingers around, making wide circles, stretching my dark hole and 
making it ready to receive the invasion of his cock. 

Doctor, I had never been so horrified. Mark and I had spoken of sodomy 
before and I had always told him that I found it repugnant. He had always 
said that he was happy fucking my cunt. We had agreed never to engage in 
this unspeakable practice. 

He had said that he did not want to put his cock in my cunt, claiming that 
the delicious fragrance of my pussy was unpleasant. How much sweeter could 
as asshole smell, Doctor? Obviously, Mark was not being honest with me. 
Knowing that I could not longer trust him distressed me as deeply as the 
knowledge of what he was about to do to me. 

I thought that getting fucked in the asshole was the worst treatment Mark 
could possibly give me. Little did I know that he had worse evils in mind. 

Mark greased my asshole and smeared some of the lubricious slime on his 
great thick fuck rod. I felt my body trembling with fear, but fear was 
quickly annihilated by agony when Mark stabbed my tight asshole with his 
huge angry cock. 

I screamed in pain, begging him to have mercy. My ass could not possible 
take such violation. But Mark was ruthless. He banged his dick all the way 
into my hole, not caring about the pain he caused me, not caring about 
anything but the sensation of my delicate ass tissues wrapped tightly around 
his rod. 

As he punched his hard meat into my wounded asshole, I felt his cock ripping 
me apart. My vulnerable sphincter muscles were torn by his massive prick, 
and when he pulled his cock out of my hole I could see little beads of blood 
clinging to his hard shaft. 

Mark must have seen them too, but he didn't care. He banged himself back 
into my hole, fucking me excruciatingly. He kept forcing himself in and out 
of my hole, fucking me brutally, banging back and forth in my sore ass. I 
knew that he could cripple me for life if he didn't spare me some of his 
power and fuck my little hole with some caution, courtesy and finesse. 

But Mark spared me nothing. He fucked my shithole like an animal, pounding 
his cock into the most sensitive part of my body, killing me with his male 
rage. I felt myself swooning under his thrusting body, dying with each 
humping of his hot meat into my hole. I must confess, however, that I felt 
some pleasure despite the agony. My tiny hole stretched to accommodate the 
lethal cock of the boy I had naively trusted, and after a while I could feel 
peculiar thrills in my cunt as Mark fucked my ass. It was still painful, but 
the pain became mitigated by confusing pleasure. It was as though my pussy 
echoed the sensations in my asshole, and my clit echoed my cunt, and I felt 
orgasm begin to build in the abused zone between my legs. 

I suppose that Mark could tell that I was beginning to enjoy it a little. He 
did not want me to enjoy it, I guess, because he began to fuck me faster and 
harder. It became almost unbearable. He humped and hammered his cock into my 
hole, racing towards his orgasm. 

He banged himself into my asshole, and I was certain that he would dump his 
hot wad in my ass any second. But suddenly he pulled all the way out of my 
ass, leaving my hole empty and my body suspended in a limbo of dispair. 

Mark held his cock tightly in his fist, as though restraining the sperm that 
burgeoned within. 

"You don't deserve my cum in your ass, bitch," he said, "fucking isn't what 
you need." 

Writhing in the bondage of the leather straps, my ass arched high in the 
air, I watched Mark walk out of the room. He went into the bathroom. I 
wondered what he was going to do. Had my asshole so disgusted him that he 
had to clean his cock of my anal goo, or had too much fucking made him need 
to piss? I honestly had no idea why he had stopped fucking my ass. 

But I soon found out. I saw Mark emerge from the bathroom, his hand full of 
the most ghastly thing I have ever seen. 

At first, Doctor, I did not know what it was; I only knew that it was 
hideously ugly and unspeakably sinister looking. 

"What your need is a good enema," Mark said, grinning lewdly. 

I had never in my life had an enema, but I had heard of them and I felt 
horror surge through my blood. I knew that I would vomit if Mark made good 
his threat. 

I writhed in torment as Mark walked back to the bed, holding the ugly enema 
bag in one hand, his stiff cock in the other. All I wanted was to go back to 
where we had been, just two nice kids who couldn't get enough of each other. 
Why did Mark thrive on this depravity, why wasn't nice healthy fucking good 
enough for him? 

I saw the loathesome rubber bag, filled almost to bursting. I knew that I 
could not withstand this gruesome indignity. 

"Mark, please, put that back where you got it. I don't want an enema, honey. 
Don't do it, Mark. It's so vulgar!" I whimpered, knowing that I was pleading 
in vain. 

"Shut up, bitch," Mark growled, "don't get me any angrier with you than I 
already am." 

"Mark, I will not tolerate this. You have no right to humiliate me in this 
contemptible way." I protested, not knowing how big a mistake I was making. 

"You filthy cunt! I have every right to treat you in whatever way I like. 
I've given you the sweat of my balls, bitch, and I can do anything I like to 
your weak female body. If you don't shut up, you'll be sorry." 

I was too frightened to think, Doctor. Stupidly, I tried to reason with this 
fiend who had suddenly become such a stranger to me. 

"Don't be idiotic, Mark. You do not own me. You have no right to treat me 
however you wish. You cannot do anything to me without my consent. It isn't 
human." 

"I warned you, cunt," Mark said. 

Mark pressed the tip of the vile enema nozzle against the puckering opening 
of my asshole. He pressed it into my dark cavity. It was plastic, sharper 
than his fleshy cock, and it hurt me hideously. Even if it has not been 
sharper than his cock, I would have been wounded by the obscenity of it; 
even had it not been physically agonizing, the humiliation would have 
pierced and wounded my emotions. Emotions, after all, are as sensitive as an 
asshole, aren't they, Doctor? 

He rammed the plastic hose into my ass, pressing brtually into my secret 
depths. 

"NO! I beg you, Mark, stop!!" I shrieked in agony. 

"All right! That's it, bitch! That's all I'm going to listen to! I won't 
have anymore noise from your stupid mouth. 

Mark pressed the nozzle into my ass all the way. Then he walked across the 
room, opened the closet and fished into a laundry bag. I saw him foraging 
through it, selectively. 

He withdrew a fistful of soiled jock straps. 

"These will shut you up," he said, returning to the bed with the stained 
jock straps. 

He forced them into my resisting mouth, stuffing my face with the coarse 
fabric that was saturated with the smells of his cock and balls. I could 
taste the sweat, piss and sperm of the man who was submitting me to dreadful 
torture. 

My face full of the athletic supporters, my hands and feet tied to the 
headboard, and my ass arched in the air, I could do nothing to protect 
myself against Mark's vile schemes. 

Mark pushed the plastic nozzle deeper into my asshole. I saw the long rubber 
hose coiled like a snake on the sheet. 

Then Mark stood on the mattress, holding the enema bag high above my body, 
lifting the ugly snake-like hose. 

He released the catch that confined the water to the swollen plastic bag. I 
felt the warm water seeping into my doomed asshole. It flowed steadily into 
my body, flowing through my anal canal into my viscera. I could feel my 
bowels swelling to the unwelcome flood, and my stomach began to stretch 
uncomfortably. 

Mark was relentless. I thought that the flow of warm water would never 
cease. It kept flowing obnoxiously into my body, and the discomfort became 
pain, and the pain became agony, utterly beyond belief. 

Then Mark placed the still half-full enema bag under his arm and pressed it 
hard against his ribs, forcing the water out in faster, more crippling 
gushes. 

The water rushed into my body, puffing me out until I thought I would burst. 
It gushed and gushed, without stopping. I felt as though I would explode on 
the bed, not only releasing the abominable flood of water, but literally 
breaking apart, my guts exploding everywhere, my life destroyed and my 
organs giving Mark a slimy, bloody mess to clean up. He deserved it. 

As my body filled to over-flowing, I could see Mark forcing the water out of 
the bag. As he pressed it between his armpit and his ribs, his cock pulsed. 
I could see the veins standing out on his enormous fuck rod, and it seemed 
to grow to even greater proportions, swelling incredibly as my own bound 
body swelled to the force of water gushing from the enema. 

Finally, the vile bag was emptied. Gallons of water filled my body, but it 
seemed as though Mark had poured all the oceans of the world through my 
little ass and into my helpless flesh. My guts ached with the pressure of 
water. It was the most extreme discomfort I had ever experienced. 

I wanted to scream out in pain and rage, but my mouth was full of Mark's 
soiled jock straps. 

Mark squatted over my body, pressing himself against my tits. I felt as 
though the weight of him would force all the water out of my over-filled 
body, but I knew that I could not dare release it. If I did not hold it in I 
would be have to writhe not only in bondage but it an atrocious cesspool of 
my own excrement. I did not want to wallow in my own shit, Doctor, as you 
can doubtless understand. Mark pulled the soiled jock straps from my gagging 
mouth and lurched forward to push his huge cock into my newly vacated face. 

He forced every thick inch of his cock into my mouth. 

"Suck, bitch! Suck my cock while your body is full of water. Suck my cock 
before you explode!" 

He was brutal. He slammed himself into my mouth and started humping in and 
out, preparing to shoot his scalding seed into my face. 

I lay bound and helpless on the bed, the leather cords cutting into my 
wrists and ankles, the water creating unendurable pressure in every part of 
my body. I had to get up. I had to run to the toilet and release all the 
horrible water that made my insides ache. But how could I? I was tied to the 
bed and Mark was hammering his hard cock into my suffocating face. I thought 
I would die. 

Mark's balls slapped against my chin, banging me brutally. 

He fucked my face and I could feel his body tensing, every muscle flexed, 
tight, and urgently taut. 

Then I felt his thick viscous load blast out of his banging cock and into my 
mouth. It coated my tongue, splashing out hotly in torrents that went down 
my throat and into my guts. The taste, usually so incredibly agreeable, was 
vile, because I felt nothing but abhorrence for him. 

He stayed in my mouth forever, pressing his groin against my face and the 
bulk of his body against my tits. I could not breathe, nor could I move. I 
knew that as little as a flinch on my part would make all the water pour 
from my ass, staining the sheets with my shame. 

Never in my life had I been so humiliated. 

Finally, Mark pulled away from me, taking his cock from my mouth. He pulled 
the nozzle from my asshole, and I was afraid that everything would come out 
all at once. Fortunately I was able to hold it in, and Mark untied the 
leather cords and let me run to the bathroom. 

You probably have no idea what it's like, Doctor. I have never been so happy 
to see a toilet in my life. It was as though I had found my best friend. 

All the water exploded from my ass into the commode, nearly flooding it. I 
felt heavenly release. After holding all that water in and writhing in a 
hell over which I had no control, to be purged of the liquid torment was as 
satisfying as any orgasm I have ever had. 

But I cannot understand Mark anymore, Doctor. I have avoided him. When he 
calls I hang up. When he tried to talk to me the other day at school I 
sought the protection of friends. I used to love him, truly. But now I. 
can't bear the sight of him. I would like to get back together with him, 
because I know that he can be wonderful both as a companion and as a lover. 
Is there any way I might be able to overcome my revulsion? Can Mark and I 
ever be intimate again? Please tell me, Doctor, anything I can do to save a 
relationship that used to be decent and blissful. 

 CONCLUSION 

More than anything else, Joan A. suffered from the shock of seeing Mark 
change before her unsuspecting eyes. Although she had experienced 
conventional sexuality, Joan A. had remained innocent of the darkner natures 
of men. Mark, more experienced than Joan, had tired of their usual routine. 
He had wanted another kind of sex. His behavior was aberrant only in that he 
forced himself upon her, both during the brutal sodomization and during the 
enema itself, which was probably the last thing a girl as naive and 
vulnerable as Joan needed. 

I am happy to say that Joan A. took my advice and confronted Mark, making 
him aware of her feelings, which, in his excitement, he might have 
overlooked. Mark understood Joan's emotions and they are now happily 
reunited. Mark still sodomizes Joan, but it is important to note that Joan 
now understands Mark's needs. She is devoted to him and wants to do 
everything she can to please him. Now, when Mark gives Joan an enema, which 
he often does, Joan is a willing, rather than an unwilling, victim. 

Joan tells me, in fact, that she is getting to the point where she looks 
forward to the enemas, and she has been asking me about the possibilities of 
other erotic pleasures with which she might not yet be familiar. 

 CASE HISTORY TWO 

SUBJECT: Lana T. AGE: Seventeen 

INTERVIEW ONE 

With the possible exceptions of Nadine C. and Diane Jane F., Lana T. was the 
most beautiful young woman I have ever had the privilege to study in my 
detatched and clinical fashion. When she came to my office for our first 
interview she was pale and painfully thin, except for her abundant breasts 
which quivered like gelatin under her tight fitting sweater. The stark 
whiteness of her skin made her blonde hair seem brilliantly golden, and her 
blue eyes were like deep ponds reflecting the turquoise sky. 

From her file I knew that she had been treated before by other specialists 
for nerves, which explained her very slender figure. I also noticed from her 
form that she was an actress. During my career I have had the rather dubious 
privilege of counselling many actresses. Stars at the top, stars rising, 
stars falling, and young women who will never be stars--all these have come 
through my doors and told me of their sorrows and anguish. Surprisingly, 
actresses are not apt to be the most interesting cases. Too often they speak 
endlessly of their work without giving adequate thought to their own 
personas. Usually they are such uninteresting women that they have no real 
need of thearapy, and more often than not they just need good sex and a 
sleeping pill. 

Lana T., however, was an exception to this tiresome rule. As she told her 
story, and disclosed more and more of the tawdry details, I realized that I 
was hearing one of the most intriguing narratives of my career. 

Herewith is Lana's shocking tale, transcribed directly from our recorded 
sessions. 

It is charming of you, Doctor, to say that you have admired my work, but I 
can't imagine what you could have seen. I have made only a few television 
films, and these were only tiny bits parts. I was always the girl who 
nameless girl who came into the drug store to buy chewing gum and got shot 
in the head when the man with the gun fired at the cashier and missed. So 
far, it hasn't been a great career. What little work I have managed to get 
has come with difficulty. They hire me because I've got a great pair of 
knockers. I mean, let's be honest, Doctor, sex is all men care about. They 
don't care about the training an actress undergoes, and the sacrifices she 
makes for her craft. I'm an artist, not just a pair of tits and a piece of 
tail. Someday everyone will recognize that I have talent as an actress, but 
now all they want to do is paw my carcass. That will all change, but for the 
time being I go along with it. If you want to know the truth, Doctor, I 
don't mind too much. Fucking isn't the hardest way to get to the top, and 
the way I fuck, the way I spread my legs or give head, I'm certain that it 
won't take me too long to get where I want to be in the world. 

But I'm not here to talk with you about anything ordinary like the casting 
couch. We have all heard that cliche until it's coming out of our asses, if 
you'll pardon the expression. 

When I think of what has happened to me recently I become so upset that I 
can't think clearly. It's hard for me to tell of these events in sequence, 
but I'll do my best. You know, Doctor, not all actresses are blonde, vapid 
and stupid. Some of us are smart and know how to tell a tale. If this 
weren't such an unpleasant one, I'm sure that I could tell it in a way that 
would both interest and amuse you. But I'm afraid you will not find this 
comic, except perhaps in a black and bizarre way. It will probably disgust 
you more than anything else, but that's what your pair for, isn't it. I 
mean, you're paid to listen to anything, no matter how horrid, and assess it 
objectively. And that is just what I need from you. If I just wanted to tell 
you about ordinary depressions of professional worries, I couldn't possibly 
afford your time. I've always thought that pyschologists sell their time at 
a more precious rate even than hookers. But this problem is too much for me 
to cope with, and I would never submit a friend to such an unattractive 
narrative. I have come to you, Doctor, because I need a sane and detatched 
evaluation of this situation. 

It all began, I guess, when I applied for admission to Peter Pointer's 
acting class. I see from your face that you have heard of Mr. Pointer's work 
and are impressed that a blonde goddess like myself knows where to go for 
the best theatrical training. I told you that I wasn't just another vacuous 
blonde. Didn't you believe me. 

He's the finest theatrical coach in the United States, maybe the world. The 
great actors in the world have been his pupils, and the good actors are the 
ones who couldn't get in the door. I knew that it would be difficult to be 
accepted into his class, but it is widely known that he prefers actresses to 
actors, and that he prefers voluptuous actresses to any other kind. As you 
can probably deduce, despite my sweater, I am indeed a remarkably voluptuous 
young woman. Contrary to popular thought, Doctor, a well endowed and 
beautiful woman does not have an easier time in life. In fact, she suffers 
more than homey women, who are not pursued by savage beasts disguised as 
human males. 

I was fortunate to be granted an interview with Mr. Pointer himself, and I 
presented myself for his inspection promptly at the time of his decree. I 
had been told over the telephone to prepare a monologue. Knowing that Mr. 
Pointer considers it arrogant for young actors to tackle Shakespare and that 
he has always said that no one need present a long scene or monologue, that 
he can judge ones talent after three lines have been spoken, I prepared 
Sonia's brief speech from Clickov's great play, "Uncle Vanya," in which the 
character speaks of her devastating boredom. It is a simple monologue for an 
aspiring actress to choose, and I expected Mr. Pointer to be impressed by my 
modesty. 

Although it was a simple monologue I studied it for three days, working on 
it assiduously. I read the entire play four times, getting to the bottom of 
Sonia's character, so that when I spoke the lines I would not be an actress 
reciting them, but Sonia herself, feeling every nuance of the emotionality 
behind the words. 

It is amusing, perhaps, that all my work was in vain. When I entered his 
office and sat gracefully in the chair he indicated, Mr. Pointer asked me a 
few perfunctory questions about my work and training to date. He said that I 
was obviously under qualified for the course, but that he might consider 
taking me as a pupil on a special basis, provided that I ... well, you get 
the idea. 

It didn't take me a minute to catch on. I've been through it before. They 
give you an extra bit in a crowd, the expect you to jerk them off; if it's a 
walk on, they think they're entitled to a bit of head; God forbid, they 
should give you a single line of unutterable dialogue without ripping off a 
piece of tail. Sometimes for the puniest bit part they expect to shoot their 
loads in your asshole. 

I helped Mr. Pointer unfasten his belt. Then I unzipped him, carefully 
arranging the smile on my face, as though I were folding down a bed for an 
invalid father. 

But I was instantly surprised. Mr. Pointer had a good sized cock. I hadn't 
been expecting much of a treat. Sometimes I think it's a pretty crummy 
world, but when I see a big handsome cock and a good pair of balls I always 
decide that there is a little bit of heaven in this hell we call the world. 

When I saw his cock I began to look at Mr. Pointer in a different way. I saw 
him in a new light. Up until that moment I had thought of him only as a man 
that I needed to manipulate, someone I had to coax and cajole in order to 
get from him what I wanted. I had decided that if spreading legs was the 
only way I could ingratiate myself to him that I would do it without feeling 
a thing. 

I had not looked at him as a man, in the sexual sense. But when he took his 
cock out of his trousers and put it in my hand, I realized at once that he 
was a sexually attractive male. In fact, he was incredibly handsome. I 
suppose he's in his middle thirties. Maybe he's older, but he doesn't look 
it. His body was solid, hard and disciplined, not a gram of otiose flab on 
him. And his cock had the vigor of a sixteeen year old boy. You know what I 
mean, don't you, Doctor? When a male is young his erection stands up 
vertically and almost clings to his stomach, when he becomes fully mature it 
gets stiff and hard and throbs with life, but it protrudes straight from his 
groin, without standing to attention in quite the same way that a horny 
adolescent cock does. 

I suppose that some men's cocks never lose that youthful verticality, and 
still stand up that vital and wonderful way even when they attain their full 
maturity, because Mr. Pointer's stood up tall and mighty, like a flag pole, 
or like an audience rising to their feet to give a standing ovation. It 
stood so vertically and close to his hard rippling stomach muscles that it 
almost nestled into the thicket of dark hair that lined his hard lean 
abdomen. 

The sight of his cock made me look at his face with refreshed eyes. He was 
dark haired. The slight sparseness at the crown of his head, which only 
suggested baldness, somehow made him even more irresistable to me. I have 
always thought that baldness was a sign of virility, and I have noticed that 
balder men tend to be hairier on their bodies. I have always been terribly 
excited by simian body hair, but I suppose that it's one of the 
idiosyncracies with which we need not concern ourselves now. 

My pussy began to drool as I watched Mr. Pointer stripping before my eyes. 
His magnificent body thrilled my own not inconsiderable flesh, and I felt my 
nipples stiffen under my tight sweater. I began to think that this would not 
be such a chore, after all. I found myself melting in Mr. Pointer's office, 
hotter and more eager than I had ever been during any quotidian casting 
couch game. 

To tell you the truth, Doctor, sex has always been a little too much of a 
task for me. I have always considered it something I had to do to get ahead, 
rather than something I wanted to do with all my being. Sex has been 
something to endure, rather than to celebrate. Maybe I have even been a 
little guilty about using my body to advance my career. I do think that it's 
a kind of prostitution, but we all prostitute ourselves in some way, Doctor, 
and I consider my actions to be less pernicious than most. Still, I'm a good 
girl, despite everything, and it's probably inevitable that I feel some 
pangs of guilt over what I have to do in this world. As I result I have 
never been able to abandon myself fully to sexual pleasure. But for some 
reason, and I cannot tell you what it was because I don't know, I did let 
myself go that day in Mr. Pointer's office. After I got a good eye full of 
his masculine body, I couldn't wait to get a pussy full. At that point my 
heat had nothing to do with any schemes, but desire was divorced from 
anything but fucking. Acting was the last thing on my mind; I wanted to be 
fucked, not as a character from Clickov or any other dramatist, but as 
myself, and I wanted it to be real. I wanted it to be basic, earthy, 
rudimentary and savage. And the unbelievable part is that it was all of that 
and more. 

Mr. Pointer stripped my clothes from my body, first gently pulling my tight 
sweater over my head, and taking my hair in his hands to shake it out in its 
full golden glory. Then he lowered my skirt from my wiggling legs and helped 
me to step out from it. 

I wore no bra, I never do, and when Mr. Pointer dug his fingers inside the 
elastic waistband of my tight pink panties I felt my nipples becoming rigid 
with desire as my pussy began to leak in Mr. Pointer's exploring hand. 

We were both too horny to linger over preliminaries. Usually I need the 
attentions of a man's mouth and fingers before my hole can get ready for the 
violent attack of a cock. But it wasn't like that in Mr. Pointer's office. I 
was hot, wet and ready. 

He took my body in his arms, pressing me to his naked and hairy chest so 
that I could feel my nipples rubbing against his hard pectoral muscles. He 
carried me to a sofa and lowered my body onto it's soft cushions. Whether he 
spread my legs, or I did, or whether they were already flung open for his 
attack, I cannot tell you. I only know that he squatted on his haunches and 
aimed his cock for the wanting opening of my cunt, which hung over the the 
edge of the sofa, yearning for his invasion. 

Invasion is hardly the word for it. He bombarded my cunt. He stormed through 
the tight glistening lips of my hole and rammed his potency deep into my 
body. I felt the lubrious walls of my cunt cling desperately to his rod, 
wrapping his tool tightly in a passionate embrace. 

I knew that my hot slippery pussy syrup felt good around his throbbing cock, 
because Mr. Pointer groaned in deep satisfaction and he began to pump his 
enormous organ back and forth in my tight juicy hole. 

With the great rod of his masterful manhood he plumbed the well of my 
womanhood, giving me the most glorious thrills I have felt in my life. 

But even as my young body quivered with the beatitude of being supremely 
fucked in the cunt by a man who knew what his heroic cock was for, I felt 
peculiar shudders of fear, as though I were somehow threatened in an 
inexplicable way. I saw the darkness of his simian body, and the darkness of 
his black, lust-glazed eyes, which seemed to devour my burning young 
breasts, my tender ass cheeks, and my entire sex-crazed body. With his 
glaring eyes he seemed to pierce my flesh and absorb it, which is peculiar 
to think, given the fact that I was absorbing the power of his prick in my 
pussy. 

Even as he smothered my wet lips with his kisses, and I felt his tongue 
probing my mouth gently, I felt curiously afraid, not of the fuck we were 
enjoying, but of the man himself, as though I were afraid of what he might 
do to me, not then, but perhaps sometime in the future. 

However, I was too enchanted to dwell on emotions that seemed silly. My cunt 
was full of his manhood and my clit was almost dancing in the fragrant folds 
of my beaver-paved flesh. 

His cock was so big, and his fucking so skillful, that I needed no direct 
stimulation on my clit. The joy of my cunt sent glad tidings to every part 
of my body, every inch and gram of my delectable flesh rejoiced at the joy 
of my pussy. 

I came almost at once, but Mr. Pointer kept sliding in and out of my hole. I 
could smell my female scent contrasting with the musky odor of his maleness, 
and the smell and the texture of his skin and air, and the power of his 
mighty thrusts made me come again. I kept coming, my clit going off like a 
firing squad of cap guns; the orgasms seemed to have no end. 

Then, magically, Mr. Pointer punched his cock into the darkest depth of my 
hole, striking the match of his cock head on against the coals of my cervix 
and setting a celestial fire in my body. 

He roared, chanting a husky hymn of animal satisfaction, and I felt his 
sperm blast into my body. The ferocious jet of his cum was like millions of 
hot needles searing the tissues of my pussy. I could feel his thick male 
cream coating my already honey-coated hole, creaming my creamy junction, 
making my cunt an oasis of male and female goo. 

Feeling his scalding load erupt in my hot flooded hole, I felt a final, 
gut-wrenching convulsion overwhelm my already over-swooned body. Passion hit 
a miraculous zenith, and my entire life seemed to tap dance on the spinning 
carousel of my clit. 

Doctor, what can I tell you? My God, it was more divine than I could ever 
have dreamed, more than anything I could have imagined to want. The sheer 
sex had been so hot and wild, that I found myself falling desperately in 
love with this man. Suddenly, life returned to the theatre. It was as though 
this were a script written by a spiteful god who was determined to make me 
play the infatuated ingenue. I doubted the reality of my rapture, but I 
could not question the bliss I had felt in my body. Did I truly love him, or 
had I simply responded as a woman for the first time in my life? Was there 
any emotion involved, or was my heart simply taking dictation from my cunt 
and clit? 

I did not know, and my mind reeled with confusion. 

Mr. Pointer instructed me to come to class the following day. I did, and he 
was curiously aloof. He seemed to forget the intimate rhapsody we had 
shared. 

Another girl was starting class that day, not nearly as attractive or as 
talented as I am, but Mr. Pointer assigned a scene to us, something silly 
about two tweedy English lesbians. It was an altogether inappropriate 
choice, I thought, as both characters were in their thirties. As you know, 
Doctor, I am barely seventeen, and Sandra, the girl I was to work with, 
could not have been much over twenty. 

Sandra and I worked for a week on the silly scene, giggling when we had to 
kiss, roaring when we had to dyke it up. 

We performed the scene for the class and it went wonderfully. The class 
laughed at the funny parts, fell silent during the parts that were supposed 
to be dramatically powerful, and a few girls in the class even wept at the 
end. When we were finished the entire class rose to its feet and applauded 
wildly for five minutes, until Mr. Pointer shouted that this was an acting 
class, not vaudeville, and that applause was not necessary. We were only 
rank amateurs who had done some tricky bits of slitick, he said. 

Naturally, I was a little pissed off, because I thought Sandra and I had 
been close to brilliant. We had invested the scene with more wit and 
intensity than the playwright had supplied. We had made his hackneyed 
dialogue come to life, and it sprung surprisingly from our lips like fresh 
bits of improvisation. 

After class Mr. Pointer asked me to stay behind. No, he did not ask me, he 
commanded me. Although I was annoyed by his response to the scene, I was all 
too glad to stay behind for a private conference, thinking that we would 
fuck again as wonderfully as we had before. 

We went into his office and Mr. Pointer closed and locked the door. Then he 
pushed me brutally into a chair and started to lacerate me with verbal 
abuse. 

I'm sorry, Doctor. This is too traumatic for me to discuss. I must go. 
Please forget everything I have told you. Forget that we have ever met, 
please, and never speak of this to anyone. I will send you a check tomorrow 
morning to cover the costs of your time. Thank you for listening to this, 
but I cannot go on. It's too vile. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

Livid with disgust and rage, Lana ran from my office with tears streaming 
down her lovely cheeks. I was afraid that she would have to hold this grief 
within herself forever, unable to express it and surrender to the catharsis 
of confession. 

However, she returned to my office several months later. Evidently the 
horror of the episode nagged her for months, until she was unable to 
continue her stoic reticence. 

Our second interview was a revelation. No student of human behavior can 
afford to overlook Lana's tale of evil. 

"Forgive me, please, Doctor, for running away from our last session. That 
was very childish of me. But this story is such shit, pardon me, but there 
is no other word for it, as you will see soon enough, if you haven't deduced 
as much already. It was impossible for me to continue our last session. The 
sound of such such atrocities coming from my own lips, not to mention the 
ordeal of reliving the nightmare, was more than I could tolerate. 

However, I feel that I can tell you now what I was unable to divulge before. 

As you might or not remember, Mr. Pointer had taken me into his office after 
I did the scene with Sandra. He pushed me into a chair and forced me to say 
in while he vituperated me unmercifully. 

He lifted his leg and pushed the sole of shoe into my belly, forcing me into 
the chair. Each time I tried to adjust my body he bore into me harder with 
his shoe. The pain and discomfort was odious. 

"That was the cheapest little piece of show his slitick I've ever seen!" He 
began, looking at me with contempt. 

I knew that this was untrue. Even if Sandra and I had been abysmal, which we 
had not been at all, our scene could not have been the nadir of Mr. 
Pointer's theatrical experience. For every bad performance there will always 
be a worse one; for every sewer in the world there's a cesspool; for every 
dirty joke that is only slightly amusing there is a dirtier one that isn't 
funny at all; for every sour note there is another note that is acrid beyond 
belief. 

But I was too uncomfortable to defend myself against Mr. Pointer's rude and 
rather vindictive injustice. I decided that he was not at all charming, and 
that I had been a lunatic to feel myself falling in love with him. No, 
falling is not the word; one does not fall in love with such an ogre; one 
plummets into pits of foul and tawdry passion. 

I decided that Mr. Pointer was a philistine boor who happened to be the best 
and most widely acknowledged acting teacher in the world. I knew that I 
would have to endure his vulgar personality for the sake of the craft he 
could impart to me, but it would be a loathsome task, rather like being a 
factotum in an office of scoundrels. I would abide him with my teeth on 
edge, but I would divorce my emotions radically from the ordeal. That was 
the only way to survive. 

But as he continued to inundate me with his bombastic criticism I found it 
hard to divorce my emotions. How can one be objective when someone is 
pressing a show into one's belly and is screaming the most unfair abuse into 
one's ears. 

"You might never be able to act, Lana, if you don't shed some of your 
uptight inhibitions. When you're on stage you have to be comfortable and 
natural. You played that lesbian like you had a six-foot turd in your ass. 
You were playing your foolish notion of the character rather than the 
character itself. Sure, you got a response from the class, but that's 
because they're all hopeless swines who don't know their talent from their 
assholes. Do you want to play to a houseful of old cunts and jerk offs who 
watch nothing but your tits, or do you want to play for people who know 
theatre from the circus and a performance from a cheap bit of gear grinding. 
That's all you were doing up there this afternoon, just grinding your gears. 

Your facial expressions, your inflections and your body movements were all 
frigid. It looked like a pitiful bitch who couldn't haul her ashes if every 
dyke in New York handed her the shovels." 

I thought this was wickedly cruel, given the fact that I had swooned and 
melted and boilied over in his arms only a week ago. For the first time I 
had let a man witness me in the full abandon of my womanhood, and he was 
calling me frigid, a dessicated cunt of no use to anyone, whether as a woman 
or as an actress. 

I wanted to spit in his face, but I couldn't. I was doing everything I could 
to keep the tears from oozing out of my eyes and streaking down my face in 
rivers of salt and mascara. 

As though he had not insulted me enough, the vile man continued. 

"Not only did you look frigid, you looked constipated as a rat who lives on 
paragoric. As I said, you looked like an old witch with a cement cobra 
coiled in her bowels. But I think I have a remedy for that. No method 
exercise will purge your body of it's constipation. We can't solve this 
problem by any ordinary means. We will have to take extra measures. 

Mr. Pointer grabbed my shoulders in his bestial paws, lifting me forcefully 
from the chair. He dragged me across the room and pushed me through the 
doorway of a small bathroom. 

It was white and austere looking, white tile everywhere. Mr. Pointer opened 
a cabinet and withdrew an enema bag. I recognized it at once. When I was a 
little girl my mother, when I was ill, would give me aspirin crushed into 
puree of raspberries. It was her remedy for everything, and I did not mind 
the taste of the aspirin because the raspberries were heavenly. My father, 
however, would give me an enema, whether I suffered from headaches, 
indigestion or menstrual cramps. Yes, Doctor, my father continued to give me 
enemas until I was fifteen and ran away from home. 

I used to despise the hideous things, and the sight of the overly familiar 
object in Mr. Pointer's hands made sensations of unwelcome deja vu race 
through my terrified body. 

At that moment I wanted to be back with my mother, who had died years ago, 
leaving my cruel father to raise me. I wanted to be in my bed, with my 
mother beside me, slipping the spoonsful of raspberries into my mouth, 
talking sweetly to me so that I could not taste the bitter aspirins. But I 
could never return to that safety. It was gone forever and I was alone in 
the world, with only the savagery of men for company. 

Mr. Pointer pushed me back into the office, holding my arm firmly in one 
hand, the wicked enema bag in the other. 

Still keeping a firm grip on my struggling body, Mr. Pointer opened a small 
refrigerator built into his desk, withdrawing a chilled bottle of one 
hundred proof Vodka. 

He unscrewed the long rubber hose from the bag of the enema and emptied the 
full bottle of chilled liquor into the bag. I watched as the rubber bag 
swelled, receiving the full quart of liquor. 

As if that were not enough, he opened a tray of ice and dropped a dozen 
small cubes into the enema bag. 

"These will make it even colder," he said, grinning at some obscene joke 
that only a monster could appreciate, "and then they will melt and give me 
even more liquid to send into your body through your constipated asshole." 

"This is ridiculous," I said, summoning all the dignity I could command, 
"I've had enough of this shit. I don't need to study with you. If you know 
so much about acting why are just teaching? Why aren't you working in films 
or the theatre? No one needs you. I'll make it on my own without any help 
from frustrated perverts with thespian pretensions. You should give yourself 
an enema, not me." 

Evidently I struck a raw nerve in Mr. Pointer's ego, for he became more than 
ever irrascible. 

"Slut! You think you can fuck your way to the top of this dung heap! You 
think you'll ever be anything but a sleazy little ingenue! Shit, honey, 
you'll be eighty and you'll still be giving blow jobs, sucking cocks in your 
toothless mouth, trying to get a part as the deaf and dumb grandmother in 
some soap opera. Maybe I can give you a chance, but you will have to respond 
well to discipline. The core of acting, or any art, is discipline, and if 
you can't learn from it you might as well get married and get fucked and get 
pregnant. Without discipline all you can ever be good for is cranking out 
more worthless people like yourself, just oozing more and more mediocrity 
from your boring cunt." 

Of course, Doctor, I did not believe a word of this, but I was too ossified 
with fear and panic to defend myself. I simply trembled in Mr. Pointer's 
clutches, utterly speechless. 

"Get your whorish body out of your clothes, cunt! I'm going to give you the 
enema of all time." 

Without letting me strip with some vestige of dignity, Mr. Pointer ripped 
the clothes from my body, tugging and tearing at each garment until I was 
naked before his penetrating and highly sinister gaze. 

"Bend over that chair and let me get this in your ass," he hissed, 
tightening the hose, screwing it into the mouth of the enema bag. 

I had no choice but to obey. I had already felt the pressure of his heel on 
my stomach, and I knew that if I was recalcitrant I would feel the impact of 
his shoe kicking me in a more vulnerable region. 

He pressed the hateful nozzle against my puckering anus, plunging it all at 
once into the darkest depths of my rectal abyss. I felt my colon being 
stabbed by the invasion of the foul thing. 

Without looking, I could somehow sense Mr. Pointer's fingers working on the 
valve that would release all the virulent Vodka into my victimized asshole. 
Then I felt it seeping in, first slowly, then with increasing gravity, until 
it was flowing fast and freely into my ass and deeper into my astonished 
body. 

It rushed faster into me, filling me with its full alcoholic volume, almost 
killing me with its discomforting and rather stinging torrent. 

I am not a drinker, Doctor. In my profession the figure is far too important 
to risk for the fleeting pleasure of intoxication. I know that many stars 
are notorious lushes, but they have fortunes and can afford to run off to 
fat farms whenever the feel a bit of avoirdupois gaining on them. Alas, I am 
not so fortunate, which is probably just as well. After too many visitis to 
the fat farms the body is damaged beyond repair, and at too early an age men 
and women who were once exceedingly handsome or beautiful are ruins of their 
former selves. 

Unaccustomed to the effects of liquor, I felt myself beginning to spin with 
dizziness. Added to the extreme discomfort and pain of the liquid pressing 
against my insides, this sudden and violent intoxication was more than I 
could bear. 

Tears began to flood out of my eyes as copiously as the Vodka rushed into my 
body, and it seemed as though all the world's tears were gushing from my two 
poor eyes in alcoholic form. The world was weeping Vodka through my 
anguished eyes, which were seeing, for the first time, the horrors of the 
world. 

Mr. Pointer released the contents of the entire enema bag, pouring the 
terribly cold liquid into my ass, from which it seeped into my body, killing 
me with its numbing cold, its hideous pressure, and its devestatingly 
intoxicating potency. 

When the bag was fully emptied into my body, Mr. Pointer looked at me with 
the most unnatural expression of obscene delight I have ever seen. He 
thrilled to my shame and agony, and I could see that he was bestially 
excited when he pulled his huge cock out of his fly and commanded me to lick 
it. 

"C'mon, cunt, I want to feel your tongue dance on my cock. Lick it good and 
I might let you do a scene for me." He leered luridly at me, ignoring my 
tears and grimaces of pain. 

I struggled to retain the Vodka in my body, but the cold of it was making me 
shiver uncontrollably, and the effect of the liquor was so strong that I 
could barely think. I was terrified that I would become incontinent. 

"Get down on your knees and lick my cock," he commanded, his voice mean and 
ugly. 

When I began to kneel I nearly fell over on the floor. I was so drunk, and 
having never been even mildly tipsy before in my abstinent life, I was 
horrified by the feeling of helplessness. 

I was terrified that force of pressure in my body would force the enema 
nozzle out of my anus like the pressure of champagne popping a cork, not 
French champagne, but the tacky, artificially carbonated domestic kind. 

But I managed to kneel, somehow managing my body by a miracle. I began to 
lick Mr. 

Pointer's cock. 

He was so hot, so horny and hard, that the mere flick of the tip of my 
tongue on the skin of his cock made his balls tighten into a gnarl of 
gristle, as though he would shoot any moment. 

Quickly, he pulled his cock away from my tongue and held it in his hand. 

Then, releasing it from his hand, he let it stand up straight and tall, 
leaning into his body. 

He watched me writhing in agony on the floor. 

"All right, cunt, now that your body is full of Vodka, I want to see you do 
some acting. Do a scene for me." He said, his voice harsh with authority. 

What the hell did he want me to do with a quart of Vodka up my ass, 
Ophelia's mad scene? Did he want me to do Hedda Gabler? 

"Get on your feet and do a monologue. What did you prepare for our first 
interview? I know you didn't do it; I was not sufficiently impressed with 
you to submit myself to the tortures of your monologue. Whatever you 
prepared, let me see it now. And you had better be good, bitch. If you're 
not I'll make you retain that quart of Vodka through the lengths of the 
longest five act tragedy in the world." 

I already felt as if I had suffered through every tragedy known to man. I 
was as sorrowful as Phaedra, and I felt older than Hecuba, older than all 
the world. And I felt like the infant Astyanax, before the Trojans killed 
him. 

I struggled to my feet, nearly toppling over in my painful effort, and began 
to deliver Sonia's monologue. I talked about how ineffably bored I was, how 
no one in the world could contemplate the depths of my insufferable boredom. 
I said that I was dying of boredom, that I had never been so miserable in my 
life. 

And it was true. Of course, it was not boredom that was killing me, but the 
pressure and the pain and indignity of the enema that Mr. Pointer had 
blasted into my body. My body was full of the freezing Vodka, and my viscera 
felt frozen by a chill that would never thaw, but at the same time I boiled 
with vehement rage. I felt that the world was all turpitude, and that I was 
an anathema in a world that had years ago gone to hell. 

I shrieked and wept, tears pouring from my eyes, my voice quavering with 
fury, wrath and melancholy. My voice conveyed all the emotions known to man, 
hostility, contempt, spite, and dispair. 

"Bravo!! Bravo, girl! You were brilliant. I have never in my life seen such 
acting. I want you to remember everything you are feeling now. Every detail, 
every nuance. Tell me, how do you feel?" 

"I'm so bored, so utterly and unspeakably bored," I said, unable to emerge 
from the character, unable to think my own thoughts. My brain reeled with 
the intoxication that had been absorbed by my racing blood. 

"No, you, Lana, how do you feel? I want to know about you." He said, holding 
his iron-hard rod in his fist. 

Then my own consciousness seeped back into my victimized flesh. 

"I feel horrible, hideous, dying. I can't bear this. It's so painful and 
humiliating and wretched. I hate you! I detest you! You disgust me!" I 
shrieked my pain for all the world to hear, but of course who am I to the 
world that listens to no one? 

The sound of my voice and the sight of my writhing and suffering body must 
have thrilled Mr. Pointer to a breaking-point, for, suddently, with no 
direct stimulation to his cock, he exploded. 

The great jets of his orgasm splashed from his tall standing dick, hitting 
his skin, dripping down his leg and staining the carpet. He came in great 
violent gushes, his body convulsing with overpowering climax. His sperm 
leapt from his huge cock, flying out everywhere in thick hot abundance. 

He groaned and growled in pleasure before finally speaking to me sensibly. 

"I hope, Lana, that this lesson has served its purpose. I believe you 
learned more about acting today than most performers ever learn in a 
lifetime. If you are smart you will apply the insight I have given you to 
your craft, and you will make great strides in my class and progress in your 
career. I have no doubt that I have been the most fortuitous catalyst of 
your life, and I believe that a star was born today, sired by the enema I 
have given you. Please never forget this day." 

Naturally, Doctor, I am not about to forget it. I need to know whether I 
should continue in Mr. Pointer's class. I do feel that my work has been 
better than ever since the day he gave me the enema. He has been almost 
invariably pleased with my progress and has only called me to his office a 
few times telling me that I am slipping back into my own ways and will need 
more discipline. So far he has not given me another enema, and it has been 
several months. I have continued with the classes so far, but every day I 
fear that enema time is drawing nearer. I might be making a mistake by 
remaining in his class much longer. 

I do feel that my craft is improving at an incredible pace, and sometimes I 
think I would suffer almost anything to become the actress that I know I can 
be. 

I have to confess to you that I would gladly receive another enema if I 
truly believed it was in the best interest of my art. The torture of being 
full and having to retain the liquid to prevent hideous embarrassment is 
dreadful, but the feeling of purgation when it finally all flows out in the 
privacy of the bathroom is a bliss I can scarcely describe. 

I am greatly disturbed, Doctor. Secretly, I fear that I might even enjoy 
receiving enemas, despite myself, of course. And I do feel that there are 
helping me attain proficiency as an actress. Please, tell me what I should 
do. 

 CONCLUSION 

I could not tell Lana everything that I thought about her story. I was able 
to tell her that she would have to make her own choice and live with it, 
which is fairly elementary, of course, but the most that any psychologist 
can tell a patient. 

Lamentably, Mr. Pointer's assessment of Lana was ruthless but, I fear, all 
too accurate. 

She is an attractive woman who is altogether lacking in any talent for 
acting. 

In her heart Lana knows that she is talentless. She only pretended to 
believe that the enemas were helping her as an actress. All her talk about 
progress in her craft is just unmitigated poppycock. In her devious way Lana 
attempted to justify her pleasure in receiving enemas by claiming that they 
helped her as an actress. Of course a good actress does not need enemas. A 
bad one is hopeless no matter what is blasted into her body. Mr. Pointer 
could have flooded Lana's body with the finest V.S.O.P cognac, augmented by 
marijuana, cocaine, or anything else he might have thought to add to the 
concoction. He would never have made her an actress. Surely, the man knew 
this and I can only dismiss him as a hypocrite for bamboozling the poor 
girl. Lana will end up as a burnt out whore on Tenth Avenue with a resume of 
walk ons and one liners summing up her history. 

It is all too obvious that Lana, as a young child, worshipped her father and 
delighted in the enemas she professed to deplore. No one with any taste 
could enjoy raspberries that were ruined by bits of acrid aspirin. Lana only 
claimed to love her mother's remedy because she could not admit how greatly 
she preferred her father's, which sounds to me a more efficient panacea. 

I have predicted that Lana will end up as a wasted whore, but I must qualify 
this by saying that she will meet this fate after her current success has 
subsided. As of this writing Lana is one of the most celebrated young film 
stars in the world. She has incredible box office draw and is one of the few 
bankable women on the contemporary screen. But, of course, the audience 
comes to see her tits, not her acting. Soon, alas, they will fall, and so 
will her star. 

 CASE HISTORY THREE 

SUBJECT: Terry S. AGE: Sixteen 

INTERVIEW ONE 

Terry S. was sent to my office by her mother, who was recently divorced from 
the girl's father on grounds of extreme mental cruelty. Terry was a small, 
frail girl of considerable charm, great wit, much youthful beauty, but 
rather minimal physcial development. 

At sixteen, Terry wore no cosmetics, not even lipstick. Her reddish hair, 
which she wore long in adorable braids with bows and bangs, made her pale 
skin look almost ghostly. Like Lana T., she was far too thin, but she did 
not have the developed breasts of Lana T. She had perhaps the tiniest little 
breasts I have ever seen on a sixteen year old girl, but the quality I 
noticed first was her skin, which was almost ghostly white. It was not the 
color of chalk, nor was it pallid or milky, but it was white in a way that 
skin seldom is. I have never seen such a snow white girl. She looked as 
though she had never in her life been in the sun, rather like a hot house 
orchid. I must say that she looked a little unhealthy. 

The stark whiteness of her skin, combined with the modest endowment of her 
breasts and the long silky red braids, made Terry seem younger than her 
sixteen tears. If I had not had her file in front of me, I would have 
guessed her to be a blossoming twelve year old. 

I soon saw that she was a highly troubled little girl, as anyone can discern 
from this transcript of our interview. 

Who are you, Doctor? Can you tell me why I should trust you? And who do you 
think I am, and how do you think you can help me, knowing nothing of my 
life? 

I suppose I could tell you in a minute or two everything you would need to 
know. No one has died in my life. That is something, I suppose. No one died 
this year, or last; I doubt anyone will die next year, but for some reason I 
find myself preoccupied with death. It is a morbid topic for a young girl to 
dwell on, I know, and I am sure it is not amusing to hear. 

You are wondering why I talk about death before I talk about anything else. 
But I am not talking about death; I am talking about no one dying. I often 
feel that if no one dies life is uneventful. I do not mean what you think. I 
am not saying that I crave the excitement of people dying. I only believe 
that if no one ever dies in our life we have no hope of growing up. I 
sometimes feel that I will never grow up. 

Look at me, Doctor. Would anyone believe that I am sixteen years old and 
almost a woman? Don't answer, I will. No, no one would believe it. I do not 
look sixteen. I look eleven or twelve, and the reason is not that I know 
little of life. In fact, I know far too much. 

Do you like to be amused, Doctor. Is it dreary for you to sit day after day 
in this office, glued to a chair, listening to the tirades of uninteresting 
people. Do you often wish that one of your patients would stop dwelling on 
their problems and, just once, tell you a tale of some amusement? Do you 
sometimes sit in your chair and pray for a laugh, feeling that you have not 
had one in years and that if you do not soon hear a clever joke you will 
turn to stone? 

I wish that I could amuse you, Doctor. I would love to have a small comic 
talent, for I have no talent for tragedy. I have read that tragedy is what 
gives mankind its little glimmer of divinity, but I do not find this true in 
life. I have a proclivity for tragedy, but no talent for it, because I am 
unable to accept it gracefully. 

Sixteen, you think. Yes, I know what you are thinking. How much tragedy can 
such a little girl have experienced? You do not need to voice your 
questions. I know them before you speak; I know them all. 

I shall tell you how much tragedy a young girl can have. Maybe you will not 
think it a tragedy. Farce, maybe, or melodrama you might call it. That is 
because you have not known in your own life what I will tell you. Had you 
lived it, you would not disagree that it is tragic. 

When I was eight years old, my father gave me a quarter. He told me to unzip 
him, to pull him out of his trousers and take him in my little mouth. He 
maneuvered my head up and down on his tall standing cock until I tasted a 
great salty splash against my licking tongue. Then he gave me a dollar and 
told me never to tell anyone what had happened. 

How could I tell anyone, Doctor? I had no idea what had happened, nor would 
I have until years later, after it had happened over and over, hundreds of 
times. I knew only that I loved it. Yes, that is the shameful truth, Doctor. 
I loved it with a passion, and I wanted more of it! I wanted Daddy to do it 
to me every day! 

He did not do it every day. I often asked him to do it again. He had told me 
never to ask when my mother or anyone else was around, and I obeyed these 
instructions, knowing intuitively that it was something secret between us. 
But on rainy afternoons, when my mother was at work, and when I had nothing 
to do, I would go to my Daddy and reach between his legs, trying to pull him 
out of his pants. Sometimes he would let me, sometimes not, depending, I 
know now, on whether or not he was horny. 

In its own peculiar way, Doctor, it was very innocent. Daddy would put his 
cock in my mouth and I would lick and suck it, often fondling his balls 
while he tickled me between my young legs. He would come in my mouth and I 
would feel delicious bliss, if not quite orgasm, between my long pubescent 
legs. 

This went on for years, and later, when I was about thirteen, Daddy said 
that I was getting too old for our little game. I did not know what he meant 
by that. I did not think that I was too old, and at that time I wanted more 
than ever to play. I wanted to go on playing forever. 

Daddy would not let me touch him. He would not even kiss me gently on the 
lips. He began to avoid me and I felt that he no longer loved me. Even 
mother, who rarely notices anything but a run in her stockings or a false 
eye lash gone awry, could see that Daddy was staying away from me. I even 
heard them discussing it one night, when I was supposed to be asleep. Daddy 
said that she was imagining things, but I knew that she was not. We could 
not both be seeing the same thing in our imaginations. 

I knew for certain that Daddy was ignoring me, and I worried that as I was 
growing older I was becoming less adorable. It frightened me terribly that I 
would become old and haggard before my time. 

Then Daddy was convicted of rape. Whether he actually did it to the little 
girl, or whether he was accused falsely, I don't know. But he was sent away 
to prison, and Mother and I were alone for two long years. 

I missed Daddy terribly. It is funny to think of it now. This year, today, I 
loathe my father. I never want to see him again. I want him dead. This is 
what I was talking about before, Doctor. I will never be able to forgive 
him, and I wish that he would die. 

This is what is so hiedous in my life, Doctor. Have you ever hated someone, 
I mean, truly despised them from the bottom of your heart? If you have, then 
you might know something of what I am trying to tell you, and if you have 
loved someone ineffably, with all your passion, and have felt that passion 
turn to hatred, a vehement, raging and all encompassing hatred, then you 
will know exactly what I suffer in my life. 

However furiously I loathe him now, I cannot deny that while he was in 
prison I missed Daddy with an ache I cannot describe. At night, when I lay 
my little body in my bed, I would feel my young nipples stiffen and my tiny 
little cunny would get wet and hot, dripping on the sheet as I thought of my 
Daddy. 

Before I went to sleep, every night of my life, the last image in my 
conscious mind would be my Daddy's big cock. I would imagine that I was 
looking down at my own gulping mouth, watching the way his stiff stick moved 
in and out. In my mind I would hear the sound of his heavy animal breathing 
and the sighs of my little body as I hungrily devoured his potent meat. 

In the morning, when I awakened, I would abhor the view outside my window 
and the sight of my own bedroom, because all night I had been swooning in 
the image of my Daddy's body in the sweetest dreams any loving daughter had 
ever had. I wanted never to awaken, always to stay in the paradise of my 
slumber, with my Daddy's cock in my mouth and his hard heavy balls in my 
hand, drinking the never ending streams of sperm that blasted hotly in my 
mouth, coating my moist cheeks. 

For two endless years I lived this way, yearning for dreams and dreading 
life. I could abide my contempt for the loneliness of reality only on the 
strength of my marvelous dreams, which seemed so much more lovely, splendid 
and real than my life. When I was asleep and wrapped warmly in the rapture 
of my dreams, I could not only see, but also taste and smell my father's 
maleness as he humped my face, and when he shot his violent load into my 
mouth I rejoiced in my pussy at the taste and texture of his wonderful 
sperm. 

I suppose you could say that I lived in a fantasy world, but I have always 
found that phrase trite. People who accuse others of living in a fantasy 
world obviously know nothing about life, and certainly nothing about their 
own life. If they did they would impugn the fantasies of others, knowing 
that they lived all their life in one of their own. Everyone creates their 
own fantasy world to live in, and the only difference between one person and 
another is that one might drift into sweet fantasy, knowing it for what it 
is, and the other might make a fantasy that engulfs him, gives no pleasure, 
without ever realizing that it is fantasy. Those who make martyrs of 
themselves, slaving in roles or jobs they hate, live as far from reality as 
those of of us who fabricate delight and dance our lives away. Why should we 
sweat and toil our lives away, when we can laugh our way through all our 
years? Do you not agree that a solemn life is as false and fanciful as a 
merry one? 

My felicitous fantasy was invaded by a grim one. For two years I flitted 
between melancholy and rhapsody, from day to night, but in time my life 
became horrid without relent. 

There is little to tell you about the two years my father was away, except 
that I tried to console my yearning for him in the embraces of many boys and 
men. I became promiscuous, quite a wicked little vixen, I suppose. I took 
men in my mouth, and it was not long before I discovered the magic of my 
pussy. 

I began to wear lipstick, perfumes, mascara, and all kinds of brazen 
adornments. With my tiny body and mere petals of breasts I knew that I could 
not play the voluptuous hussy, but I worked with the assets I had and 
cultivated the image of the adorably chic nymphet. I must say that I was 
divinely successful and never wanted for male attentions. I advertised the 
vacany of my cunt by flashing my lovely eyes and pouting with my darling and 
glistening lips, which were always moist and ready to caress an enormous 
cock. 

Mother was too oblivious to know what was going on. She had always been a 
career woman, because my father was an incorrigibly nefarious man, the 
quintessential ne'er do well. And why should he have been otherwise. He was 
handsome and charming and had my mother for a meal ticket. Mother made good 
money in something typical like advertising, and Daddy spent each day as he 
liked. 

He had all the time in the world to engage in whatever activities he liked, 
and he might well have raped the little girl out of sheer boredom. 

I used to stay out until the most ridiculous hours, sucking cock, getting 
fucked in the pussy, being eaten by men. It was not uncommon for me to 
stagger home at four in the morning. If I didn't feel like going to school 
the next day, that was all there was to it; I wouldn't go. 

One night I came back with liquor on my breath, ripped to the tits, and my 
pussy overflowing with my dripping discharges and gallons of male cum. 

I was astonished to see my father, shirtless and unshaven, sitting in a 
chair with a bourbon bottle nestled between, his legs. I was ecstatic to see 
him after two interminable years and I wished that I had been fresher for 
the reunion. I would have liked to greet him all bathed, sparkling and 
scented, rather than flushed by lust and smelling of fucking. 

"Daddy, when did you come back? How did you get out?" I squealed in joy. 

"I got off on good behavior, Terry, which is more than I can say for you. 
What have you done to yourself? What's been going on while I was gone? You 
look like a little tramp. What are those clothes you're wearing? You're 
showing your tits and ass like a hooker, and you stink of pussy and gism." 

I was startled by my father's frankness, but at first he seemed more 
dismayed than angry. His return made me see myself in a new light. I began 
to feel guilty of my shameless conduct and decided to change my ways, but 
before I could make my promise to my Daddy, he grabbed me by the waist and 
pulled me into his lap. 

I was overjoyed, Doctor. You cannot imagine how happy I was. I knew that my 
Daddy was back and that I would no longer have to console myself with the 
endless string of men who came daily in my cunt. 

I felt my father's huge body pressing my hand against him. My tiny breasts 
rubbed through my nearly transparent halter top against his well muscled 
chest, and I felt his coarse facial stubble scratching my soft cheeks, 
burning them deliciously. I could smell on his breath the odors of bourbon 
and tobacoo, but even more strongly I could inhale the divine musk of his 
sweaty balls. 

"You're a shameless creature, Teresa," My father said, calling me by the 
name he used only when he was inordinately pleased or angry with me. 

"Daddy, I missed you so much. Let's don't talk about how bad I've been. I 
know that I have been bad, but I only did it because I missed you so 
unbearably. I needed to feel a man's body. I needed strong lips to kiss me 
and a heavy body to mount and bear down upon me," I said, confessing all my 
secrets and believing that he would understand. 

He said nothing, but he glared at me, and I felt a shudder running through 
my body. I felt that he was very angry with me and that I had to do 
something to earn his pardon. 

"Please, Daddy, let's celebrate. Mother's away on a business trip and won't 
be back until the end of the week. Let's play the game we used to enjoy when 
I was young and you were always nice to me." 

"No games like that, you little cunt. You're to old for such childish 
things. You've grown way beyond that. I can tell that you've been getting 
fucked in the cunt, but I'm going to give you something you might not have 
had before. If it hurts you that's too fucking bad, honey. You deserve some 
punishment for your wanton ways." 

My Daddy's voice was angry. He roared with fury and he frightened me. From 
his words I inferred that he planned to stick his cock in my ass and fuck 
it, and I did not mind the idea at all. Although my Daddy's cock was 
enormous and my little shithole was virgin and tight, I shuddered in 
delicious anticipation, knowing that I would give my father great pleasure 
after his long and unfair confinement in prison, and I knew that he would 
give me pleasure by treating me to a thrill I had not yet experienced. 
Although many men had wanted to fuck me in the asshole, I had always 
refused. I was very curious as to how it would compare to being fucked in 
the pussy, but I had denied myself the novelty. I suppose that I had kept my 
asshole virgin so that I could save at least one hole for Daddy. It would be 
fresh and tight for him, and my anal walls would squeeze his cock, embracing 
him wonderfully in my fragrant and moist friction. 

But I did not like the way Daddy was going about it. He unbuckled his belt 
and drew it quickly from his trousers. 

He pushed me out of his warm musky lap, making me kneel on the floor between 
his legs. I saw the powerful muscles of his thighs bulging through the 
fabric of his pants. 

Wielding his belt in his hands, he began to whip my shoulders and breasts 
with the mean leather, and I felt my flesh stinging with each repeated blow. 

I cried out in pain but he did not care how much he was hurting me. He kept 
whipping me without mercy. 

"Take off your slutty clothes and show me what a naked whore looks like," he 
demanded. 

However much I disliked the whipping, I did not mind taking off my clothes 
and showing him my darling nudity. I wished that he would not call me dirty 
names, but if it added to his excitement I did not mind. I wanted him to 
have the time of his life in my tight hot little asshole. I wanted him to be 
hot and burn me alive with his scalding sperm load. 

I removed my slinky halter top and let my little boobies bounce free. I 
could feel my father's eyes upon them, and I knew that he was devouring them 
with his eyes, as though his eyes were his tongue. He licked the sight he 
adored. 

Then I stripped out of my tight and very short little skirt, thrilling my 
Daddy with the naughtiness of my naked beaver, which I seldom confined in 
panties. 

"Cunt," my daddy growled, "you go around with nothing underneath that 
immodest skirt that barely covers your box! That is shameless beyond belief. 
I will have to give you even rougher punishment than I had planned." 

I felt juices flowing in the gooey gutter between my legs. My pussy was 
dripping, oozing cunny nectars and stud seed. Mixed juices of sex trickled 
down my soft thighs. 

My asshole was moist with the lubrication of natural excitement. I wanted my 
Daddy's cock to plunge in and fuck me 

"Lie down on the floor. Press your beaver on the rug!" Daddy commanded. 

I thrilled to the bellowing sound of his authority. Gladly, I did exactly as 
I was told. I lay down on my stomach, feeling the texture of the carpet 
against my mossy beaver. 

My shirtless father stood over me and stuck his shoe between my delicate 
thighs. I could feel the toe of his leather just barely touching my asshole, 
and when he pried by legs far apart I thought I would melt into a puddle of 
white chocolate. 

My Daddy was going to fuck my hot cherry asshole with his huge fuck pole, 
and I wanted it more than anything in the world. 

But he struck me with his belt, whipping my white naked flesh. I could feel 
the burning sting on my sensitive skin, and tiny pink welts began to rise 
where he had lacerated me. 

I heard the music of his zipper, the quick snarling sibilance that made me 
dance. I writhed eagerly on the floor, grinding my beaver against the 
carpet, yearning for Daddy's dick in my asshole. 

He lowered his body, straddling my spread legs. He did not remove his 
trousers, but only pulled his pulsing prick and his heavy meatballs out of 
his fly, and I could feel the fabric of his pants pressing against my naked 
thighs. 

Daddy's big balls rubbed against my tender asscheeks and his thick long cock 
pressed into the crack of my buttocks and felt good on the small of my back 
and my spine. I could feel that it was hard and ready. 

Daddy became impatient. He slid his long hard cock down my asscrack, toward 
the hole itself. 

He poked my puckering opening with the fat head of his stiff fucking iron. 
Shocks of pain rattled through my astonished flesh, confusing my pleasure. 

"You're going to get it, bitch! I'm going to fuck your asshole harder than 
you have ever been fucked. You're going to be sorry for becoming such a 
little slut while I was away." 

He meant it, Doctor. He wasn't playing. I knew that I was in for some 
serious sodomy. 

All at once he rammed his monstrous weapon into my virgin territory. My 
tight little asshole suffered the brutality of his violent invasion. He 
pushed hard into my flesh, conquering my wilderness by force. I had never 
felt such mutilating pain. 

Daddy banged his hard cock into me, tearing the delicate tissues of my shit 
ditch. I felt his cock ripping my poor little hole apart, and even though I 
had wanted it so badly I cried out in torment, pleading with him to stop. 

He would not stop. He would not even be gentle. He forced and shoved and 
plunged his cock into my wounded little hole, until I felt the rim of my ass 
wrap around the root of his long, thick tool. 

The base of his mighty cock throbbed in my tight ass, and his balls pressed 
against my tender buttocks, thrilling my cheeks with their heavy hardness 
despite the agony of my asshole, which spread throughout my entire body. 

Daddy was all the way in my hole and gradually I felt my body adjusting to 
his domination. The burden of his bulk pressing down on my body became less 
of a bane, more of bliss. My hole seemed to expand, growing around the broad 
diameter of his rod. 

His sudden occupation of my asshole had been brutal and painful at first, 
but as he moved back and forth I felt my muscles relax slightly, and I 
surrendered myself to the joy of being masterfully fucked by my big strong 
daddy. 

He hammered his iron meat in and out of my hole, thrilling my tissues. He 
pulled out in long strokes and then rammed back into me, thrusting to the 
left, then to the south. My asshole became a universe of its own, and my 
daddy's huge prick made me aware of its many dimensions. 

I felt the big head of his cock pressing to the east and west of my anal 
world, and as the head moved inward I felt my warm luscious lining embracing 
every inch of his mighty meaty column. 

He humped me hard, banging my asshole with the bludgeoning power of his rod. 
I had never been fucked so hard, so powerfully or so wonderfully well. My 
father was the best man in the world. 

He thrilled me to peaks of ecstasy, and I felt my clit burning against the 
carpet as his mighty thrusts made my bush grind into the woolly texture. I 
was dripping from my cunt, pussy nectar pouring from the opening, which my 
father slapped with his heavy balls each time he pounded his cock into my 
ass. 

I knew my pussy flow was dripping from my daddy's balls, coating them with 
slippery ambrosia, as his magnificent cock fucked my asshole. 

I began to moan in pleasure, sighing and squealing with the delight of being 
supremely fucked. 

Daddy groaned and growled, thrilling me even more with loud volume of his 
bestial chant. 

We thrashed on the floor, my body undulating under Daddy's ferocious 
humping, twitching and writhing in pleasure, our orgasms building to our 
united zenith. 

Then I felt Daddy's great splash blast into my asshole, and I contracted my 
sphincter muscles, squeezing his huge cock as hard as I could, making his 
orgasm the best in his life. 

His load jetted into me, filling my hole with his hot scalding potency, 
burning my ass with his masculine fury. 

Then I came. The feeling of his hot sperm searing my asshole gave my clit 
the final and devastasting thrill. I exploded between my legs, orgasm 
sparkling in my cunt and clit, and my asshole full of Daddy's great dick. 

When Daddy pulled out my asshole I felt a sorrowful loss. I wanted him to 
stay buried in my body forever. 

I was' surprised to see anger on his face. He glared at me with cruelty. I 
could not understand. It was terrible, Doctor. After the magnificent 
buttfuck my Daddy was still cross with me. 

But he said nothing that night. He waited a few days to give me the 
punishment he had planned for me. It is the worst experience of my life. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

When she had finished describing her father's brutal sodomization of her 
young body, Terry became highly distressed. I could see her body trembling 
as she prepared to continue her narrative. Our hour was almost up and I 
thought it unwise for us to continue when Terry was overwrought and we had 
so little time to get to the bottom of the trauma. 

We scheduled an appointment for the following week. Terry appeared on time, 
dressed and groomed in a different fashion. Her braids had been changed in 
favor of a more mature and glamorous coiffure, and she had adorned herself 
with cosmetics. She did not, however, look at all vampy. She was chic and 
elegant and altogether dazzling. Here is the unedited transcript of our 
second interview. 

You were right to stop our first session where you did, Doctor. I am 
grateful to you, for the lapse has given me some time to assess matters. I 
realize that I might have over-reacted to my father's cruelty, although I 
remain wounded and emotionally scarred by the event. 

Despite my attempts at further intimacy, Daddy stayed away from me for a few 
days, ignoring me. It was as though nothing had happened. I felt miserable. 
I both resented him and yearned for him. 

On Friday Mother called to say she would be delayed three more days. In a 
way I was even awaiting her return, because there was so much tension 
between Daddy and me. 

On Saturday Daddy stayed home watching an endless football game on 
television. He was glued to the chair and would not get up even during a 
commercial, because he did not want to miss a moment of the game. He made me 
make popcorn and bring it to him, and he drank beer after beer, which I had 
to fetch and carry for him. I remember that we had a full six-pack and that 
Daddy went through it in an hour. He made me go out and buy another, and he 
drank that too. He had consumed gallons of beer and had not left the chair 
to take a piss. 

Finally, the game ended. Daddy had been rooting or the team that lost, and 
he was pissed off and piss ass drunk. All day he had sat around, shirtless 
in the chair, scratching his big hairy chest, draining can after can of 
beer, and belching obscenely. 

When he went to the bathroom I assumed that he would be in there for at 
least an hour taking the leak of all time. 

I went into my bedroom to masturbate. I had put on fresh sheets that 
morning. I loved the feeling of fresh linen on my naked flesh. It always 
increased the pleasure of my self induced cums. 

I stripped and threw myself on the bed, getting my long fingers to work, 
digging into my wet cunny and stroking my heavenly clit. 

I was hot and panting when Daddy opened the door, which I had neglected to 
lock. I saw his huge chest and the bulge between his legs, but I did not 
have time to enjoy the sight of them. 

My daddy had caught me jerking off, which embarrassed me dreadfully, but my 
embarrassment turned to horror when I saw what he had in his hand. 

You won't believe it, Doctor. My father had come into my bedroom carrying a 
disgusting enema bag. 

I knew that he was going to submit me to the most appalling humiliation. He 
was going to give me an enema, right in my pink bedroom, on my fresh linen 
sheets. 

My father came into my bedroom and shut the door behind him. I saw the hard 
hairy muscles ripple menacingly on his shirtless chest. 

"The other night you enjoyed that fuck too much, cunt. You took my cock like 
a whore and absorbed my cum in your asshole like a sponge. You obviously 
need harsher discipline. This time I have to give you something your slutty 
body won't like as much. You're going to get an enema." Daddy leered at me, 
hovering over my naked body. 

"No, Daddy! You can fuck me as much as you like, and as hard as you please, 
but don't, I beg you, don't give me an enema." I whimpered, imploring him to 
spare me this vile humiliation. 

"An enema is the least you deserve, slut! Christ, this is too much! I caught 
you clawing your cunt and frigging your clit. How do you think a man feels 
having a sick nympho slut for a daughter. Maybe an enema will make you mend 
your ways. Get me a pair of stockings." 

I could not understand why Daddy ordered me to fetch a pair of stockings. 
What did he want with them. Nor could I understand why the enema bag was 
empty. What was he going to shoot into my body, what vile liquid? 

Daddy seized my arm and pulled my naked body from my bed. He slapped his 
hand on my soft buttocks, pushing me toward the dresser where I kept my 
nylon stockings. 

Reluctantly I withdrew a pair and walked shyly back to the bed, covering my 
beaver in my hands. 

"Don't bother to protect your cunt. It isn't your pussy I'm going to 
assault. You should be so lucky!" He hissed. 

The muscles of his great chest flexed, threatening me with his brutal power. 

Daddy pushed me forcefully back onto the bed. 

"Lie on your stomach and spread your legs!" Daddy ordered. 

I did as I was told, too frightened to resist, and knowing that my struggle 
would be futile. I felt the fresh sheets on my skin and I pressed my belly 
to the bed. The clean linen soothed my nipples, which ached with lust from 
the delicious masturbation that had been so rudely interrupted, without even 
the simple courtesy of a knock on the door. There are simply too many ill 
mannered and inelegant people in the world, and I fear that my hirsute, and 
simian father is one of them. 

Daddy seized my wrists and tied them quickly in hard nylon knots. I felt the 
fabric on my skin, cutting into my flesh abrasively. 

He stretched the nylon stocking that bound my wrists together and tied the 
end of it to the legs of a heavy dresser by my bedside. 

I was helplessly bound. On the top of the dressed to which my hands were 
tied was an electric lamp and a fish bowl. 

I watched the two goldfish swimming in the stagnant water, which for days I 
had neglected to change. The poor little fish, I thought, as Daddy tightened 
the knot of the nylon stocking around the leg of the dresser. 

Then he did a sinister thing. He turned on the electric light, flooding my 
naked flesh with the harsh light of the bulb. He moved the lamp closer to 
the edge of the dresser, so that it shone the brighter on my bound body. The 
light was very close to the fish bowl, and I knew that if I caused too much 
commotion on the bed I would cause the dresser to topple over. The lamp and 
the bowl of stagnant water were positioned so that they would fall on my 
body and electrocute me if I made too much movement. 

I would have to use all the control I could command to come out of this 
dreadful discipline alive. 

I assumed that Daddy had planned to fill the enema bag with the stagnant 
water in the goldfish bowl. But he had an even fouler plan in his fiendish 
mind. 

First he taunted me with the enema bag, spanking my ass with the long rubber 
hose and pressing the big rubber bag against my asscrack. 

I detested the feeling of the enema rubbing against my naked flesh. Daddy 
unscrewed the hose from the opening of the enema bag, taking care to make me 
watch the heinous procedure. . 

Imagine my utter horror, Doctor, when he unzipped his fly and pulled out his 
enormously swollen prick. 

He held it in his hands and toward the opening of the enema bag. He did not 
insert the head of his cock in the neck of the bag, because his 
circumference was too great to fit in. 

The head of his cock was one inch from the opening of the rubber enema bag, 
and I watched in horror as he began to piss into it. 

"Daddy, my God, what are you doing!!" I screamed, my mind recoiling in 
revulsion. 

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm pissing into the enema bag. I'm pissing 
all the beer I drank today into this bag so I can squirt my hot urine up 
your asshole. I went through hell saving all this piss up for you. My 
bladder's been killing me all day. Shit, this feels great! I've never had to 
take a piss so badly in my life." My father leered at me, holding his 
piss-swollen prick in his fist and releasing all the steaming urine into the 
enema bag. 

I was too appalled to speak. I lay on the bed, bound in nylon and paralyzed 
with repulsion. I could see that gush of my father's piss pouring from his 
fat cock directly into the enema bag. 

I thought he would piss forever. The yellow liquid kept gushing from his 
cock, steaming, and I could hear it splashing into the enema bag. 

I watched as the bag swelled with the load of my father's urine. I could 
smell the acrid odor of it, and the bag kept getting fuller and bigger. 

Horror and disgust and fear flooded into my body, as my father's piss kept 
gushing out of his cock into the rubber bag. 

My father groaned animalistically, feeling the relief of releasing his piss 
load, freeing his bladder of the unbearable tension. It was terribly cruel. 
He was relieving himself and was preparing to shoot all his piss into my 
body, giving me more unbearable pressure and discomfort than he had felt. 

Believe it or not, Doctor, my father filled the enema bag with his 
torrential piss load. How he had saved it up all day I will never know. 
Finally the incessant flow ceased gushing from the obscene fountain of his 
phallic hose, and I saw the enema bag, stretched, bloated, a great global 
bulb of torment. 

"Damn you, Daddy, don't you dare degrade me this dreadful way. This is 
obscene. It's disgusting. I'm going to be sick, I know it. I going to puke 
if you do this to me, Daddy!" I screamed, begging for mercy. 

"Shut your cock-sucking mouth. You're going to get what you have coming to 
you." 

My father lurched forward and climbed onto the bed. He straddled my naked 
thighs and pressed the tip of the enema nozzle against my puckering anus. 

I tried to clamp my sphincter muscles together, to make my ass inpenetrable, 
but my father forced the vile plastic nozzle into my hole. 

I struggled but I was helplessly bound by the nylon stocking, at which I did 
not dare tug for fear of electrocution, and by the weight of my daddy's bulk 
upon my body. 

Daddy stood up on the bed, one foot pressing against the sheet, getting the 
clean linen dirty with his shoes, and the other pressing against the small 
of my back. I was in severe discomfort. 

Holding the enema bag high above my bound body to allow for the maximum flow 
of gravity. Daddy released the catch on the long rubber hose. 

I felt the first flow of Daddy's disgusting hot urine enter my asshole. Then 
it began to seep into the depths of my bound, suffering body, and more and 
more piss flowed from the enema. 

Doctor, it was unbearably foul. Daddy's piss was hot and acidic. I could 
feel it gushing into my body, stretching my bowels, filling my stomach and 
burning my viscera. My guts began to ache, and my body writhed in torment, 
feeling the rush of my father's urine into my degraded depths. 

The flow of Daddy's piss seemed to be endless. I looked up in horror and saw 
that the vile bag was still half full of my father's hot piss. It flooded 
obscenely into my body and I felt the heat of it. I could smell it as it 
filled to a bursting point and, without relent, kept filling me, more and 
more, bloating me until I thought I would burst. 

I'm sure that I could feel the fizzing foam of my Daddy's carbonated piss as 
it sprayed forcefully from the nozzle and struck against the soft tissues of 
my ass before cascading hideously into my guts. 

Finally, the enema bag was empty. My father had blasted all his hot piss 
into me, and my belly was full of it. It was as though I were pregnant with 
some obscene freak. No, not one unwanted child, but quintuplet monsters. 
They sloshed around, not only in my womb, but in every inch of my body. They 
were hot and salty and vile. 

My father pressed his shoe into the small of my back, exerting terrible 
pressure, pushing my swollen belly against the sheet. 

I moaned and writhed in torment. But I dared not move drastically, lest the 
lamp and fishbowl topple over onto my bound body and kill me. 

The pressure of all my father's piss against my bowels, my bladder, my 
stomach was horrendous. I felt that I was full of hateful spirits. The 
urgent need to piss and shit and explode possessed my consciousness. I could 
think of nothing but running to the toilet and purging my body of all the 
liquid evil. 

I could feel my father's body. His foot pressed against me, and he was 
shaking the bed as he shook his cock in his hand, beating his meat over my 
prostrate form. 

As Daddy shook the bed, my body shook with him, and the lamp and the 
goldfish bowl rattled threateningly on the edge of the dresser. 

"Stop, Daddy, my God, stop! You could kill me. Don't shake the bed, please! 
I will die if you continue! Is one orgasm worth my life!!" I shrieked. 

"Damn right, cunt!!" my Daddy roared, shaking his cock in his fist. 

I could feel the bed shaking and my body shaking and I could hear the 
goldfish bowl rattling on the wooden surface of the dresser and the lamp 
rattling against the glass of the bowl. 

Terror overwhelmed me, making me almost oblivious to the pressure of urine 
in my body. 

Daddy kept shaking his cock, faster and faster. Harder. He shook his fuck 
rod violently, and I could hear his heavy breathing. 

He pressed his foot so hard into the small of my back that I feared I would 
release the gallons of piss and all my excrement. I could almost see myself, 
tied and bound in my stockings, prone on my bed under the weight of my 
father's masturbating body and wallowing in the obscene discharges of my 
asshole. 

Daddy pounded his meat in his fist and growled with animal pleasure. 

Then I felt him lowering his body, squatting over my back, and his hot cum 
blast splashed against me skin. His sticky sperm was all over my back, and 
he kept shooting more and more of it on my skin. 

"Ahh! FUCK!!" He roared, squirting his last jet upon my bound and prone 
body. 

Daddy rubbed his sperm into my flesh with his hand, rubbing his palm over my 
back, pressing his thick hot cum into my back. 

He squeezed my torso in his thighs, pressing my ribs in his embrace. 

Finally, he untied the nylon stockings. I jumped from the bed. At that 
moment the goldfish bowl toppled from the edge of the dresser and spilled 
all over the clean sheet. 

The poor fish wiggled helplessly on the wet linen. 

I ran into the bathroom and collapsed upon the toilet. Everything poured out 
of me in one hot and hideous gush, all Daddy's piss and all my unmentionable 
rectal matter. 

Can you believe this disgusting tale, Doctor. I warned you that it would not 
be elegant or amusing. My God, it was appalling. I doubt that I will ever 
forget it. I know that I shall not. Every time I think of it I shudder with 
disgust. 

How can life be so unsavory, Doctor? How could my daddy have done this vile 
thing to me? 

My parents are now divorced and my father is living in California. He wants 
me Lo come see him, but I cannot decide if I should go. I am terrified that 
he will want to re-enact the odious scene. I am terrified of getting another 
enema, Doctor. Tell me what I snould do. 

 CONCLUSION 

Terry S's story is as much a tale of incestuous desire as of forced enema 
discipline. Obviously, Terry's father desired his young daughter and, due to 
the constant absence of his wife, turned to the young girl for the 
fulfillment of his masculine needs. It is all too evident that he felt as 
much guilt over their illicit sex as little Terry did, and by degrading her 
with an enema he was degrading himself as much as his poor victimized 
daughter. 

Little Terry has had a rough life. She has suffered from an overly strong 
attachment to her father, as well as an unconscionable infatuation for him.
 By filling the enema bag with his urine, which he had malaciously stored 
all day for this foul purpose, Terry's father was doubling the humiliation 
of the enema, as well as the degradation of himself. Apparently he believed 
his urine to be the foulest thing he could use, which belies his contempt 
for his own body, its natural urges and functions. He obviously suffers from 
hatred of his own penis, which has caused him not only the shame of incest 
but imprisonment for raping a defenseless girl, who, I have been told, 
resembled his daughter. 

 CASE HISTORY FOUR 

SUBJECT: Isabella Q. AGE: Fourteen 

INTERVIEW ONE 

Isabella Q. was a dark little jewel of young womanhood. I can easily say 
that in many years of practice I have never encountered so exotic and 
precious a beauty. As my servies are expensive I rarely get to treat members 
of minority groups, and my patients, almost invariably, are white, middle to 
upper class citizens, whose stories, as you might surmise, can become 
tedious listening. To tell you the truth, the work of a psychologist can be 
too often insipid, a trait which it shares, no doubt, with most professions. 

However, Isabella will always remain in my memory as one of the most 
glorious exceptions to this rule. The moment she walked into my office I 
knew that this would be an interesting case. 

Isabella is illegitimate. Her mother was Spanish and Chinese, and her father 
was a black American, a sanitation engineer. The blend of three races made 
slender young Isabella a bewitching little goddess. She was graced by the 
ethereal delicacy of the oriental, the fire of the Spanish, and rudimentary 
jungle rhythms of the black people. Somehow all the cliches of the races 
became original and profound in Isabella's magical body. 

Isabella drifted into my office like a princess, sat down like a queen and 
crossed her legs like a star. She began to tell her story with the expertise 
of a master raconteur. I was utterly enchanted, as I believe you too will be 
when you read this transcript of our interviews. 

To look at me, Doctor, who would know that I was raised in an orphanage and 
now live in a ghetto? Fortunately, I did not stay long in the orphanage, for 
beautiful girls like me are apt to be adopted. I was adopted by good but 
poor folk whom I loathed. Despite their kindness they were just too indigent 
to be believed. 

A beautiful six year old girl, I was taken from the depressing orphanage to 
live in an even more depressing neighborhood much too far uptown in 
Manhattan. My new home was a squalid tenement on a hundred and frigging 
something street and Inferno Avenue. Imagine my dismay, Doctor, to be an 
angelic little goddess forced to live in a tenebrous apartment without even 
as much as a private bathroom. It didn't have a terrace, or anything. 

My generous adoptive parents did not have the money to buy me nice clothes 
or presents. I had to wear the hand-me-downs of the elder daughter, a fat 
pig named Rachel. The clothes were tacky and did not fit well, and I had to 
attend a horrid school where everyone was obnoxious and hated me because I 
was so beautiful. After a year at that school my beauty began to develop 
even more, and my aristocratic features, as well as my patrician nature, 
began to emerge. I was obviously out of place in a ghetto. At school the 
children began to tease and torment me. They were jealous and spiteful. They 
called me the Jewish princess, which was altogether unfair, Doctor, as 
Jewish is one of the few things I am not. 

However, as you can see, I survived. In addition to my other worldly beauty 
I have also been blessed with resiliency. But I do not know if I can survive 
the calamity that has happened to me recently. It might be too much for me. 

Despising the ghetto, and knowing that I had to get out by the strength of 
my beauty and wits, I began to put my free time to work. Every day I would 
bring a shopping bag to school in which I hid my shabbiest clothes. I would 
put a little dirt on my face, just a little, and take a taxi to Gramercy 
Park, where I would kneel on a street corner. I would arrange my face into 
an expression of hunger and anguish, stretch out my palm and beg. 

Needless to say, Doctor, this became quite lucrative. With my poignant young 
beauty and my not inconsiderable thespian abilities, I attracted a great 
deal of sympathetic attention. It was not uncommon for me to make a hundred 
dollars in an hour. I worked the corner for two or three hours a day, 
staying as late as I could. But I had to get back to the ghetto eventually 
or my surrogate mother would scold me and my surrogate father would beat the 
shit out of me. 

After a few months I got sick of Gramercy Park and took my trade to Sutton 
Place, which was even better. I moved around the city, hitting all the 
generous men and the ladies bountiful. 

This went on for years, but when I was in my early teens, and my breasts 
began to show, I met Kevin. 

At this point I suppose I must make it clear that despite my deception and 
cunning I had not been a cheap little girl. My little cherry was still 
intact. I devoted all my thought and energy to improving my lot, and what 
with the begging for alms on street corners and outside chic shops where the 
rich bitches bought baubles and came out feeling guilty, I had not had time 
to think about my cunt. Believe it or not, Doctor, it had never even 
dripped. I did not know what it was for. I just thought it made pee pee and 
that was all. 

Kevin taught me differently. He caught my act one afternoon as I was doing 
my gamine routine on the corner of Park Avenue and Fifty-second Street. He 
was more amused than moved, or so it appeared by his wry smile. I was 
determined to get at least ten bucks from him, and I began to crawl after 
him on my knees, grabbing his legs and whimpering about how hungry and poor 
I was. 

I clutched his ankles and pleaded for mercy and money. He stopped, sat down 
on the concrete ledge around the fountain of the Seagram Building and began 
to talk with me. 

"You're too beautiful to be poor," he said. 

I was not so silly as to tell him that I agreed with him. I pretended not to 
know how beautiful I was, because that always seems sweet and innocent. For 
some reason, Doctor, rich assholes, who have none of their own, are 
intrigued by the modesty of others. They adore humility, perhaps because 
they are so arrogant themselves. 

I performed brilliantly, convincing Kevin that I was desperately poor. It 
was not hard to do. Although I had saved a good amount of money I still felt 
hopelessly underprivileged. I had bought a few nice dresses, but I was never 
able to wear them for fear that my surrogate mother would see them and 
wonder where I had gotten the money. She more than likely has accused me of 
being a whore, which is not my style at all. I might beg, Doctor, but I 
would never be caught dead hooking. 

Kevin was divine. He believed my pitiful story and began to feel sympathy 
for me. He invited me to come home with him and have dinner. I accepted his 
invitation eagerly, as I had had nothing but an ice cream cone all day. 

Kevin was tall and blond and exceedingly handsome. He was in his early 
twenties and very successful and reasonably wealthy. When I asked him what 
he did for a living he did not hesitate to tell me that he was a pimp. I was 
very surprised. Of course I knew what a pimp was. One cannot grow up in a 
ghetto without picking up a bit of knowledge about the world's vulgarity. 
But I had always thought that pimps were black and wore gaudy shoes and rode 
around in gaudier limosines killing people. Kevin was white, well dressed 
and looked like a gentleman. 

As soon as we were inside his apartment Kevin grabbed my budding breasts. He 
wasted no time. He told me that he wanted to fuck me and that afterwards he 
would buy me a pretty dress and take me somewhere nice for dinner. This 
seemed a kind of prostitution to me, and I told him that he did not have to 
buy me a dress or dinner, knowing that this would impress him and that after 
the fuck he would buy me an even nicer dress and a more elegant dinner. 

It is amazing, I suppose, that I had lived in the ghetto without ever having 
seen a cock, but it's true. When Kevin took off his pants and I saw his 
enormous wand of flesh my brain sent signals to my pussy. The signals 
ricocheted back to my brain, from my brain back to my pussy. My mind and my 
cunt engaged in a fast game of electrical ping pong, thrilling me beyond 
description. I was suddenly so angry that I had spent my entire life begging 
for money when it was obvious that cock was what I needed and wanted. 

Kevin wasted no time stripping every shabby garment from my young virgin 
body. I could see the look of rapture in his face when he saw that there was 
nothing shabby or inelegant about my stunning black beaver, my glorious 
thighs and my marvelous titties. 

When he buried his face in my breasts and worked his tongue on the nipples, 
my young body shivered with sensations it had never known before. The 
extraordinary novelty of sexual bliss thrilled me. 

Kevin stripped down to his wonderful nothingness, which was everything I 
could want in the world. Out of his clothes he looked a million times more 
handsome and virile than when he had picked me up on the street corner. He 
was a god, I was a goddess, and we were going to fuck like divine beasts. 

He threw me onto the bed and spread my legs. He adjusted my body so that my 
hole was positioned for his attack. 

I knew nothing whatever about men or fucking and I did not know what I was 
in for. My excitement was based on no knowledge, it was pure instinct. 

Before ramming his cock into my virgin cunny, Kevin inserted a finger to 
explore and test my hole. 

"Jesus, you're tight. You have the tiniest little hole I've ever felt, but 
it's wet and gooey, baby, and I'm going to give it the best fuck it's ever 
had." 

Kevin assumed that I had taken cocks up my snatch before, and I did not want 
to tell him otherwise. I knew that some men did not like to fuck virgins, 
not wanting the responsibilty or guilt of taking a little girl's cherry. My 
little hole was simmering with lust and wanted to get fucked by Kevin's 
lethal weapon, so I lay back, spread my legs high in the air and said 
nothing. 

He pressed the tip of his massive organ against the glistening lips of my 
tight cunny. I felt the pulsing of his cock head against my tender flesh, 
and when he pushed into me I was shocked by the most incredible pain I had 
ever known. 

I screamed in agony, knowing that I could not endure it. 

But Kevin was determined to bury his rod in my little box. He was trying to 
put boots in a box that would not contain earrings. I knew that I would die 
if he continued, and I knew that he would continue. He was too horny to do 
anything but fuck me and kill me, and I resigned myself to my fate, knowing 
that I would die an insufferable but badly wanted death. 

Kevin reached for my pussy lips, prying them apart with the tips of his 
fingers to make room for his cock. I felt his fingers massaging my moist 
delicate flesh, thrilling me. He forced his cock in a full inch and I felt 
it throbbing powerfully against the lining of my tight canal. 

I knew this was the end. I would die of agony before feeling the full 
splendors of his cock in my cunny. He would kill me, and then he would shove 
it all the way in and start fucking me with his huge wonderful rod, but I 
would be too dead to enjoy it. 

Terror rushed through my body, confusing my pleasure. I wanted Kevin to get 
it all the way in, I wanted to feel myself being fucked by a cock, to learn 
what it was like. But I trembled in panic, frightened for my life, while 
Kevin, male and uncaring, rammed deeper into me. 

I looked down between my legs and saw the broad head of his cock disappear 
into my body. I could see the wedge of flesh around the circumference of his 
prick, and then I could not see it. He pushed it into my flesh, filling me 
with more and more of his pulsing hot meat. 

But he had many inches still to shove in, and I knew that my hot little 
pussy would have to accommodate them. 

The pain was excruciating. Kevin strained to invade me, pushing his cock 
ruthlessly into my warm wet box. I screamed again in terror and Kevin 
covered my mouth with his hand to stifle my cries. 

"Hush, honey! You're going to get fucked, and you're going to like it." 
Kevin said, half gently, half threateningly. 

He pushed his cock deeper into the wound of my cunt, and when he was in 
three inches I felt a shock of heightened agony, and I looked down and saw 
drops of blood leaking from the moist flesh of my hold and forming ruby red 
beads of Kevin's hard brutal fuck rod. 

He saw them too, but they didn't stop him. He kept assaulting me with his 
weapon of flesh, forcing his male meat into my female tunnel. His cock was 
insistent. 

Suddenly, Kevin's great cock rushed into me all at once, as though a magic 
door had been opened by a benevolent sorcerer. He rammed all the way into my 
pussy, and I felt the root of his cock throbbing inside the delicate 
envelope of my cunt lips. 

For a moment it was excruciating, but then the pain became glorious. My 
gooey cunt gutter was full of his long hard meaty bone, and my wet tissues 
began to gnaw on it. I felt my muscles expanding around the girth of his 
fully inserted rod, and his pulsing cock made exquisite sensations in my 
hole. 

"Ahh, baby, that's good," Kevin groaned in animal delight. 

He was right. It was good. He began to. move back and forth in my tight 
cunt, making my lubricious walls embrace his huge stick and treat it to 
delectable friction. 

His cock withdrew from the delicious embrace of my cunny, leaving me almost 
vacant, with only the tip remaining in my hungry caress. 

Wonderfully, he plunged back into my wet oasis, and my pussy lining wrapped 
around him in ecstasy, thrilling to his reoccuption. 

In and out he pumped, thrilling me, blessing me, adoring me. I worshipped 
his cock, his thick hot pulsing meat. His virility was a benediction, a 
marvel. 

He fucked me like a centaur, a satyr, a powerful god. Thrusting into me 
he'thrilled me with his potency; pulling back, deserting me, he made me 
yearn for his return, which he gave-me a hundred times, a thousand times. 

When he punched his iron spear into my ecstatic wound I felt his huge balls, 
the globes of his mighty maleness, slapping hard against my swooning flesh. 
They struck my delicate asscheeks, banging my skin with wonderful power. 

I writhed under his body, loving every thrust. I watched the motions of his 
humping pelvis and the flexings of his powerful chest. Instinctively, I 
devoted my hands to the service of his pleasure, stroking his hard pectoral 
muscles with one, dancing my fingers on his wonderful flesh. With my other 
hand I caressed his big balls, squeezing his hard bag of nuts and loving the 
way they filled my hand with his strength and vigor. 

From his animal groans and the tenseness of his masculine musculature I knew 
that he was experiencing a great and magnificent pleasure, perhaps as superb 
as my own. I was glad that my pussy could make his cock feel so good. It was 
only fair, because his hard meat in my hole made me happier than I had ever 
been in my life. Kevin started to bang my writhing body harder and faster, 
thrilling the oasis between my thrashing legs. 

I wrapped my legs around his humping back and used them to push him harder 
and deeper into me, guiding his already masterful fuck thrusts. His long 
hard cock rushed in and out of my hole, in and out of the tight wet embrace 
of my cunt. 

He hammered into me hard and brutally, growling with raging male ecstasy. 

"Ahh, shit! I'm going to come in your cunt! I'm shooting my load into your 
hot little pussy!" He roared in pleasure, and his humping became almost 
terrifyingly powerful. His body banged into me, punching my hole with hard 
fucking force. 

I felt shudders of ecstasy between my legs. My hole was secreting wonderful 
pussy dew, and the little gem of my clit quivered in my soft fragrant fold, 
hot like a little flame of passion in the secret grove of my womanhood. 

All at once, I felt a great blast go off in my cunt, a hot searing splash 
crashing out into my hole, burning the walls of my already over boiled 
cunny. 

"Fuck!!" Kevin shouted, his voice loud and husky, "I'm shooting my load in 
your cunt." 

That was it for me! When I felt his scalding seed splash out of his cock and 
into my body, I exploded with my first orgasm. Never before had I felt 
anything like it. It was a paradise better than any I could ever imagined. 
It was beyond anything I had ever thought about. 

This was the delight, this was the sensation that people enjoyed thousands 
of times in their lives? I could not believe it. Surely, I thought, bliss 
this total can only come to us once. How can this ever happen again, this 
joy, this miraculous euphoria? I could not comprehend the thought of people 
doing this every month, every week, sometimes every day of their lives. It 
was too wonderful for that. I would have been glad and grateful to feel it 
just once more in my life. Only that. Just once more would be more than 
enough, and more than I could ever deserve. Human beings do not deserve to 
have such ecstasy all the time. 

Nor could I quite believe that this was the rapture about which people told 
silly, banal stories and spoke of in filthy words. It was too glorious, too 
precious for the language of the street. It should be spoken of only in 
reverent whispers, only with awe and astonishment. No superlatives were 
adequate to convey its splendor. It should not be spoken of at all. It 
should not be blasphemed by the vulgate tongues of vulgar people. It should 
only be worshipped, over and over. 

Later, after we had lingered in each other's passionate embrace, Kevin did 
buy me a lovely dress. I looked regally beautiful in it, and he took me to 
an extraordinary dinner. Never in my life had I known that mere food could 
be ambrosia. In the ghetto we worried only about filling our bodies, but I 
learned the difference between eating and dining. Kevin worried about the 
flavors of food, not only the textures but the sheen of sauces. I tasted new 
wonders. After the heaven of fucking the joy of cuisine was almost too much 
for me. I never wanted to return to the ghetto. 

But I did, Doctor. I went back that night, and waited insufferably for the 
weekend, when I had arranged to meet Kevin again. 

We did meet, and we fucked again, and dined again, and Kevin bought me 
another beautiful dress, more sumptuous than the first. 

We began to have weekly rendezvous, and my life became one rhapsody after 
another, until one day, it all turned to shit. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

Isabella blanched at the conclusion of our last session. Obviously the 
continuation of the story was painful for her to recall. I had listened 
avidly to her tale and was eager to hear it to the end. Unfortunately, 
however, our time for the day was up and another patient was already in the 
waiting room, ready to bore me with her dreary neurosis. Isaella returned 
later in the week to disclose the remainder of her grim but clinically 
fascinating tale. 

Here, verbatim! is the transcript of our second interview. 

You may wonder, Doctor, what I have to complain about or what it could 
possibly be that has shattered my life. It would seem that I had everything 
that a girl could want, a handsome and supremely endowed man to fuck me, buy 
me clothes and presents and initiate me into the marvels and luxuries of 
civilized life. 

It did seem perfect. I would come downtown, meet Kevin at his apartment, we 
would fuck and enjoy each other, have lovely evenings, and then I would 
leave and return to the ghetto, knowing that I would be back in Kevin's bed 
in a day or two. 

I was so ecstatic every time I left Kevin, so radiant with the memory of 
each wondrous evening and with the certainty that I would be back for more, 
and that his huge cock would blast me over and over with an endless supply 
of his hot male seed, that I usually walked all the way from the low sixties 
to the tacky tenement I lived in, which was in another world, on West One 
hundred and thirty-sixth Street. 

But one night I was late, and my surrogate mother had been asking questions 
about where I had been keeping myself and what I was doing, so I decided to 
take a taxi. 

On the way home I glowed with happiness. In two days I was to meet Kevin in 
Central Park, where we were going to have a divine picnic of chilled lobster 
with remoulade sauce, ambrosial cheeses, champagne and other lovely things. 
Then, I knew, Kevin would take me away and ravage me, drilling his hard 
wonderful cock into my wanting pussy, which by this time took him happily, 
like an expert. I could not get enough of his cock. 

In the taxi, as we drove through the tenebrous squalor of the upper West 
Side, I thought also of the new pleasure Kevin had taught me that evening. 
For the first time he had asked to stick his cock in my asshole. At first, 
Doctor, I had been revolted by the suggestion. I knew how glorious it was 
when he fucked me in the cunt, and I thought that was pleasure enough. But I 
did consent, not wanting to anger the man I had come to worship and love. 

When Kevin lubricated my ass and shoved his cock into that strange and still 
virgin hole, I experienced the bliss of losing yet another cherry. I suppose 
that it was the last cherry I had to lose, but I parted with it joyously. 
The feeling of Kevin's great fucking cock in my ass was as wonderful as the 
ecstasy I felt in my cunt when he fucked me in the conventional way. It was 
an altogether new experience, and I knew that Kevin would gvie me more of 
it, which was just what I wanted. 

Little did I know that he had other plans for my asshole. 

I waited in suspense during the two long days that kept me from Kevin's 
cock. 

When I arrived for our picnic I saw Kevin, shirtless and in tight cut off 
shorts, languishing on the quilt he had spread out on the grass of the park. 
The sight of his half naked body and the thick fat bulge inside his cut offs 
made my cunt boil with desire and anticipation. I couldn't wait to gobble up 
the lobster and start nibbling on his cock. I wanted to devour it in my 
mouth before he rammed it into my pussy, and then my eager asshole. 

Oddly, Kevin did not smile when he saw me. His face was almost 
expressionless. I sat down on the quilt and stretched my legs out, wanting 
to tease him with my beautiful limbs and my breasts, which were visible 
through the plunging neckline of the sheer summer dress I was wearing. My 
blood simmered in my veins, knowing that Kevin would tear the dress from me 
and that I would soon be naked in his arms, my hole, either one or the 
other, filled with his massive male meat. 

The first thing Kevin said to me was rather puzzling. For two young people 
allegedly in love it was a suprisingly banal question. 

"Since when can you afford taxis, bitch. Don't you know that begging gamines 
don't take taxis back to the ghetto after a rough night of fucking? I want 
to know where you got the money." Kevin's voice sounded cold, distant and 
hostile. 

His angry tone terrified me. I had no idea why he was making such a fuss 
about a taxi. After celestial fucking did he expect me ride on a bus? I did 
not know what to answer, but I tried, lamely. 

"Kevin, don't be silly. It only costs a few dollars. I might live too far 
uptown, in another world, but it is more or less the same galaxy. Why should 
we fuss about a few dollars when we have the fortunes of the world between 
our legs? Let's don't worry about some scraps of green paper when we own the 
rainbow." 

I thought this little bit of prosody would do the trick, but it didn't. 

"You're not answering my question, bitch! How did you get the money. I've 
been buying you some clothes, but I haven't been giving you any cash. Have 
you been picking my pockets while I hump you?" 

The suggestion was too tacky, the accusation too vulgar and unfair. 

"Kevin, how could you say something like that. Of course, not. I would never 
do something like that. Haven't I told you that you could fuck me without 
even buying me dresses?" I protested, tears of hurt and insult beginning to 
well in my beautiful eyes. 

"If you haven't been robbing me, where have you gotten the money? Have you 
been hooking? Have you betrayed me, taking all the cock and clothes you get 
from me and then selling your pussy to anyone else who will pay the price? 
Is that how you've been getting your money. 

I was so hurt by Kevin's unjust accusations that I blurted out the truth. 
"If you must know, Kevin, I made some money begging on the streets. People 
are generous with their money, rich people, I mean, because they're guilty 
about having so much. I think they know that it isn't fair for them to be 
wealthy and crass when other people are indigent and charming. Have you ever 
noticed that rich people are never as civilized as they should be, given all 
they have to work with. It has always bothered me. It has never bothered me 
that rich people are vulgar, but it enrages me that vulgar people are rich." 

"Never mind your social philosophies, bitch. Tell me how much money you made 
begging on street corners." Kevin hissed, cracking a lobster claw and 
dipping it in remoulade sauce. He put it in his own mouth and chewed, 
waiting for my answer. It would have been polite if he had given it to me. 

"I used to make about a hundred dollars a day, I suppose." I said. 

"And how long did you do it," he asked, suspecting the worst. 

"Oh, not long, Kevin," I lied, not wanting him to deduce that I had made 
thousands of dollars from years of appealing to the sympathies of guilty 
people. 

"How long," Kevin growled, getting angry and demanding specificity. 

"Less than a year, darling," I said, hating myself for lying to him. 

"I'm not sure I believe you, cunt! But even a year is a lot of time, and I 
suspect you made more money than you're willing to tell me. All this time I 
thought you were a penniless little gamine, and I've bought you expensive 
clothes because I wanted to take you to nice places and let you experience 
some relief from your destitute ghetto existence. But you didn't need what I 
could give you. You could have bought it all for yourself. Jesus, do you 
realize that I've spent a fortune of money on you, and I feel that it has 
all been unnecessary. Christ, cunt, I work hard for my money! Do you think a 
pimp has an easy life? How stupid are you? It's fucking hard work. I have to 
keep an eye on every one of my girls to make certain they don't get out of 
line. I can't afford a girl who misbehaves and often I am forced to 
discipline them, just as I'm going to have to discipline you." Kevin said 
ominously. 

Naturally, I had no idea what Kevin meant by discipline, but I did not like 
the sound of his voice. There was a sinister hint in his words that I had 
never heard before, and it frightened me. I looked around the deserted 
section of the park where we had arranged out picnic. We were almost 
entirely enshrouded by bushes, and there was no one in sight. My terror 
increased as I realized that there was not a soul to come to my rescue. 

The lobster was broken into pieces on a platter, the cheeses were arranged 
on a wooden board with a variety of superb looking breads, and the champagne 
was in an ice bucket. Everything was arranged so I had no idea why Kevin was 
opening the picnic basket. It did not seem likely that he would produce a 
delightful surprise at the point. 

Of course, I did not expect him to extract lovely dishes of frozen lemon 
souffle, or anything that would be a treat. I expected him to withdraw 
something unpleasant, but I was not prepared for what I saw. 

Doctor, can you believe it, Kevin brought his hand out from the picnic 
basket and showed me one of the ugliest things I have even seen in my life: 
an enema bag. 

Appalled and mortified, I leapt to my feet and began to flee. But Kevin 
leapt faster and ran faster. He seized my body and pulled me back to the 
quilt, forcing me down. 

He took a lobster claw in his hand and slapped my face with it. As the red 
claw made contact with my skin its cold juices' splattered my cheeks and ran 
down the plunging neckline of my dress, dripping on my tits. 

He tore at my dress. I had yearned for him to do this, but I did not want 
him to do it in this way and with such disgusting intentions. 

He straddled my struggling body. I tried desperately to fight him, screaming 
and clawing his face with my nails, but I could do nothing to prevent him 
from abusing me with the enema bag. I knew that I was going to suffer the 
greatest humiliation of my life. 

He kept slapping my face with the lobster claw, sitting on my body, bearing 
down on me with all the weight of his bulk. 

Kevin reached again into the picnic bag and pulled out four cans of chilled 
orange soda. I could see the beads clinging to their cold metal cans, and I 
knew that they had been on ice for hours, ready for my asshole. 

I knew also that we were not going to drink them. Kevin was too much of a 
gourmand to serve orange soda with lobster. 

Keeping his weight on my body, Kevin snapped the metal tabs of the cans, 
making the carbonated fizz spray my face and body. He unscrewed the vile 
hose from the enema bag and emptied the contents of all four cans into the 
disgusting rubber receptacle, which took the contents in all too easily. I 
could see the rubber bag swelling with the addition of the fluid, and I saw 
the ugly color of the liquid as it poured from the cans into the bag. 

As Kevin emptied the cans I could hear the horrible sound of carbonation, 
and I knew that it was going to fizz and foam in my wickedly abused body. 

"No, Kevin, please! I beg you not to treat me in this disgusting way." I 
whimpered, feeling a sickness in my stomach. 

Before screwing the hose back into the neck of the enema bag, Kevin dipped a 
large spoon into the bowl of remoulade sauce and dropped the sauce into the 
bag, mixing the thick sauce with the soda. I could see all the little capers 
and chunks of pickles and gherkins dripping into the enema bag. I recoiled 
in dread at the thought of those bits of solidity mixed in with the liquid 
that was going to gush through my asshole and bombard my suffering body. 

Kevin stripped me of everything, my dress, my panties, and I writhed under 
the weight, naked and helpless. 

All at once he rammed the plastic nozzle of the enema into my resisting 
asshole. I tried to push it away, but Kevin was determined to abuse me. He 
was merciless. 

He moved the plastic nozzle in and out of my hole, as though he were fucking 
me with it. I saw an expression of dissatisfaction on his face, as though my 
asshole did not please him any more than the enema pleased me. 

"This won't do," he said fiendishly, and he withdrew it. 

My body relaxed, utterly relieved. I thought that Kevin had decided that I 
did not deserve such punishment. 

But I was naive. He reached again into the picnic basket and withdrew an 
enormous dildo. I was disgusted. It was hard rubber and as black as ebony. 
It looked like the cock of a monstrously over-endowed black man. I saw the 
artificial piss slit, and knew at once that Kevin was going to subject me to 
an even more abominable torture. 

Kevin impatiently unscrewed the plastic nozzle and replaced it with the ugly 
black dildo. 

Even more violently than he had plunged the nozzle into me, he attacked my 
asshole with the dildo. It was too disgusting. I felt the hard black rubber 
tear the delicate tissues of my anus, and the pain was something I will 
never be able to describe. I truly thought I would die of agony, not to 
mention the unspeakable shame of being given a brutal enema in Central Park 
on a lovely summer day when I had been expecting a picnic. 

Kevin lifted his body slightly from mine and placed the enema bag on my 
back. Then he lowered his weight again to my body, sitting on the enema bag 
that was between us. 

He released the catch of the enema and forced his weight down on the full 
bag, and the vile orange soda, mixed with the thick chunky remoulade sauce, 
began to pour into my asshole. 

It rushed in, wave after wave of terrible fluid flowed into my ass. From my 
ass it gushed into my body, filling me with its horror. I began to feel 
severe discomfort, certain that I could take no more of the liquid. My body 
felt over loaded with the atrocity, and my stomach stretched out, bloated 
with the heinous enema. My belly puffed and lifted me from the quilt, but 
Kevin was pressing down upon me, and down upon the enema bag, forcing more 
and more of the hideous concoction into my devastated flesh. 

I knew I would die. I could not stand it. It was too wicked and evil, and 
the indignity was insufferable. 

"Stop, please! This is horrible. I can't bear it. I have to shit, Kevin. I 
can't help it. I have to piss and shit or I will will burst open. You don't 
want a mess on your nice quilt, do you?" 

"If you dare to let any of this out of your body, I will kill you, bitch! 
Don't you dare explode. You must keep all of that orange soda and all those 
bits of pickles and capers and onions inside your body, and all your shit! I 
don't want one drop to stain this quilt." His voice was ugly and 
threatening. 

It was more horrifying than I can say. 

Kevin kept emptying the contents of the enema into my body. I could feel the 
cold carbonation of the soda foaming in my stomach, tingling odiously on the 
lining of my intenstines. 

Finally the bag was emptied into my body. Four cans of soda and dozens of 
pieces of pickle and capers and gherkin and onions were in my body, not to 
mention the eggs, oil, lemon and mustard from which remoulade sauce is made. 
Even though Kevin had mixed only one heaping spoonful of the sauce into the 
soda, I could feel the chunks of substance, and the slime of the sauce, 
sloshing around in my body. 

But more than that I felt the horrible pressure inside me, the pressure that 
made me need to shit and piss. But I could not. I was helpless, bound under 
Kevin's body to the quilt which I did not dare to soil. 

Pressing his weight against me, Kevin unzipped his fly and pulled out his 
cock, as hard and stiff as I had ever seen it. It pulsed with vitality. 

"Jerk me off, bitch!" He commanded. 

Reluctantly I took his huge cock in my hand and began to massage it. 

"Put some spit on your palm and make your hand slip nicely up and down my 
cock so I can come on your back." Kevin ordered. 

With my belly pushed into the quilt it was uncomfortable to say the least, 
and difficult to reach behind my back to enclose Kevin's big cock in my 
hand. 

Somehow, despite the terrible strain against my body, the unnatural pressure 
against my bladder, I managed to cover my hand with saliva and wrap it 
tightly around Kevin's cock, which I began to shake. 

"That's it, cunt. Keep doing that for a while until I come," Kevin said. 

Kevin's huge fuck rod pulsed obscenelyin my fast-moving hand. He breathed 
heavily, feeling the pleasure in his groin. 

His cock in my hand and his body pressing against mine, increasing the 
terrible pressure, Kevin cracked another lobster claw, dipped it 
thoughtfully into the sauce and popped it in his mouth. He ate it with 
enthusiasm as I worked my slippery hand up and down on his massive meat. 

Kevin poured some champagne into a chilled glass. I could hear it fizzing as 
he poured and the sound of its effervescence somehow doubled the hideous 
feeling of the four cans of soda inside my guts. 

Kevin savoured the champagne, commenting on its fruitiness, while he pressed 
down harder on my body, as though my back were the saddle of horse. He 
bucked his cock into my hand, moving it faster and faster in and out of my 
grip. 

"Have some champagne," He said, pouring a glass for me and forcing it 
against my lips. 

With all the carbonated soda and the remoulade sauce in my body, filling me 
to a bursting point, champagne was the last thing I wanted. I wanted nothing 
more in my body. 

But Kevin forced me to drink. He pulled at my hair, lifting my face from the 
quilt. He forced my jaw open with his hands and poured the champagne into my 
mouth. It was exquisite champagne, of course, but I was in no mood to enjoy 
it. 

Then he forced the black dildo deeper into my asshole. It was so long that 
it penetrated my bowels, hurting me terribly and increasing the unbearable 
pressure of the enema in my body. Kevin pushed the black dildo so far into 
my asshole that even the base of it disappeared. 

He disconnected the dildo from the enema hose and forced it all the way into 
my asshole with the tip of an already devoured lobster claw. 

Kevin kept pounding his cock into my fist, and from his deep ferocious 
growls I knew that he was on the verge of his orgasm. 

It was so unfair. Kevin was enjoying a wonderful, mounting male climax, 
while I writhed on the quilt, suffering the horrors of the degrading enema. 

"Ahh, dammit, cunt! I'm coming," Kevin groaned passionately. 

Then I felt his hot cum splash onto my bound back. It was hot on my skin and 
I could smell the musky maleness of it. 

Even after he had shot his load on my back, Kevin remained on me, straddling 
my body and pressing down on me. I felt as though I would burst any second. 

He was ruthless. 

"Have some lobster, cunt!" Kevin said, dipping a hunk of fleshy into the 
remoulade sauce and stuffing it in my mouth. 

I would have loved it, but I was in such severe discomfort that I could not 
even taste it as Kevin forced his hand into my mouth and forced it down my 
throat. 

"Kevin, please. If I don't release this enema I will break apart. Please let 
me go shit this out!" I begged, pleading desperately for a bit of kindness. 

"Not yet, bitch. I'm going to make you lie here. I want you to hold it in a 
while." Kevin said, the tone in his voice was unmistakably cruel. 

He seemed to sit on my body forever, Doctor, pushing me into the quilt, 
doubling the horrendous tension in me. The carbonated soda and the remoulade 
sauce fizzed and foamed in me for hours, it seemed, killing me with pain. 

Finally Kevin got off my body and rolled over on the quilt, sighing deeply 
with pleasure. 

With lightning speed I ran from the blanket, my bloated belly bouncing and I 
darted into the bushes and squatted like an uncivilized animal. 

The pressure forced the black dildo out of my ass. It plopped to the ground 
and then all the hideous liquid and sauce showered down on it. Everything 
gushed out of my ass, and the sensation of release was marvelous. I felt so 
incredibly disburdened, lightened of the torment Kevin had given me, and 
before I returned to the quilt for my clothes, I lingered in the bushes, 
frigging my naked body in secret to a shattering climax. 

 CONCLUSION 

It is all too obvious, I believe, that Kevin and not poor little Isabella is 
the sick character in this story. Kevin should have been my patient, despite 
the indisputable fact that I would, of course, prefer treating Isabella. 

Perhaps Isabella was naughty in concealing her modest wealth from Kevin and 
passing herself off as an indigent gamine, but there is nothing wrong with 
her psyche. Kevin, however, has great problems and is painfully insecure. He 
punished Isabella because he was threatened by her financial independence. 
Kevin wanted to give Isabella clothes and presents, and was bitter to learn 
that she could have afforded them herself. At that point he realized that 
his money had no power over Isabella. Instead of realizing that Isabella 
loved him without needing his money, Kevin feared that he had no hold over 
her and would lose her. He was too insecure, and had dwelt too long in the 
world of prostitutes and pimps, to realize that love and devotion do not 
always have to be bought. It is a pity that Kevin did not realize that 
Isabella, not needing his money, had an insatiable need for his penis, which 
thrilled her in a way that is as timeless as it is priceless. 

 CASE HISTORY FIVE 

SUBJECT: Nadine C. AGE: Fourteen 

INTERVIEW ONE 

Nadine C. was sent to me by her parents when she suffered a nervous 
breakdown at a girls' boarding school in Massachusetts where she had been 
enrolled for six months. 

She was an exquisite specimen of young female pulchritude. She was of Nordic 
extraction and had the beautiful blonde hair commonly associated with the 
Scandanavian people. It was like spun flax, or like melting butter. She had 
pale blue eyes and a halo of innocence seemed to follow her wherever she 
moved. 

Nadine's story is without a doubt the most shocking I have heard in many 
years of observing sexual aberrations. 

The transcript of interview should educate as effectively as it shocks. 

Doctor, I am so grateful to you for making time for me in your busy 
schedule. I have been home three weeks since the dreadful incident, and I 
have still not recovered. The horror remains vivid in my mind, and I have 
suffered many sleepless nights. I am appalled at the cruelty of the world. 
It is a wicked place, Doctor, especially for a vulnerable young girl. It is 
ironic to me that people speak of the inhumanity of man. Why do they not 
admonish against the cruelty of women, and the inhumanity of little girls? 

I never wanted to go away to school, but my parents thought it would be good 
for me to absorb an atmosphere different from our home. They did not realize 
that I was far too young to be taken from the nest. 

My first week at school was miserable. I thought I would recover in time 
from my hopeless attack of homesickness, which plunged me into a pit of 
dispair. I was confident that I would adjust in time, although I did not 
know then what I would have to adjust to. 

It was obvious from the start that all the girls despised me. I was hated by 
one and all. 

At first, they resented me because I was pretty. Not that all the girls at 
school were ugly. Not at all. But whenever you assemble three hundred girls 
in one place there are bound to be a number of stupid ones, a number of ugly 
ones, and so forth. Of course, some of the girls were fat and resented my 
beautiful slender body, which is ample only in one place, as you can see see 
for yourself, I suppose, Doctor. Yes, I have large wonderful tits, 
especially for a girl as young as I am. My tits began to blossom when I 
twelve. Now I am fourteen and they have not stopped. I have no idea how much 
more they will grow, but I hope that they will not become too large. I know 
that it is exciting to men for a woman to have large breasts, but for the 
woman herself it can be a trial. My mother's breasts are so large that she 
must sleep with a brassiere. Otherwise it is far too uncomfortable for her 
to he in bed. 

Needless to say my knockers were the biggest and most beautiful in the 
school, and all the girls resented me. They were jealous also of my 
beautiful silky blonde hair, my mysterious and seductive blue eyes. 

As the term progressed, Doctor, it became even worse. The girls soon 
realized that I was an excellent student and the darling of all the 
teachers, although I did nothing to cultivate this distinction. When they 
noticed that I spent little time studying and attained high grades with 
ease, well, as you can imagine, I became number one on everybody's shit 
list. 

During the week we all had to dress in uniform, but on weekends we could 
wear our own clothes when we went into town. My parents are comfortably 
wealthy and are indulgent, as I am their only child, and they buy me lovely 
clothes. Naturally this added to my unpopularity, as did the knowledge, 
which spread rapidly, that my parents sent me a generous check each week for 
pocket money. 

Of all the girls at school my only friend was Jacqueline, who had all the 
reason in the World to loathe me more than any of the other girls. Until my 
arrival in the fall, Jacqueline had been considered the loveliest girl in 
the school. She was tall and elegantly slender. In Jacqueline's case, 
Doctor, I fear that her beautifully thin body was due to under-nourishment, 
rather than female vanity, as she came from a family of modest means. In 
fact, she was a very poor girl and could attend Miss Merkin's School for 
girls only through the generosity of the scholarship endowment. 

For this reason, rather than my superior beauty, Jacqueline had cause to 
hate me. Instead, she was my only friend and confidante. There was no 
similiarity in our looks. I am petite, Jacqueline is a young woman of 
stature. I am voluptuous, she is nearly emaciated, although the effect of 
her severe thinness is chic and lovely. I am blonde, and Jacqueline has dark 
satiny hair. Her hair is so dark that it is almost ebony, and its lustrous 
sheen seems to reflect all colors at once. 

Jacqueline was my only comfort during the first few months of school. I took 
pity on her poverty and often treated her to a pastry or a capuccino, or 
something thoughtful, when we went into town together. Later, when I began 
to confide in her, telling her of my misery at school, I began to buy her 
little presents, some perfume, a music box, trinkets of my affection, 
because she was my best friend in the world and I loved her like a sister. 

After a few months we became lovers. It just simply happened one night. I 
went into Jacqueline's room, weeping over some cruelty I had suffered from 
one of the girls. I cannot now remember what it was, it seems so long ago. 

Jacqueline soothed my anguish at once. She took me in her arms and stroked 
my long blonde hair, telling me how lovely I was and how I should not bother 
being distressed over the cruelty of spiteful girls who resented me because 
I was lovelier and brighter than they could ever wish to be. 

From my long silky hair Jacqueline drifted her hand to one of my large ripe 
tits and began to caress it. She wrapped her soft palm around my breast and 
flicked the nipple gently and playfully with her finger tip. The previous 
weekend Jacqueline and I had gone to the beauty parlor together and 
Jacqueline had been enchanted with the long painted nails of the beautifully 
coiffed women. Jacqueline had said that she wanted to have nails as 
beautiful as those she saw. Jacqueline, poor creature, had been biting her 
nails for years, from nerves, I suppose, and there was nothing that the 
manicurist could do with them. I bought her a set of lovely orange colored 
artificial fingernails, which she wore constantly. She adored them, and when 
she teased my nipples I too adored them and was happy I had made a present 
of them to her. They felt glorious on my nipples, which stiffened instantly, 
thrilling to her touch. 

Jacqueline did not stop at my nipples. She lowered her hands and slipped a 
finger into my pussy, shocking me with sudden pleasure. With her other hand 
she explored my moist vulva folds and strummed my excited clit with the tips 
of her fingers, teasing it lightly with the long beautiful fingernails. 

In no time at all we were naked, stripped down to our glistening beavers, 
and wrapped lovingly in each other's arms. Our long beautiful legs were 
intertwined on the bed, locked in our passion.-We had no trouble finding 
each other's excited little clits and bumping them blissfully together. 

We pressed our breasts together, feeling our excited nipples. Jacqueline 
seized my left tit, I her right, and we rubbed our beautiful breasts 
together, making our nipples dance over each other's fleshy orbs, swooning 
with utter delight and rapture. 

Jacqueline could not keep her mouth from the dripping fountain between my 
legs. In a flash her tongue was in my pussy, scooping out the luxurious flow 
of my sweet girlish perfume. 

She buried her lovely face in my blonde crotch, gulping the nectars of my 
passion. I flowed and flowed into her mouth, and her tongue probed further 
into my pussy, thrilling me with her magic. She excited me to peaks of 
pleasure I had not known life could offer. As her tongue sought out every 
corner of my pussy, my hole seemed to become a labyrinth of delight. 
Fragrances poured from my hole and I became excited by my own patchouli as 
well as by Jacqueline's exqusite tongue. 

Her tongue was such magic that my perfume would not stop flowing, and my 
juices flamed from my hole, treating Jacqueline to ever new tastes. 

Her mouth loved my cunt so blissfully that I wanted to treat her to the same 
pleasure. 

I lowered my face into her heated groin and began to treat her as lovingly 
as she was treating me. We lay together on Jacqueline's bed, her tongue in 
my cunt, mine in hers. We kissed, caressed, gulped and gobbled each other's 
swooning flesh, feasting our mouths on our beauty. 

Jacqueline's womanly oasis was perfection. She had a lovely hole. It was 
warm and gooey, and it manufactured heavenly honey. Her syrup was pure 
ambrosia and I lapped it eagerly, wanting every drop of her precious wine. 
It flowed in abundance from her hot hole and I was the glutton at the trough 
of her cunt, soothing my sorrow with her sweetness. 

My anguish seemed to disappear in her cunt. 

I was so lost in the enchantment of Jacqueline's pussy, so intoxicated by 
unadulterated lust, that I did not notice that she had taken her face from 
my pussy, and that there was no tongue in my flowing hole. 

Before I realized what she was doing, Jacqueline had tied my hands together. 

"What are you doing?" I asked, more amused than shocked. 

"Let me tie you to my bed, my darling. Let me enjoy your beautiful body in 
bondage. I want to spank your beautiful little buns and your big wonderful 
tits," Jacqueline whispered, as though she were ashamed to utter such 
naughty desires. 

"Do you promise that you won't hurt me, that you won't be rough?" I asked, 
confident that Jacqueline would respect my limits. 

"Of course, my darling. I don't want to hurt you. I want only to worship you 
in an even more delightful way." 

I let Jacqueline bind me to the bed, and it was delightful. It was 
rapturous. 

Jacqueline cut the sheet with scissors and tied my limbs to the bed with the 
shards of fabric. It was light, playful bondage, and we both adored it. 

Little did I know that it would not be playful for long. 

That night I will remember as long as I live as one of the sweetest and most 
joyous times of my life. Jacqueline and I made wonderful feminine love like 
to angels straying from heaven, two heretics who found greater divinty and 
enchantment. Perhaps we sinned, perhaps heaven would not let us in, but 
paradise consumed us. 

She devoured my pussy and strummed my clit with her magic fingers and made 
me swoon and tremble with overwhelming ecstasy. My loins melted, exploded 
and collapsed time and again with passion that peaked at pinnacles unknown. 

We loved together all night. It was tender and tempestuous, slow and 
frenetic, innocent and depraved. It was everything at once. 

Jackie devoured my pussy, and I gulped her hot juices when she banged her 
crotch into my face, pulling my hair toward her body and forcing my mouth to 
drain all her hot flow. I probed her steaming pussy with my tongue and 
flicked her quivering red clit with my fingers, teasing her passion berry 
with all the cunning I could command. 

I pressed my lips against her clit and kissed it over and over, until her 
body trembled with joy. 

Jacqueline gasped and roared with delight, and her entire body convulsed as 
I sucked her pussy and thrilled her clit with the magic fingers of my bound 
hands. 

I used my entire face on Jacqueline's groin, my lips, my cheekbones, my eye 
lashes and my nose. Each part of my beauty seemed to find a role to play in 
my dedicated service. to Jacqueline's cunt. When I slipped my nose into her 
dripping box she moaned with wild animal pleasure, and when my long 
eyelashes batted against the lips of her pussy she squealed with joy. My 
tongue danced on her clit and coerced involuntary screams of ecstasy from 
her lust-simmering body. 

We could not stop swooning and discharging and coming. Our pussies dripped 
all night into each other's mouths, and out clits would not stop their tiny 
caprioles under the teasing attentions of our tongues and fingers. We had 
radiant sex all through the night, abandoned to the divine daze of our lust. 
We were astonished when we looked out the window and saw the sun high in the 
sky. How long had it been there, we wondered, how had we been so absorbed by 
the flames of our bodies as not to notice the fire of the sun? 

We looked at the clock by Jacqueline's bed and were alarmed. We had enjoyed 
sex for hours and were already late for our morning class. We dressed 
hurridly, giggling at our shamelessness, and rushed to class. 

It was like that for several days, Doctor. We made love every night, melting 
in each other's embrace. 

I knew that Jacqueline received nasty comments from the other girls, who did 
not want me to have a friend in the world, much less such a lovely one as 
Jacqueline. Until she had been so bold as to befriend me, she had been 
beloved by everyone in the school. But her association with me, even though 
no one knew the depth of its intimacy, made her less popular with the other 
girls. In fact, it was catastrophic to her reputation. 

I suppose that it is for this reason, Doctor, that my beloved Jacqueline 
suddenly turned against me. She did something that was unspeakable. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

When she began to tell the second part of her tale, poor little Nadine burst 
into tears. I had to comfort her, stroking her hair and drying her eyes. She 
sat on my lap and sobbed. Words were not enough to console her. She left my 
office stall shuddering, anguished by her recollection. 

The next week she returned to my office and told me the shattering 
conclusion of her story. Here it is, in her own words. 

You know what they say, Doctor, about honeymoons never lasting. Well, it's 
true, at least as far as Jacqueline and I were concerned. Obviously, her 
popularity with the other girls was more important to her than her love for 
me. I have been crippled by this for life. Her disloyality has devastated 
me. Nothing is as heartbreaking, Doctor, as betrayal. 

One night I tiptoed across the hall to Jacqueline's bedroom and found the 
door locked. I knocked once, and again, and I heard whispering inside. 

I heard a sibilant whisper, someone saying, "Shusssh!" 

My heart pirouetted in my breast, beating plagently, killing me with sorrow. 
Jacqueline was not alone, she was eating another girl's pussy, giving her 
loving lips and her warm womanly showers to another. I felt sick at the 
betrayal, and walked dejectedly back to my own room, not caring who saw my 
tears or gloated at my misery. 

Oddly, it had sounded as though more than two people were in Jacqueline's 
room. In fact, I had thought I heard many voices, whispering evilly 
together. The idea of Jacqueline engaging in a lesbian orgy made my heart 
plunge even deeper into a pit of loneliness and dispair. 

I felt that all the world had betrayed me. Jacqueline had been the sweetest 
thing in my life, the only joy, the only relief from my constant melancholy, 
and now she no longer cared if I lived or died. 

You can have no idea how utterly despondent I felt, Doctor. I had utterly 
nothing to live for. 

I lay on my bed, sobbing into my pillow. I know that I cried for hours, and 
then I heard my doorknob turn. 

"Jacqueline," I whispered in the darkness, certain it was she, and willing 
to forgive her anything, if only she would take me in her arms, lick my clit 
and soothe my pain. 

The door opened and suddenly three bodies rushed into the darkness of my 
room. 

It was so dark that I could not recognize their faces. I saw only their 
vague silhouettes. They were dark and threatening. Then a fourth figure 
entered the room, somehow separate from the rest, and I recognized her 
immediately. Even in total darkness I would always recognize Jacqueline. 
Blindfolded and deaf I would feel her aura shining through my skin. "Do you 
have it, Jacqueline," one of the voices asked. I recognized the voice to be 
Jennifer's. Jennifer hated me as vehemently as almost any girl in the 
school. 

"Yes," I heard Jacqueline's beloved voice, "I had to sneak into the 
infirmiry and I almost awakened the matron. She would have reported me if 
she had caught me stealing it." 

"Don't worry about it Jacqueline," one of the other girls said, "you haven't 
been caught." I recognized this voice too. It was Marilyn's voice, and 
Marilyn, who hardly had any tits at all, hated me even more than Jennifer. 

"And I'll take it back when you're finished, Jacqueline. We have all agreed 
on our parts in this game and I'll carry through with mine. But I want the 
satisfaction of giving it to her," the third and final voice said. 

Terror filled my body. I had no idea yet of their plans, but I knew that I 
was in jeopardy. The third voice belonged to Hazel who hated me more than 
anyone in the world. Hazel was a vicious girl. Everyone had to like her, or 
pretend to, because she was a spiteful bitch who would do anything to anyone 
who annoyed her. She was also the most notorious dyke on campus. Hazel kept 
dildoes in her locker and even the sisters did not dare to discipline her. 
She raped little girls who would not willingly go to bed with her. Hazel 
didn't care whether someone wanted to please her or not, she only demanded 
that she be pleased. 

She was a ruthless, evil and totally vile girl. Her mere presence in my room 
made me want to vomit. I abhorred her. 

"Turn on the light," Hazel demanded, "I want to enjoy this visually." 

One of the girls turned on the harsh overhead light and I then saw what 
Jacqueline had stolen from the infirmary. 

The sight of it was so ghastly and obscene that I gagged. I felt the reflex 
of retching in my gut, but it was simply the dry heaves of disgust. 

I knew that my beloved Jacqueline had conspired with these three merciless 
witches to force an enema upon me. 

The ugly bag was empty. I noticed this and so did the other girls. 

"Why the hell didn't you fill it, Jacqueline?" Hazel asked, obviously unable 
to wait for the pleasure of humiliating me. 

"Because we have to bind her first, Hazel. We have to tie her up so she 
can't move, and gag her so that she can't scream." 

"Yeah, I wonder why she hasn't screamed yet," Marilyn said in her throaty 
voice, lurching toward my face to cover my mouth with her hand. 

"She must be too frightened to think," Hazel said, grinning at the accuracy 
of her appraisal. 

"Keep your hand on her mouth, Marilyn, while Jennifer and Hazel tie her to 
the bed. While you girls tie her up and gag her I'll go boil some water." 
Jacqueline said. She was obviously enthusiastic about this demented project. 

"Don't bother to boil it. The bath water runs very hot," Hazel said, taking 
a coil of twine from the pocket of her dressing gown. 

"That's right. The bath water will be hot enough," Marilyn said, agreeing 
with Hazel. 

"All right," Jacqueline said, "bath water it will be, piping hot." 

My beloved but wicked Jacqueline disappeared and I heard the bath water 
running in the bathroom across the hall. 

Hazel and Jennifer worked on my arms and legs, binding them painfully to the 
foot and head of my bed with the twine. I could feel it cutting into my soft 
flesh, causing me acute agony. 

Marilyn kept her hand pressed hard against my mouth. By this time I had 
recovered from the initial horror and was trying to scream through Marilyn's 
hand. But she pressed too hard against my lips. Not only was I unable to 
utter a sound, I was unable to breathe. If I did not die of fright or pain, 
it would be death by suffocation. And, if by some miracle, I did not die 
from lack of oxygen, I would die of shame and degradation when the 
conspiring girls flooded my body with the steaming water of the enema. 

I tried to bite Marilyn's hand, but she was undaunted. She only pressed more 
mercilessly against my mouth, and I could taste her palm. Her pressure was 
so great that I could not move my jaws to bite her. I gasped through my 
nostils, dying for breath. 

Lying helplessly on my bed I head the water pouring from the bathtub. In my 
mind's eyes I could see the steam filling the bathroom like a haze in hell. 

Jacqueline returned with the enema. The bag was bloated with water, and she 
carried in a towel, like a cook taking a white hot caserole from the oven 
and holding it in a potholder. I knew that it was as hot as hell. 

"Is she all ready?" Jacqueline asked, "is she bound and helpless." 

"She's trapped to this bed like a baby in the womb," Hazel said, "there is 
nothing she can do to save herself." 

"Good," Jacqueline said, hanging the enema from a clothes hook on my closet 
door. 

Marilyn, her hand over my mouth, snickered, and Jennifer, tightening the 
twine around my helplessly spread legs, giggled. The expression on Hazel's 
face was obscene. I could not even look at Jacqueline. 

Hazel touched the swollen enema bag with the tip of her fingers and drew 
them quickly away. 

"Shit, that's hot. Good job, Jacqueline," she grinned. 

I felt panic in my pussy and fear throughout my entire body. I was shaking 
with fear, breaking out into a cold sweat. The four vicious girls, who were 
rapidly resembling harridans to my horrified eyes, leered and grinned and 
giggled obscenely. 

I felt fear, loathing, hatred and rage. And it had only begun. 

"I get to give her this enema," Hazel said, like a shrew would had been 
goosed for the first time in a thousand years and loved it. 

Hazel uncoiled the hose of the enema and stretched it out on the mattress, 
running it up toward my asshole. 

She taunted my eyes with the nozzle. I would not give her the satisfaction 
of acknowledging it, and I shut my eyes as tight as I could, blocking out 
the nightmare that was being enacted in the harsh light of my bedroom. 

My contrived blindness did nothing to protect me from the physicality of the 
atrocity. Hazel forced the enema nozzle through the puckering lips of my 
anus, invading my vulnerable hole. 

I closed my eyes tight, feeling the pressure of Marilyn's hand lessen on my 
mouth as someone, I did not see who, gagged me with a towel. 

"Push it all the way in to her," I heard Jennifer hiss, "and start squirting 
the hot water into her body. Nadine is such a cunt that she deserves the 
hottest enema in the world. Let's made her explode like a volcano." 

I felt the water flowing into my ass. It was so hot I thought I would burn 
to ashes. It burned the senstive lining of my asshole and stormed into my 
body, filling my bowels. Then it seemed to occupy every inch of my body, 
forcing its way into the core of my being. I felt nothing but the stinging 
burn of the hot, almost boiling water, and the gut-wrenching pain of the 
unnatural liquid stretching my stomach and pressing against ever organ. My 
little uterus seemed to be in flames, there was pressure on my bladder and 
my cunt felt as though someone had struck a match in it. 

"Pity we didn't think to get some gasoline for this," Hazel said, not a bit. 
facetious. I believe that she truly would have killed me if she thought she 
could get away with it. 

"Next time," a voice said, and it was Jacqueline. Not yet finished with the 
first torture, my beloved Jacqueline was already planning the encore. The 
scheming of her evil and betraying mind made the pain in my body all the 
more excruciating. 

I felt betrayed and utterly humiliated. I could not live through this. 

"Look at the way her body is bloating up," Jennifer said, "look at how big 
she's getting in the stomach. She looks like a pregnant pig." 

"The bag is almost empty," Marilyn said. 

I could have told her that with my eyes closed. I felt more horrible than I 
ever have in my life. The pain and discomfort was more horrid than anything 
I have ever felt. I wished from the bottom of my heart fates worse than 
death for all the wicked girls who were abusing me. I prayed to God that 
they would suffer perditions beyond even the divine imagination. I loathed 
them with the blackest passion in the universe. 

I wanted to scream. I had to, but I could not. I could not scream or move. I 
was paralyzed by the painful twine and by the indignity of my torment. 

"All right, it's empty," Hazel said approvingly, "now let's get down to some 
real fun." 

"You said it, honey," Jennifer said, her voice sibilant with the 
unmistakable hiss of spite and lust. 

I could not bear to contemplate what they planned next. Already they had 
caused me suffering beyond endurance. 

I felt pubic hair on my chin and hands working at the knot in the towel that 
rendered me speechless. 

"Be careful, Hazel, she might scream," Marilyn said. 

"She'll be sorry if she does. Do you have the matches, Jennifer." 

"Of course, I wouldn't overlook so important a detail," Jennifer replied 
sarcastically. 

"Good! If she utters one peep, strike the match and burn her clit! Do you 
hear me? I said one peep." 

"My pleasure," Jennifer said. 

I felt Hazel's hand against my cheek, slapping me hard. She had untied the 
knotted towel and my mouth was free, but I knew I dare not scream. I dare 
not utter a peep. I knew that the feeling of flame on clit would kill me, 
that I would lose control of my body, become incontinent and release all the 
hot water that was killing my bloated body. I wanted to release it, but I 
couldn't bear to do it in front of these tormenting bitches. 

As I felt the towel fall from my face I heard the striking of a match. I 
pressed my eyes shut, as tight as I could. 

Then I heard Hazel's obscene barking voice. 

"Open your mouth and eat me!" she said, forcing her groin, exposed through 
her now open robe, against my resisting lips. 

"And make her open her eyes," Jennifer hissed, "so she can see everything 
she tastes. We don't want her to miss any sensual delights." 

"Good idea," Hazel said. She slapped my cheeks with her hand, "open your 
eyes bitch, so you can feast them on everything that's going on." 

"No, I won't look at this. I won't acknowledge it." I protested. 

"Won't acknowledge it!" Hazel said, furious, "did you all hear that, girls? 
The little bitch doesn't want to acknowledge this." 

"Hard to believe," Marilyn simpered, "but she's going to have to acknowledge 
it; she's going to have to acknowledge the enema, and she's going to have to 
acknowledge Jacqueline eating my cunt and Jennifer eating Jacqueline's." 

"That's right, Marilyn. And shell have to acknowledge you licking my ass 
while she eats my pussy. Poor little thing. Just think of all that she has 
to endure. Shall we all cry for her, girls?" 

I heard a chorus of snickers in the room. 

"Open your eyes, cunt!" Hazel snapped, pushing her pussy against my lips. 
Her smelly cunt dripped on my face. Her hot flow coated my chin. 
Instinctively, I recoiled. 

My hands and legs were bound to the bed in twine, and I could do nothing to 
prevent myself from being force fed Hazel's disgusting cunt. Nor could I 
defend myself against the brutal slaps on the face, and the bellowing 
instructions to open my eyes and view the ghastly sights in all their lurid 
vividity. 

I had to do as I was told. I opened my eyes and saw a writhing mass of 
almost undifferentiated female flesh. Breasts, beaver, buttocks, all 
bouncing and grinding, frolicking obscenely on my bed, on the floor, pressed 
against the walls of my bedroom, which had suddenly become a chamber of 
horrors. 

I saw Hazel's lewd grin as she pushed her crotch toward my face. She pulled 
me forward by the hair, making me dig my nose in her vile cunt odors. She 
commanded me to work with my tongue inside her gutter. Reluctantly, I did as 
ordered, and delved my tongue into her ditch. I tasted the salty sticky 
slime of her hole, and thought instantly of tuna fish on someone's breath. 
But Hazel was not a fish; she was a piranha. Even though I was doing the 
eating, I could imagine that she was the devourer. He cunt had teeth and 
claws and she was sucking me into it. Her cunt a vacuum with a guillotine 
hidden somewhere in its dirty depths. I was certain that my tongue would be 
castrated. 

But the sight of Jacueline was even worse than the taste of Hazel's box. The 
turpitude of the scene was horrendous. Jacqueline was straddling my knees, 
and Jennifer, kneeling on the floor, was lapping at Jacqueline's cunt, while 
Jacqueline bent over to gobble Marilyn's pussy. 

Under the harsh overhead light I could see all the lurching, humping, 
gobbling female flesh. I could heard the gulping sounds of mouths devouring 
hot streaming pussy flow, and I could hear the involuntary sounds of my own 
mouth eating Hazel's box with sheer contempt. 

But more than anything else I could feel the hot water stretching my insides 
to a bursting point. It bloated my bowels and I could feel hellish pressure 
everywhere. The hot water seemed to rip my uterus apart, killing me with 
pain in my cunt, my clit, every sensitive part of my little body. Even my 
titties seemed about to erupt with the horrid and unnatural pressure of the 
enema. 

The four other girls did not care about my agony; it only added to their 
perverse pleasure. They gobbled each other's fragrant female flesh, bumping 
their boobs against one another, grinding their beavers, and gulping 
greedily on the wafting perfumes that came from each other's pussies. 

Hazel rammed her body into my face, smacking her clit against my lips and my 
tongue was locked in the trap of her cunt. I wiggled my tongue in the hot 
hole, as Hazel insisted I do, and I recoiled in revulsion, knowing that I 
was giving the bitch more pleasure than she deserved. 

"I'm going to come, Oh, Jesus Christ! Shit! I'm going to pop my rocks right 
now!!" Hazel hissed like a snake lured from a murky basket. I knew that the 
slimy bitch was exploding between her thrashing legs. 

"Me, too!" Marilyn said, her cunt full of Jacqueline's tongue. 

The sight of Jacqueline's lovely face in Marilyn's dirty ditch made the pain 
of the enema double. 

I knew that I had to run, to flee, to shit, to pee. It was dreadful. I was 
in physical agaony, mental anguish, and spiritual despair. I knew that I 
would die of pain and shame if this horror did not end. 

'Ahh," Hazel groaned obscenely, thrashing her groin one final time into my 
face, making my tongue receive her vile hole. She smacked her bush against 
my face and her hot juices splashed out, splurting over me, as though 
someone had broken an egg on my face. 

Jennifer, fingering her own clit while she devoured Jacqueline's cunt, clit 
and asshole with her tongue, lips and fingers, sighed passionately. I could 
see the dazed, flushed expression on her face. Her cheeks were red and her 
eyes were blank and glassy with lust. She looked rapturous, but someone 
oddly bovine, as though she were inhuman. 

"I'm coming," she moaned, stabbing her clit with her fingers. 

Hazel pushed my face forward with the back of her hand and made my tongue 
dance on her clit, giving her post orgasmic pleasure. She was such an 
excessive monster. 

All the girl's had come but Jacqueline, who was teasing Marilyn's cunt, 
giving it the anti climactic joy I was forced to give Hazel. Marilyn had 
come like a pig. Jacqueline's tongue had coaxed her to climax, and she had 
been eating Hazel's asshole while I gulped the girl's gruesome gash. 

Jacqueline straddled my knees and looked over her shoulder into my 
astonished eyes. She could clearly see the agony, the panic and contempt on 
my young face. There was almost no expression on her face, and she was 
perfectly still and silent, as Jennifer, who had already come herself, 
continued patiently to work on Jacqueline's cunt, trying to force it to 
come. 

Jennifer did all she could, digging into Jacqueline's cunt with her probing 
tongue and teasing the tiny red clit with her fingers. But Jacqueline 
registered nothing. 

Suddenly, Jacqueline pushed Hazel away from my mouth and off the bed. Hazel 
watched in astonishment as Jacqueline straddled my bound and brutalized 
body, pushing her cunt into my mouth. 

"Eat me!" she said. Her tone was at once familiar and foreign, affectionate 
and contemptuous. 

I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue into Jacqueline's cunt, which tasted 
far better than Hazel's. Had I not been stuffed to the bursting point with 
the vile enema, I might even have enjoyed the warmth of Jacqueline's sweet 
meat and her simmering juices. But I was bound in twine and in utter 
torment. The enema was killing me, still hot and unbearably inside my 
tortured body. 

Jacqueline gyrated her pelvis, humping my face, moving her pussy up and down 
on my probing tongue, coaxing her clit to climax. 

"Yes ... oh, darting ... YES!" she moaned, her body trembling against me. 

She had come, bumping her body against my face. She had called me darling, 
yet she had conspired with these wicked girls to degrade me in the shabbiest 
and most humiliating lurid way. I both loved and hated her. 

All the girls had usurped their ecstasy from my torment. They had plunged me 
into hell and had leapt from my bound body to their shocking heavens. They 
were shameless. Each one was an anathema on the wicked earth. 

Finally, they untied the twine and allowed me to run to the toilet. I nearly 
slipped on the cold floor of the corridor, and again on the slippery tile of 
the bathroom, before I made my way to safety. It would have been 
catastrophic if I had slipped. A puddle would have spread out on the floor, 
and I would have had to clean up the unsavory discharges of my own body. I 
would have had to wallow in the quagmire of my shit. 

In a flash I blasted all the pestilential bane into the toilet. Never has a 
mere receptacle been such a friend. In fact, after Jacqueline's heartless 
betrayal I felt that the toilet was nicer than anything or anyone on earth. 

The torrents of confined liquid and matter streamed from my body through the 
tiny canal of my tight little asshole. The force of pouring was unnatural, a 
bit painful, but it was a wondrous release. I would have gone through any 
agony to purge my body of the foul degradation it had been forced to 
contain, while the depraved girls performed their unspeakable acts of lust 
in front of me. 

The feeling of release was so glorious that I had an orgasm. That is, I 
think I did. I cannot be certain because I was heaving so helplessly, 
feeling so alone, so lost and betrayed. 

I never spoke to any of those girls again, and after the episode, Doctor, I 
could not think of anything else. I dwelled on it obviously, ruminating upon 
my mortification. I could not read or think or prepare for exams; I could 
not write papers. I began to fail in all my classes, and there was harsh 
pressure on me from all sides. Everyone seemed to demand that I do this, do 
that, and excell at everything. I fell apart. I broke open. I could not 
function. 

Doctor, you must help me. I cannot live with this feeling. I must salvage my 
life from the devastation of this incident. Please, I beg you, help me. 

 CONCLUSION 

Nadine C. was perhaps more shattered by this episode than many other girls 
might have been. Her sensitive and vulnerable nature made her all the more 
susceptible to the consequences of the calamity. I urged her parents to keep 
her at home, and by no means to send her away again for some time. 

I am pleased to say that she has gotten over the shock of the enema and 
Jacqueline's betrayal. Although she has received letters from Jacqueline, 
declarations of love and pleas for forgiveness, she has not answered them. 
After months of treatments Nadine was able to erase the nightmare from her 
memory. With it went her affection for Jacqueline. As of this writing Nadine 
is enjoying a variety of relationships with young men, which I consider more 
suitable for her than lesbian affairs. 

 CASE HISTORY SIX 

SUBJECT: Diane Jane F. AGE: Seventeen 

INTERVIEW ONE 

Diane Jane F. is the only daughter of a wealthy family. She has been 
pampered all her life, as a result of which she is a baffling young woman. 
In some ways she is frighteningly mature for her seventeen years, in others 
she is immaturity personified. 

She is a dark beauty, with dark eyes, sultry lips, dark shadows under her 
prominent cheekbones, and long hair like black velvet. She is also a 
brilliant young woman, and it was a joy to hear her story, despite the 
trembling of her beautiful body and the quavering of her throaty voice. She 
was nervous and on edge throughout our interviews, which are given below in 
transcript form. 

I realize now that my mother was right: I should not have married my cousin 
Egor. We are not suited for each. That's all there is to it. 

When I announced my plans, Mother did her best to dissuade me. We went to a 
ladies' lunch, arriving at one and not leaving until almost five-thirty. 
Mother lavished me with every possible argument against the marriage. She 
gave me a list of Egor's faults, arranging them meticulously so that each 
new mention seemed more drastic than the one before. 

But I was obstinate, Doctor. When Mother would not give her consent I went 
ahead and married Egor without it. Mother was crushed. 

Our marriage was heaven at first. We were the perfect beautiful young 
married people. It was the first time either of us had ever lived away from 
home, and we loved it. We felt like young rebels. It didn't hurt that both 
of our fathers had died and left us tidy sums of money. We did not have a 
worry in the world. 

Or so we thought. At least I did. I was innocent and, I suppose, 
unobservant; I did not know that Egor was a fiend. 

Our bliss continued for six months. We thrived on our love. It began to go 
sour one afternoon when I was lunching with Daphne, one of my oldest 
friends. 

Daphne is a darling and I adore her, but she has a streak of cynicism that 
is all too common among women who are rich, idle and bored. She is catty and 
loves gossip, the more malicious it is, the more she adores it. Daphne is 
never so happy as when she gloats over the misfortunes of others, even if 
they happen to be her dearest friends. 

In the way that is typical of women, Daphne asked me if I knew about Egor 
and Amanda. She phrased the vicious gossip in such a way as to make it seem 
that she was doing me a favor by telling me. At first, I made it clear that 
I did not even want to hear so ridiculous a story, but the thought so 
appalled me that finally I had to beg her for the details. Amanda is my best 
friend in life, and I could not accept the idea of her betraying me so 
cheaply. 

Daphne told me that it was absurd, that everyone seemed to know but me. It 
was scandalous she said. They had been meeting every afternoon for 
cocktails, kissing in public places and carrying on brazenly. Daphne 
reported that Egor kept a room at the Hotel Pierre for their illicit 
redezvous. 

I was bothered about this for days, but did not have the nerve to confront 
Egor. If it was just gossip I would feel so foolish confronting him, whereas 
if it were true, and everybody knew about it, I could not show my face in 
public. I was absolutely mortified, Doctor. 

As Amanda was my best friend in life I felt that I could ask her gently if 
this horror were true. Or I could finagle information from her deviously. 

As it turned out, I was so distressed by the possibility of Egor's betraying 
me with Amanda that when we met I simply asked Amanda outright if it were 
true. She smiled wistfully and said that it was the most malicious thing she 
had ever heard and that it was shocking that Daphne had lied to me so 
shabbily. 

Amanda told me that everybody knew that Egor was carrying on with Daphne! 
She explained she had not told me because she had believed the affair would 
wear out, that Egor would have his little fling and return to me, and that I 
need never know about his lapse. 

I did not know which of my two friends to believe. Amanda and Daphne had 
been my intimates for years. 

At first I thought of disguising myself and following Egor wherever he went, 
following him to the place where he met his lover, whether it be Amanda or 
Daphne. But I decided that such a masquerade was beneath my dignity. The 
only way I could find out was by having a party, inviting both Amanda and 
Daphne and watching the chemistry between them and my husband. By this test 
I would learn the truth. 

As luck would have it, Egor was planning a large party for my seventeenth 
birthday and I did not have to make any arrangements. Both Amanda and 
Daphne, among others, were invited. 

Everyone came to the party and it went on forever. Egor was lovely to me. 
Everyone was lovely to me. Everyone looked handsome and beautiful and happy.
 By two o'clock in the morning most of the guests had left. A few remained, 
drinking and dancing, and two couples stole away from the fun to have fun of 
their own; when I went out for a breath of air, I saw two couples fucking on 
the terrace. 

The sight and sounds of them got me hot, and I felt my pussy dripping 
between my legs. Not only between my legs, but down them as well. I decided 
I had better look for Egor and make him give me my birthday fuck. 

As I returned from the terrace, Amanda was slipping into her coat and saying 
goodnight to everyone. I had not observed any extraordinary chemistry 
between her and Egor. 

As I kissed her goodnight, Amanda whispered in my ear that Egor and Daphne 
were in the guest room. I could not believe it! However, neither Egor nor 
Daphne was anywhere in sight. 

Smiling broadly at all my guests I said that I was tired, that it had been a 
lovely party, that we would have another soon, but that this was it for 
tonight. Politely, they all took the rather blatant hint, put on their coats 
and disappeared into the night. 

The apartment was empty and I felt indeed that the party was over. I walked 
toward the guest room and pressed my ear against the door. I heard moans and 
grunts of animal pleasure. 

I recognized the grunts as Egor's, and the moans were obviously Daphne's. 

I walked out on the terrace and crouched outside the window of the guest 
room. I could see through the almost transparent curtains the sight of Egor 
humping Daphne's spread legs. 

They were naked on the small bed. I saw Daphne's legs in the air, Egor 
pounding his huge cock into the hole between them, and his hands squeezing 
her naked tits. 

Seeing them fucking so wildly made my already dripping pussy flood with 
lust. I could not take my eyes off their illicit fucking, and I could not 
keep my fingers away from my clit. 

Lust possessed me more powerfully than it ever had before. I know that I 
should have been enraged at the betrayal, but my cunt and clit had no 
morals. Lewdly, I stepped out of my dress on the dark terrace and began to 
masturbate my naked body as I watched the fast animal sex of my husband and 
best friend through the window. 

My hot flesh felt good in my hand. I stroked my drenched beaver and tickled 
my soft pink clit through the moist folds of my flesh. I felt the throbbing 
of my clit and the flow of my cunt on my fingers. 

Digging my finger frantically into my boiling hole, I watched Egor pulling 
his long cock out of Daphne's cunt and pushing it back in. I saw his mighty 
back humping her, and his balls slapping against her soft white buttocks. 
Her ass bounced and squirmed under Egor's thrusting body. 

My finger worked faster and faster on my hot sex zones, as Egor accelerated 
his thrusts in and out of Daphne's beautiful body. I could see the 
expression of lewd rapture on my best friend's face, and I knew that she was 
coming as my husband gave her the fuck of her life. 

My nipples stiffened on my large beautiful breasts and I sighed, wishing 
that I had a third hand to devote to the pleasure. But I was so thrilled by 
the magic of my fingers in my cunt and on my clit, that I needed no more 
pleasure. I would swoon if anyone touched me. 

Egor rammed his cock hard into Daphne's hole, and by the tenseness of his 
body, the intensity of his face and the powerful speed of his humping I knew 
that he was about to shoot his load in her cunt. 

And Daphne was coming too. She writhed like a bitch in heat under Egor's 
powerful body, and she moaned in total ecstasy. 

I strummed my clit frantically, digging through my beaver to thrill the red 
berry of my sex. Passion soared through my body and I felt fire in my pussy. 
Its flames devoured me blissfully as I shrieked out in climax. 

Egor and Daphne had come together on the bed. Egor had collapsed, spent, on 
Daphne's body when I uttered my helpless cry of joy. 

I could not have stifled it for anything in the world. I had never been so 
hot in my life. My orgasm was horrendous, overpowering and devestating. 

But, Doctor, it was only the beginning of that horrid night. 

 INTERVIEW TWO 

When she described her voyeuristic pleasure on the terrace, Diane seemed 
almost excited by the recollection. But when she began to tell the second 
part of the evening's scenario her body began to tremble and her voice 
cracked. 

She wept in my office and it was necessary to postpone the conclusion for 
another time, when she would be more at ease. She came back in a few days, 
looking fresh and radiant. With the help of a glass of wine and a full pack 
of cigarettes she managed to tell her tale to the end. 

Forgive me for breaking down last time, Doctor, but you have no idea how 
wretched it is for me to recall the cruelty of which I am about to tell you. 

After they had hit their peaks of climax, Egor and Daphne could not possibly 
have overheard my wild chant of ecstasy. When I come I tend to get carried 
away with the pleasure of it, for my whole body is consumed by electric 
flames of explosive lust. 

Of course, they heard me, Doctor, and they were shocked that I had observed 
them fucking. 

Before I could escape Egor quickly withdrew his long exploded fuck meat from 
Daphne's hole and ran out onto the terrace. He grabbed my struggling body 
and dragged me into the apartment, throwing me onto the bed on which he and 
Daphne had just fucked. 

I loathed being in the same room with the two people whom I had trusted 
foolishly. To be in the room where they had delighted in their betrayal made 
my body ache with pain and boil with resentment. 

"Filthy cunt!" Egor hissed. "How dare you snoop on other people's fucking!" 

I was too ossified to reply. I wanted ask how dare he provide me with 
fucking to snoop on. I wanted ask how he could possibly fuck another woman 
in our own home. But. I was unable to utter a word. 

"It is the limit!" Daphne hissed. "Such audacity!" 

I looked at them both in horror. Sperm was drooling from Egor's still erect 
cock. My husband's huge dick was covered with slime of Daphne's dirty pussy 
ditch. I could not bear the sight of it, yet, for some reason, I could not 
take my eyes from it. The sight of the cock that I loved, covered with 
another woman's goo, was as thrilling as it was revolting. 

I saw his heavy balls, which had just blasted a load of his scalding seed 
into Daphne's abyss. The sight of them made my heart ache with sorrow, but 
my pussy boiled with desire: I had just come horrendously on the terrace, 
but I felt more insatiable than ever. My clit was throbbing with hominess, 
as though I were a woman who had not been near a man for months. 

It was shocking that this should be happening to me. My body should be 
feeling nothing but coldness and contempt. Somehow, however, the sight of my 
husband dedicating his magnificent prowess and his potent virility to the 
service of another woman had thrilled my cunt, which dripped and boiled 
between my legs as Egor pressed me down on the bed. 

Daphne languished on the bed, not bothering to cover her naked groin. She 
flayed her legs lewdly, taunting me with her glistening beaver and her juicy 
cunt that had just enjoyed my husband's fucking. Lasciviously, she stroked 
her nipples and purred with post orgasmic pleasure, like a nympho getting 
ready for more. 

Egor held his enormous cock in his hand and I saw that it was getting 
stiffer and bigger. Even though he had just fucked and shot his load in 
Daphne's cunt, he was still in fucking form. He and Daphne were both animals 
who could not get enough, and it was clear that being seen had excited them 
to new peaks of passion. They were both ready for more sex, and I could 
almost hear their brains working in unison, concocting devilish schemes for 
more pleasure. 

"Suck my cock! Suck all her cunt honey off my rod and get it hard in your 
mouth." Egor commanded, his voice harsh and throaty. 

"I won't do it," I said, trying to free myself from Egor's weight to escape 
from the room. 

"Yes you will, cunt! You will do exactly what I tell you." Egor hissed. He 
lurched towards a small desk beside the bed in the guest room and took a 
gleaming metal envelope opener from the surface. It was sharp metal, and I 
could see the blade glistening ominously in the light. 

Egor turned the blade in his hand, making the refracted light flicker in my 
eyes. He slapped my cheeks with the flat of the blade, and I felt a sting on 
my face. 

"Now, cunt, suck me!" He hissed again, seizing my head and pulling it 
forcefully to the head of his big cock. I could smell the scent of Daphne's 
cunt clinging to the skin of my husband's rod, and I could see the thickness 
of her syrup, which made his cock shine with her pussy slime. 

The smell was obnoxious, but the taste was worse. Egor rammed his cock into 
my mouth and I felt it pulsing against my cheeks. He pumped his hard heavy 
meat in and out of my resisting mouth, banging his hairy balls against my 
chin. 

Egor was rock-hard in my mouth, and I would have loved the way he fucked my 
face so powerfully, had it not been for the loathsome taste of Daphne's cunt 
on his meat. 

"All right, bitch, I'm going to fuck your asshole while you suck my sperm 
out of Daphne's cunt." Egor said, pulling his cock out of my mouth and 
positioning his cock just outside my asshole. 

"Brilliant idea, Egor. I'd like to feel her tongue scooping your cum out of 
my cunt. I want her to lick it clean, so I'll be fresh for the next time you 
fuck me. And I can't wait to see you fuck her ass." Daphne said, already 
scratching her beaver, seeking her clit. 

I protested and tried to escape, but Egor is strong and I am only a woman. 
Daphne helped him to restrain me, and I had no choice but to submit to their 
punishment and be a vehicle for their pleasure. 

As he forced his huge cock into my asshole, killing me with pain, Egor 
pushed my head toward Daphne's groin, which was arched and ready for me. I 
wanted to bite it off her vile body, but I did not dare enrage Egor, who 
might kill me if I misbehaved. 

Pushing his cock all the way into my ass, Egor made me get unbearably close 
to Daphne's hole, until I could smell it and my lips pressed against it. The 
scent was of pussy and his sperm, and I could taste a drop of his cum on my 
lips. 

"Get your tongue in there and work, bitch!" Egor hissed, forcing his cock 
deep into my hole. I could feel the thick root of his pulsing rod forcing 
its way through the tight opening of my asshole, and then he withdrew, 
causing friction to the walls of my ass. He punched himself back into me, 
hard, and the agony was incredible. There was nothing but cock and pain in 
my asshole. 

"Eat my cunt! Suck all your husband's cum out of my hole," Daphne said. 

My best friend was making me eat her cunt. I had no choice. I hated Daphne 
with a passion. I resolved never to go to lunch with her again, as I tasted 
Egor's familiar sperm in her disloyal cunt. 

Reluctantly, I buried my tongue in her cunt and started to lap up Egor's 
gism, resenting the fact that I inevitably had to taste her pussy in the 
process. 

Egor was fucking my ass hard, and I had to admit that I was beginning to 
like it. His cock was so big, so long and thick and powerful. It thrilled my 
sensitive asshole, and as I probed my tongue deeper into Daphne's ditch, my 
entire body controlled by Egor's dominating fuck thrusts, I felt orgasm 
building in my clit. It was impossible that I could come again, so quickly. 

"This isn't fair," Daphne whined, "why does she get the buttfuck. I want you 
to fuck my asshole, Egor. And I want Diane to eat my pussy while you do it, 
and while she eats your cum out of my hole, we'll give her an enema." Daphne 
purred, as thrilled by the idea as she was by the feeling of my tongue in 
her cunt. 

"Perfect, Daphne!" Egor said, "go get the enema bag and fill it with water. 
Make the water hot." 

"Why should we just use water, Egor. I think shampoo would be more fun. Do 
you have any liquid shampoo, a big bottle." 

Egor barely moved his cock in my asshole, saving his second blast of cum for 
Daphne's shitty box. 

"There are two enormous bottles of good shampoo in the bathroom. They should 
fill the enema bag." Egor said, beginning to slowly puD his cock out of my 
asshole, getting it ready for Daphne. 

Daphne disappeared for a second and returned all too quickly, with the enema 
bag and two full bottles of shampoo. 

Egor had his cock half way out of my asshole. He pushed it slowly back in, 
not wanting to leave it out in the cold until Daphne was ready to be fucked. 

I was terrified. I could not imagine why they delighted in abusing me so 
horribly. I wanted to logic with them, to beg them to spare me, and failing 
that, I wanted to kill them both. This was the most humiliating moment of my 
life. 

Daphne deftly unscrewed the hose from the revolting enema bag and began to 
pour the shampoo in. I could see the thick golden liquid flowing into the 
enema bag, and I could see the bag swelling with the contents. My body 
shuddered with revulsion, thinking of the thick liquid sloshing around in my 
body, coating my intestines and lathering my bowels. 

"She'll be good and clean after this," Daphne grinned obscenely, pouring the 
second full and very large bottle of shampoo into the enema bag. 

"Yes, her little asshole will be spic and span. Too bad that there will be 
no cock around to fuck it. I can shoot one more load tonight, but after I 
fuck your ass, Daphne, I'll be finished for the night." Egor's voice was 
just as vile as Daphne's. 

Daphne emptied the second bottle into the bag, and screwed the hose back 
into the rubber neck. 

Egor pulled his cock all the way out of my ass hole and I saw Daphne reach 
for it. She grabbed it in her hands. Her face lit up when she felt the 
throbbing girth of it in her fist. 

"Shove the nozzle in her hole and fill her up with that shampoo. This is 
going to be an enema she'll remember." Daphne said, handing the hose and 
nozzle to Egor while she kept the bag in her hand. 

"Hang it on that hook, so the liquid will gravitate nicely into her body." 
Egor said, instructing Daphne on the best technique of humiliation. 

I felt the vile nozzle against my puckering anus. Egor pressed it into my 
hole which had just been full of his thick powerful fuck rod. The enema 
nozzle slipped in all the way, and I could feel the opening of my ass 
wrapping around the hideous plastic blade of the nozzle. 

Daphne hung the enema by the hook on the closet door and the water began to 
flow through the hose and into my ass. From my ass it began to seep and then 
pour into my bowels, filling me slowly with the slimy shampoo, which would 
make foam inside my body. 

Egor pushed me down on the bed, lowering my body so that the enema would 
operate with maximum gravity. Then he took Daphne by the hips and placed her 
gently on the bed, making her kneel so that her cunt was close to my face. 

Egor positioned himself behind her back. Holding his huge cock in his hands 
he directed it at the target of her shitbox. I felt Daphne's body being 
pushed closer to me, her cunt pressing again against my my lips. From the 
forward lurching of her body I knew that Egor was pushing his long hard cock 
into her asshole and was beginning to fuck it. 

"Ahh," Daphne moaned, feeling my husband's huge rod filling the cave of her 
ass, "fuck me, Egor!" 

"Suck my cunt and tickle my clit while your husband fucks my tight asshole!" 

The enema was killing me, but Egor and Daphne didn't care. Egor rammed his 
cock in and out of Daphne's asshole, and Daphne forced me to eat her 
sperm-filled cunt. The shampoo was bloating my helpless body as Egor and 
Daphne fucked like fiends. I thought they would never stop delighting in my 
agony. 

Doctor, how will I ever survive this horror. 

 CONCLUSION 

Diane's story is one of the most malignant I have ever heard. Egor should be 
slaughtered for his depravity, or at least removed from civilized society. 
He is currently separated from Diane and living with Daphne. Diane is 
happily entering into a new phase of her life with Amanda, with whom she 
shares a rare female friendship, which might blossom into lesbian love. 

GENERAL CONCLUSION 

Hopefully, the student of human behavior, especially specialists in aberrant 
sexuality, have learned greatly from this volume. 

In summary, let us say make a few observations on the nature of enema 
humiliation. It is is clear that in each of these cases the administrator of 
the enema had no respect for the resistance or limits of the victim. One 
does not give an enema for the sake of the recipient's pleasure. In most 
cases the person giving the enema wishes not only to punish the recipient, 
but also to degrade and defile. In some cases the victim might indeed 
deserve punishment, as, for example, Terry S. deserved to be reprimanded for 
her wanton juvenile sexuality, albeit I believe her father was too hard on 
the poor girl. In other cases, such as that of Nadine C, the victim is 
guilty of nothing whatever, but for some inexplicable reason has incurred 
the wrath of the aggressor, or aggressors. In such cases, the hostility of 
the enema administrator is almost invariably arbitrary and without sense or 
meaning. 


THE END
