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Shrink

By: Ariel797



When I was in college, my dad sent me to see a shrink because he said I kept fooling around with guys so much. I'm of age, I don't have to go, but he's my dad, you know? I told him and the doctor that I was careful. I was on the Pill and I don't take chances with a bunch of strangers. I have some friends, some fuck buddies, and we stay in our group so we don't pass around a disease. But he was really worried, so off I go to see Dr. Joseph Whisenant, psychiatrist, to talk about me. It didn't take more than a couple of sessions to see that Dr. Whisenant got excited every time I talked about sex or the last time I had sex. And after that, it took less time before I told the Doc one day look, I liked sex and I liked being naked and I liked showing myself. A lot. He asked what I meant, I stood up, and I started taking off my skirt and blouse. I figured he'd stop me. But here's this guy, early 50's, and he's leaning forward and just watching, real quiet, breathing hard through his nose, just watching. So I kept on peeling off clothes, watching him watch me. He's married, so I figured any minute, he's going to stop me, right? but he just kept watching and doing this funny little snorting sound in his nose now and then, like he'd forgotten to breathe. 

So after a few minutes, I'm standing there in his office just wearing these thi hi hose I love so much and my heels which I put back on, and he's staring at me and I'm staring back at him. After a minute or two, he clears his throat and says in this kind of tight voice, "So. I didn't realize you were pierced." Yeah. Nipples, and a nice vertical hood piercing on my clit. I walked over close to the Doc and let him get a good look.

He tells my dad later that I'm a nympho and sends him a big bill, and tells me to keep coming back. I thought it was funny. I go back. He wants to talk to me about my mother. She died when I was young. So? That's got nothing to do with me liking sex. He wants to know why I like sex. I don't know. It feels good. I like it. 

When you go to his office, he takes the previous client out one door and sends them off, then comes back to his office. You have a few minutes to sit down, get a drink of water, relax, whatever. I start going in there and taking off my clothes and lying back on his sofa. He's got a nice sofa, real buttery soft brown leather. I like leather. I like how it feels and how it smells. I like it on my skin. When I lie back on the sofa, I like to prop up one leg and let the other leg slide off the sofa and my foot rest on the floor, so he's got a good view. He wants to know what I get out of that and why I do that. Why do I feel the need to do that? I don't know. Because I can? Because I like it? Because I like knowing that this professional guy is losing his professional cool and watching me? Because I know that every time I put my hand down and flip my clit with my finger, he has to stop and swallow hard and try to pretend he's professional. But he watches and he looks.

I like the power of it. I keep doing this for a few more sessions. I look around his office one day when he's taking a little more time than usual to see off his last client. I can hear her out in the hall shouting at her husband, so it'll be a few more minutes. I look around. There's a vase of flowers on one of the small tables, and on the other side two candlesticks with tall candles that have never even be lit. I take them out and lie down on the sofa and wait. I cross my hands behind my head and prop up one leg and I'm swinging my shoe from the other foot, scraping it back and forth on the floor, when Dr. Joe finally comes in. He slams the door fast. I look up and wave with one hand and arch my back. He sits down. 

"You really shouldn't – I should not allow you to do that," he begins. We go through this every time. It's not professional. Not allowed. Shouldn't let your female client be lying there butt naked on your sofa with her legs spread open so you can see right up her shaved pussy. I ignore it. He starts up with the questions again. I get bored. I pull one of the candles out that I have lying beside me and start rubbing it on my clit and he stops. 

"Where did you get that?" He answers his own question by turning at the same time and looking at his table with the empty candlesticks. "Put those back."

I just look at him, and I push the candle's wider end slowly inside me and watch him, my eyes half-shutting. He doesn't say anything. He just watches. He isn't writing down anything. I just push the candle in and out of me for a while, slow, letting him hear the sound of me wet, slicking against the candle that's also wet now, and I push it in me and lie back again, with the candle inside me.

"Wish it was you, Doc," I say. "If you want your candle back, come and get it."

He doesn't say anything. He's balding and wears heavy black-rimmed glasses, a tweed suit, dark brown penny loafers. He looks like the poster boy for shrinks. But he surprised me. He got up and came over and put his hand on the candle. He hesitated a while, and his hand shook, but he finally pulled it out and laid it on his desk. I smiled at him. I'm Temptation with blonde hair and blue eyes.

But it took a while longer before the Doc can bring himself to touch me. It's ok. I helped him. He would come into his office, sit down. I'd get up, slowly walk over to him, smiling, him looking nervous, and I'd pick up his hand and take out the pencil and maybe move the tip up and down my body while he watched. I'd toss it on the desk and take his hand and put it on me, on my bottom and then keep it there with one of my hands and come closer to him. He'd end up pulling me closer to him with that hand, slowly moving his hand up and down my bottom, caressing, touching, feeling. 

After a while I got him to the point that he would come in and I could go over and unzip him and either kneel and put him in my mouth, and I would get him hard and eager, sitting there in his tweed and his jackets with suede on the elbows, and then I'd sit on him, facing him, pull him inside me, and begin moving up and down. It took a while but he finally started putting my nipple in his mouth and sucking, especially when he'd start moaning because I'd pump up and down on his cock. He has a really good cock. You'd be surprised because he doesn't look like it, but inside the Doc has got a really thick, long cock that stretches me and feels good. He'll put his hands around to cup my bottom and pull me up and down, and my legs are on each side of his and his chair, my nipple in his mouth so he doesn't cry out and the secretary hear him. I told him once how excited I was, knowing that all those people were in the waiting room with just one wall between us and them, and here I was, fucking the Doc on the other side. He got excited and so eager he was almost shaking. 

After a few more weeks, he asked me if he could bring a colleague to his office. "A man," he said. I told him I didn't care if it was a man or a woman. 

"Does he want to watch? Or play?"

"I think – I think both." He was really nervous. 

So the next time I get to meet Dr. Alfred Biederman, who walked in and sat down and watched with his mouth hung open while I, naked except for my hose and heels and my piercings, walk over and unzip my Doc and kneel and put his cock in my mouth. What I did was to look at Dr. Biederman the whole time I was sucking on my Doc's cock. Every time I took my mouth off and licked the end of his cock and the rim, I'd look up at Biederman and smile. But I always watched him. If you don't watch, people think you are ashamed. But if you watch, they get hot and eager and nervous all at the same time. And that makes me hot. 

So I got Doc hard and I pulled him inside my pussy and moaned a little, and pulled the Doc to my nipple because he was already groaning. I looked at Biederman, and he's got his hand on his crotch, rubbing, and I smiled. So. I'm a nympho. I've got two men. I'm in my element. 

As soon as I finished with my Doc, I went over to Biederman and just unzipped him and pulled out his cock and held it in my hands, pulling back and forth a little so the skin slid up and down, and he lifted his hips. "Oh God Joe, you were right," he groaned. I sat on him, and he surprised me because he shoved his cock right into me and grabbed my bottom with his hands and started kneading them, pulling my bottom apart and then squeezing it together until I did that high quavering little moan that means I had a fast orgasm. I shuddered and he kept going because he wasn't ready quite yet, and I was glad. He was a little rougher and I enjoyed that. He would push my bottom up with his hands and then pull me back down so I was really slamming hard onto him at times, and he would push up into me in fast hard thrusts so I was gasping, and I suddenly pulled him to me and clung to him for a moment, shuddering, and I came again about the same time he did. We stayed that way for a moment, and then I pulled off of him. They cleaned their cocks and I was wiping my pussy while I lay on the sofa with my legs open, watching them, my chest heaving because I was so excited.

"I think she could go again," said Biederman. 

"Yes. She's a true nymphomaniac. The tissue stays in a state of arousal – "

Biederman cut him off with a wave of his hand and walked over to me, still wiping his cock with a cloth. He finished and zipped. I watched him.

"I want to make a movie," he said abruptly. Just like that. No preliminaries, no leading up. I liked it. I asked him. 

He'd thought it all out. Once my Dr. Joe had told him he had a nympho on his hands that he was fucking, Biederman had known he'd struck gold. I could wear a wig, he said. Heavy makeup. Maybe some contacts to change the color of my eyes? Dr. Joe asked about a mask for me; neither wanted me to be recognized. Too many questions. 

"No, no mask," said Biederman. "Men like to see the faces."

"I don't think they are interested in the faces," I said, and smiled. I flicked my clit ring with my finger a few times, watching them.

Biederman pulled a chair next to me. "Do you really think you could go again? This soon?" he asked. He was serious. 

"Yes."

"What about something a little rougher?"

"How rough are we talking?"

Dr. Joe hovered nervously, not sitting, clasping and unclasping his hands. His cock was still hanging out of his pants, which I pointed out. He hastily zipped himself, blushing. I grinned.

Biederman described this idea of his, I said sure, we all agreed, and next weekend, I drive up to his cabin. 

I pull up, there's Biederman at the door with Dr. Joe hovering around. The first night, it's just us three. That's cool. I stripped down when I got inside. We were on the side of the lake with trees and nobody around. Dr. Joe wouldn't go outside, but Biederman laid down on the porch swing and I sucked him until he got hard, and then he pulled me on top of him. He smacked my bottom with his hand once and I jumped, then grinned. "You like that?" 

"Yes." He smacked my bottom again, then pushed his cock inside me roughly. 

The next morning two vans pulled up. In the cabin was a large family room. We had pushed most of the furniture back against the wall and put away pictures and stuff the night before. The guys in the van get out. They come in, set up video cameras. Biederman wants to try just selling a movie first. 

One of the men from the van comes up to me and gives me a cheerleading outfit. I don't really like the colors, but it won't matter. A few other guys come in the room and change into football uniforms. Camera guy gives me pompons and sends me over to makeup, which is basically in the kitchen at the table, where a gay man has set up a lighted mirror and puts a wig of black hair on me. I put in the contact lenses so my eyes are a deep, deep blue, and Fredo, the makeup guy, starts doing what he calls "slut makeup." The real heavy sultry look on the eyes and pouty red lips. He does my nails the same red. "They need to match, hon." He says "hon" a lot, which is cute. 

They call us back into the big family room, which has been transformed with boxes and wall hangings and a couple of banged up old lockers, and a couple of benches. It looks like a guy's locker room, sort of, but I figure nobody is going to care how accurate it is. 

Me and the camera guys go outside first. I'm wearing a cutoff sleeveless shirt with a big "T" on the front for my team, and a very short pleated cheerleading skirt in the team's colors of red and white. The cutoff shirt is so short that when I raise my arms, the bottoms of my breasts show easily. They argue about this and decide to trim a little more OFF, so when I raise my arms now, a little of my nipples show. They call Fredo back in to dab some coloring on my nipples and let that dry, so my nipples show up better on film. Then we test the skirt. If I do a high kick, since I'm not wearing panties, my pussy shows. They have me practice a high kick a few times so when the camera is at that level, it can get a good view of my pussy and the clit ring, which the director really likes. "It'll drive them wild!" he gushes. 

Two girls have arrived in the meantime and are put into similar cheerleading outfits, same colors. We are rivals, apparently. The three of us stand outside, get our lines, which basically amounts to some pouting and pushing and a lot of flashing. It takes a few tries, I do a high kick in front of the camera so there's a great view of my shaved pussy as I kick up my leg, and my breasts bounce up and down under the too short shirt, which the director really likes. 

"That's good," he tells me, guiding me over to the two girls who look older up close. Fredo is finishing their makeup. The director tells them and me our next steps. Fredo finishes. Now me, the two girls, and the camera guys film the three cheerleaders doing a team spirit cheer. Rah! I wave my pompons and my breasts at the camera and see off to one side that Biederman is smiling and nodding, Dr. Joe nearby, looking nervously around. We finish our cheer and the camera man nods at the director and gives a thumbs up. We go through our next routine, where the two girls, who are jealous of me the cheerleader, trick me into going to the boys' locker room to find a lost pompon. It's a stupid ploy but it got me into the fake locker room. So inside we all go.

Everybody goes inside and stands away from the stage, sipping coffee or a soda, watching. The director walks us through things, we film, then he walks us through again, and we do the next step. It was shoddy and really stupid lines, but it was fun to do. 

The two rival cheerleaders have sent me into the boys' college locker room. I go in and there's 7 or 8 studs in there, mostly naked or with a skimpy towel around their waists, as I go in looking for the missing pompon. Oh oh, no pompon, what to do. The guys, some of whom look like they are nearly 30, know a good chance when they see one. They pounce on what is obviously a slut for a cheerleader i.e., me, with my too small shirt and my too short skirt, and they enthusiastically pull at my clothes until they tear. I'm naked except for the little white socks and tennis shoes, the nipple rings, clit ring, a black wig, and a lot of slutty heavy makeup. Vainly I try to cover my breasts with my hands, but the guys, all of whom are at least a foot taller than me since I'm short, laugh and grab my arms. They push two benches together and push me down on there. They had to film that part again because two guys got in front of the camera. 

"No no NO!" said the director. "We need to see the pussy, guys, get out of the way."

I was excited so I didn't care. The guys pull my arms over my head and pull my legs apart, wide, so the camera gets a good shot between my legs, right at my pussy, which is throbbing and really wet now. The guys don't need much direction now, just occasional motions to get out of the camera's way. It is 8 guys, I think at one point. The director is rubbing his crotch, and one of the cheerleaders is playing with the other girl's breasts. 

The guys hold my legs wide apart and pull my arms back and down, over the end of the benches, so my breasts come up high. One of the guys flicks his wet towel at my breasts, smacking them, and I moan a little, so he flicks the towel at my pussy and I jerk and moan some more because I like it. The guys are all talking about me, about my pussy and about what they are about to do to me. One guy shoves his cock into my mouth and starts pushing in and out, and another is fingering my nipple rings, hard, twisting them and tugging a little so I moan, but they hold me down with strong hands. One guy is so eager he almost spills on me before he shoves into me. One guy is gentle, but most of them are rough and fuck really hard and fast, and I like that. If a guy is finished with my mouth, he moves around and goes to my pussy. They keep shouting things about "rape her!" and "fuck her hard!" and "ram your cock in that whore's pussy" and that just gets me wild, so I struggle a little because I'm eager, see, I want them in me, and that gets them excited more. We had a good time.

When we finished, the director had everybody watch the film in case we needed to film something again. He and Biederman talked to me about another movie, a longer one, with some torture scenes.

"Like what?" I asked.

"Ropes, bondage."

"Oh, that's cool. I like that."

They look happy. They drive away, and a couple of weeks later, Biederman is in the office with Dr. Joe while I sit on Dr. Joe's lap, his cock inside me, and he's grunting a little, and Biederman is talking about how much money the cheerleading video will make. He wants to do another one. I say sure. Dr. Joe is really nervous, but I'm eager. I slide off of him when he comes, and I go to Biederman. 

Biederman has really gotten into this. Dr. Joe just likes the sex, but Biederman likes to draw it out, likes to tease me until I'm nearly crazy with wanting it. He loves doing that. I go over to him and stand, waiting. Every time now, he likes to put something on my nipple rings. He carefully hooks a heavy double chain on the rings, so I have a smaller and then a slighter longer loop dangling between my breasts. He is fascinated with the idea that pain can cause sexual pleasure. He pulls out two clover clamps and pulls out one nipple with his thumb and finger, pinching it tightly, and slips the clover clamp as close to the ring as he can, then suddenly lets go. It snaps and hurts a little, and I jump. He smiles. He does the other nipple the same way, then hooks them together so they pull my breasts closer together, and they tug and pull on my nipples. He pulls my clit out and pinches it until I squeak a little, and he fits a clover clamp on it, letting it snap shut suddenly, then fixes clover clamps and alligator clamps on the pussy lips and on the flesh at each side of the clit, pulling up tender skin and wedging it between the hard spring of the clover clamp, or the nasty jaws of an alligator clamp, then lets go so he can watch me flinch and jump. He looks, thinks, then puts another clamp on the very end of my clit, which hurts, and he's satisfied. He sits on the sofa in the middle. He crosses his ankle on top of his other knee, and he pulls me down, face down across his lap, adjusting me until my legs are pushed apart, wide open, and my clit is pressing down, balancing my weight, on his ankle. It pushes in heavily on the clamps, and I can feel the thrumming, throbbing pulse and ache and excitement. He pulls my right leg, which is closest to him, up until it bends at the knee, and pulls it close to his belly so my pussy is riding his ankle that is braced on his knee; my right leg is bent and pulling me open more. My left leg hangs out and down, off the side. He pulls me back and forth a little so I rock on his ankle, and I arch my back and cry out. He grabs my wrists in one strong hand and holds them tightly, pulling back a little so my back stays arched, so the clover clamps on my nipples pull and dig in and the heavy chains swing back and forth between my breasts. He rocks me on his ankle again, wiggling his foot some so the clamps dig into my pussy more, and I close my eyes and half turn my head, moaning and crying out in that quaver, and I beg him. He takes his doubled over belt in his other hand and he smacks my bottom, hard, and I cry out again. It is after hours, so we don't have to worry about people in the waiting room, but Dr. Joe is nervous all the same. 


Shrink Ch. 02



I'm not sure about "next time," what "next time" means or what it will bring. I don't know if Biederman is sincere, saying he's going to throw me in with his prison group. I wonder about the movies, too, what that will be.

I go to Dr. Joe's office for my session. What a laugh. I should get paid, instead of him. He's in the back hallway, seeing his last client out the door, when I enter his office. I close that door and take off my clothes and fold them neatly. I've got a couple of Biederman's clamps with me, and I put a clover clamp on my clit, just past the end of the vertical hood piercing over my clit. Dr. Joe comes back in and as usual, sees me naked with just my piercings, my heels, my hose, and he blushes and slams the door. He comes over and sits down and won't look at me at first. The clover clamp is heavy and has a hard tough spring that puts a lot of pressure on my clit. Which is throbbing now a little, which makes the clamp jangle against my piercing now and then. He glances at it, then away, hastily writing notes. I move over to him and lace my fingers together, bracing my wrists on his left shoulder as he writes, and I slide my legs apart slowly so I have one on each side of his left leg. He stops writing, but doesn't look up. I blow in his ear. 

A knock on the back doorway, a second rap, and Biederman comes in and locks the door. He looks at me and sits down nearby. He's here to talk about the next movie. I'm still leaning on Dr. Joe's shoulder, moving my pussy back and forth on top of his thigh slowly so the clamp catches on his pants leg and tugs back and forth. I look at Biederman and finally put my right arm around poor Dr. Joe's back, and I lean into him, and take his right hand in my left one, and I pull his hand down and behind me, to hold my bottom. He finally moves his head and closes his eyes, and Dr. Joe's hands both cup my bottom, squeezing tightly, pulling them apart, crunching them back together eagerly, hot, excited. Biederman watches a while, and I watch him, and I slide down enough to straddle Dr. Joe's leg and make it wet from my pussy, and I lean forward while he keeps playing with my bottom. He likes my bottom a lot. I watch Biederman.

"There's another one who wants to play," he finally says, and Dr. Joe sighs and squeezes my bottom one last time, hard, his fingers digging in, then he pats my bottom. I sit up, but I stay on his leg, my right hand lying on his shoulder gently.

"Who?" says Dr. Joe, turning his head halfway towards Biederman, if though if he doesn't look at him completely, he will go away. 

"Aldman."

"Jesus! Aldman? Not Aldman!" 

"Who's that?" I ask. I'm leaning towards Dr. Joe again, moving my nipple back and forth to catch on his tie clip. One of his hands cups my bottom again and strokes it. I like that they are both dressed, and I'm naked.

"Runs a clinic," says Biederman. "The one with your therapy group?" I ask, amused. He lifts an eyebrow at me, then shrugs.

"No. But he's got theories about nymphos."

"You have theories about nymphos," I point out to Biederman, who grins. He's a tall, thin man with thinning hair. What is it with thinning hair on these guys? I wonder. He likes the casual look, which means his Ralph Lauren is casual. He actually wears Oxfords at times. Who wears those? He pats his lap. I stand up, slowly.

"So. Have you been bad?" he asks me, patting his lap again. I stand by Dr. Joe a little while longer.

"Bad? I thought you liked my bad. My bad is good." I finally walk over to Biederman. "So what are his theories?" I straddle Biederman, my legs on each side of his, and I put my hands around his neck. He takes one of my nipples in his mouth and bites, lightly. I lean back a little, and he puts one of his hands down, sliding it down, down, just to my clit, and finds the clover clamp. 

"I wondered where that got to." He twists it suddenly, and I close my eyes and still for a moment. I open my eyes. He's grinning, looking at me. "I should put these everywhere on you," he says. I push closer to him so the clamp rubs against his crotch. His head goes down and he bites my other nipple, a little harder, until I suck in breath. He finally pulls off the clamp, then has me turn around on his lap. I sit on his lap, facing Dr. Joe, my legs on each side of Biederman's. I put my arms up and behind his neck, my fingers in the remnants of his graying brown hair. He keeps one of his hands in my crotch, rubbing back and forth gently on my clit. With his other hand, he fumbles through some notes. 

Aldman thinks a true nympho is rare, I hear. He thinks she needs to get a resistance factor so she can change. I roll my eyes. Aldman believes a nympho can be worn out and have a revulsion to sex. Or, she can associate pain with sex. Either way, she stops being a nympho. I hoot at that. 

"Either way, I'd just keep going."

Biederman laughs and slips a finger inside me, still talking to Dr. Joe. I want more than just one finger inside me. 

Biederman had sounded out Aldman about nymphos. The old guy is in his late 50's and eager to try out theories. They are all eager to try out theories. Biederman, it seems, earnestly told Aldman about my sad case of sluttiness. Aldman, in turn, was as earnest to help find my cure. I snort when I hear that. 

Biederman and Dr. Joe talk for a while and make plans. I play with Biederman's cock for a while, then his balls, then he finally pulls me onto his lap and puts his cock in my pussy. "Next time, I'm going in your ass," he tells me harshly as he grunts in my ear.

I meet them at Dr. Joe's the next afternoon, and the three of us ride in his car up to Aldman's. Dr. Joe is nervous and keeps clearing his throat. The drive takes an hour. 

The parkway into the clinic is pretty. Big green lawns, stately oak trees, big iron gate and fence. I notice the gate. Biederman is excited. He's been talking the whole way, blah blah blah, because he convinced Aldman to film my cure. Now if it's as exciting as Biederman hopes, he can sell the movie. I've had to put the wig and contacts on again, therefore. 

We drive up to a very pleasant manor, New England style. We enter. Biederman introduces us, and I'm hustled off right away to a private room which, I am told, is an honor because it's next to Aldman's office. I bet. 

The room is nice. I'm supposed to change into an examining gown. I just take off my clothes and fold them neatly. I make sure my wig is nice and check my makeup. I do the heavy eye look the way Fredo taught me. I keep on the hose and slip my heels back on. There's a rap on the door finally, from what is supposed to be Aldman's office. The door opens, and there's an older man, small and bubbly with a kindly look, gray hair with some fine remaining streaks of dark gray on the sides and one stubborn darker streak on top. At least he has hair. He's wearing a white lab coat and has pens neatly poking from the top of the pocket. He's got a tie on, black laced shoes, dark slacks. Polished. 

Biederman and Dr. Joe are right on his tail, and so is an orderly, a massive white guy who looks like he's never missed a night at the gym in his life. His name is Sven. Can you believe that? Sven. People actually name their children Sven. And he's blonde, a really pale blonde, tan, blue eyes, and really big muscles. And tall. White short sleeved t-shirt, white pants, white shoes that are probably great for running after nuts and chasing them down. I look him up and down and he does the same to me. I'm naked, after all. He should look. 

Dr. Aldman tsks tsks and motions to Sven to shut the door. Sven does, then I swear, stands at the door, crosses his arms over his chest, and does the bodyguard look. 

"This is most interesting, most interesting," Aldman mutters. He sits in a chair, far from me, I note, and pulls out a tablet and starts writing. "And why is it, young woman," he asks after a time of scribbling, "you felt you must take off your clothes? Are you warm?"

"I'm hot," I snicker. Biederman turns his head to hide a smile. Dr. Joe looks frozen.

"But why, young woman – " he glances at the chart, then at me, " – Tanya," he starts again, "did you do this? Do you think other people do this thing?" 

"No."

"Then why?"

I shrug. I arch my back and walk around the room a little. "I like it." I shrug again. 

There's a loveseat in the room, so I sit on it and hook one leg over the arm, swinging my leg back and forth. I lean back. It gives Sven a good view up my legs. 

Aldman writes furiously for a while, then finally turns to Biederman and Dr. Joe. They whisper, look at me. Dr. Joe shakes his head "no" a few times, but Biederman, I notice, is looking excited. I flick my clit ring a few times with my finger, idly, staring at Sven the whole time with a half-smile.

Aldman stands up finally. "We try that," he says, and leaves the room. Sven follows. Biederman and Dr. Joe stay.

"So what's the deal?" I ask.

"Some pain and some aversion therapy," Biederman says.

"Sounds good."

Aldman isn't a bad guy. He tries hard. I'll be here a week, and Aldman takes me into his office right after Dr. Joe leaves. Biederman is staying. Aldman talks to me about some rules. He rings a bell and Sven shows up. Aldman tells me I have to put on a gown, at least until I get to the observation room. 

"What's that?"

"Just a place where I want to observe."

Well, that says a lot. No kidding. I wrap the cotton gown around me and follow Sven down the hall, past a roomful of people who are playing games and watching TV. I wave. One of them waves back. We go down a side corridor, then enter a brightly lit room with a table, two chairs, and a box of items. There is a big mirror on one side of the room which, of course, is where they observe. I wave at it, too.

Sven leaves. A woman comes in the room. Another lab coat. She pulls out the items in the box and puts them on the small table. I toss the gown onto the chair and sit on it. She doesn't even blink. You have to give her credit.

We do a few tests. She says a word, I say a word it reminds me of. We look at the objects, I tell her what they make me think of. They are pretty basic things: a jump rope. A ball. Doll. A big plastic hammer. Several odds and ends that represent basic games or chores or jobs in daily lives. I answer; she writes. Everything is pretty normal. She glances at the mirror briefly, then leaves the room. 

Biederman told me about this part. They are going to leave me in the room for a while. They want to see what I do if I get bored. I don't plan to get bored. 

I am aching some, though, with The Need. Jump rope first. I sit on one of the chairs and prop one of my legs on the table top. The handle of the jump rope slides into my pussy fast. I'm making sure that I face the mirror. I move it back and forth a few times. It really isn't big enough or long enough. I try the handle of the plastic hammer, but it's too flimsy. I finally flip the table over so the legs are in the air, wipe off the end with the gown, and, looking at the mirror and smiling, I use my fingers to pull my pussy open, and I slide down onto the table leg. It's round and hard and smooth and all the same width. It's standard God bless it size all the way down, with no little knob on the end. It was made to sit on carpet and that's what it had been doing until I turned it over. I had to brace myself against the wall for support, but I lowered myself onto the table leg and fucked it and watched the mirror and smiled, knowing they are watching. 

After a while, they get me and take me back to my room. I toss the gown on the floor as soon as I get there and lie on the cot. Aldman comes in after a while. He looks sad. He sits on a chair beside me and talks about how I am a nympho and what can we do about that. I tell him I don't want to do anything about it, I'm fine with it. He shakes his head. I wonder to myself if I can get his pants unzipped by the middle of the week? Or if it will take the whole week? 

I had missed the last bit. "What?"

"A little shock therapy," he repeats.

"On my head? Are you nuts?"

"No no." He repeats it again. I succeed in not laughing or grinning, but it's hard. We're going for pain therapy first. Goodie.

The next morning I'm walked down a different corridor. Sven is leading me again. I figure I'll have Sven by tonight. We go into a room that has a leather chair that is angled, like a dentist's chair. I toss the gown onto a chair so I'm naked, and I sit on the chair. Sven frowns, but doesn't make me wear the gown. He straps me to the chair. The leather part is warm, but the straps are cold on my skin. I ask him if I can put my hands over my head. He doesn't know how to answer that. He leaves my arms unstrapped until a nurse comes in, and they confer. She leaves the room. He straps my legs separately. The bottom part of the chair separates, I see now. He taps a button on the floor with his foot, and the two legs of the chair slowly and mechanically pull apart, me with them. He adjust straps and tightens here, loosens a little there. He straps my waist. The nurse returns, shrugs. Sven pulls my arms over my head so that one wrist is tucked in next to one elbow; the other wrist is beside the other elbow. He straps the arms together, then to the chairs. He has another strap across my chest, above the breasts. 

"Hey Sven," I say, just before he leaves. He turns. Not much of a talker. "Tonight. My room. You and me." I flutter my eyelashes. Is that a faint hint of a smile? I think so.

Nurse whatever comes back in the room with Aldman and Biederman, who has set up his video camera. Got to catch every nuance of technique. Aldman uses the floor pedals and adjusts the chair. He lifts it up until I'm just below his chest height. The chair flattens out a little more. "There must be no resistance possible," he explains to Biederman. Incredible. Did this guy never hear about how exciting this stuff could be? He frowns at my nakedness, but assures the nurse, who doesn't seem to care one way or the other, that this will pass with the treatment and cure. Sure it will.

He isn't sure what to do at first about the clit piercing. He can remove it, Biederman tells him, but Aldman finally decides that no, it can possibly help. He taps the floor pedals, pulls the legs of the chair outward more, checks my straps. The chair has only a slight dip at the butt area, to make it a little more comfy, but otherwise is flat, with the two legs spread out as far as possible. The nurse dabs goo on the patches, places them on my skin: inner thighs, pelvis, above the clit, around it. "We start simply," Aldman explained. Shoot. That means we have to wait for the good stuff.

Biederman checks the sighting on the camera and stays near it. We don't want to lose good footage. Aldman nods solemnly at the nurse, who turns on the juice. Very weak. I am disappointed. I can barely feel muscles moving. It's like an ultra kind of ultrasound. 

We try twice more with tiny increases. Biederman moves over to Aldman, whispers. Aldman frowns but finally nods, motions to the nurse, and they fiddle with the patches. Some are removed, more are added. Some are bigger. One is wrapped around my clit. One is wrapped around the clit ring itself. Several are grouped around the base of the clit. More on the inside of my thighs. Aldman steps back, nods. Nurse flips on the power, then ups it a little. I feel some tremors, nothing much. She increases it a little more. Some quivers. Aldman's pager goes off, probably because I saw Biederman punching in a phone number. Aldman leaves the room. Biederman asks the Nurse for some water and assures her he will stay right with me. They leave, and he moves the power up more. I feel it now.

He's not in the camera frame, only I am, the patches with their wires showing clearly. He moves the dial up again, and I feel my muscles rippling now, steadily, like little ocean waves. He grins at me, then flips the dial up another notch. I can hear a slight hum, and I feel more rippling, stronger. The dial goes up again, then again, then one more time, and now my muscles are contracting stronger and stronger. I can feel a thrumming steady on my clit ring, vibrating down to the thick nerve that runs through my clit, and it makes me orgasm. I moan. Biederman ups the power again. He licks his lips, but now I'm thinking only of the power down there. There is current jumping to my muscles, making me twitching, forcing me to pulse and contract, twinging, rippling, and the ocean waves are angry and crashing now. He moves a switch or two, and I feel more intense current around my clit and on the clit ring itself, and I moan. Biederman has locked the door. I don't know how he's keeping the nurse away and I don't care. 

"Oh God," I say, and the damn man walks back to the current box and fiddles with it again, and I feel more power surging into me. "Mmm" I say, turning my head sideways into my arm. My body is a slight sheen of sweat on it now. I can hear noise from Biederman's area, and I feel – I feel the crashing, roiling waves, coursing around my pussy, drawing it up and pushing it back, clinching, relaxing in fast, tight waves. "Oh God PLEASE!" I shout suddenly, twisting my head, and I hear Biederman laugh. There's more, and more, and my clit ring and clit are jumping and twitching with lives of their own now. He's laughing, and I feel more power, and I moan. "Oh God please, please," I beg, and I struggle, I really try, to heave up my hips, to close my legs around something that will give me more release, and he laughs and laughs. I finally hear a ringing, and then realize it's his cell phone, and then notice that the power is slowly draining, because he has lowered the dials. Somehow, I think, he got somebody to pull Aldman and the nurse away for a while, and now they are coming back. I shivered, my eyes closed, wishing it had gone on a little longer. Biederman unlocks the door and sure enough, Aldman and the nurse come briskly back in. Aldman is a little surprised at the sweat on my body, but views it as a good sign. I am unstrapped finally but told I will have this treatment again later today, at least twice more. I can hardly wait.

Back in my room, I eat my lunch, then lie on my cot. Sven comes into the room to get my tray, but he closes the door and locks it. I smile, but he's a bit of a disappointment. He tells me that some guy named Evan will be on the floor that night. Here's hoping that Evan is better.

The second treatment that afternoon was a little stronger, but Aldman was there the whole time. I basically just lie there the whole time. The second treatment, he ups the power more, and I quiver a little. Finally, he has me taken back to my room. He and Biederman, he tells me, will consult about my particular case. I hope Biederman can talk him into more.

I don't see the new guy. I fall asleep. The next morning, there's yet a different guy who takes me down to the treatment room. He leers at me the whole time. I toss off the gown, get in the dentist-looking chair. New guy is Norris. I don't know who names their kid Norris, either. Norris has a definite sadistic streak in him, which I appreciate. He's rough with the straps and ties them tightly, which I like. Norris appreciates that I appreciate his finesse, and does some more leering along with some touching. I leer back. 

Biederman comes in with Aldman. There's a new nurse whose body looks square. If Patton was a woman, he would have been this nurse. She is big but it's not fat. She's big. Heavy. Strong. No nonsense. Old style starched whites and crisp manner with a glare to match. She checks Norris' work and nods approval. Norris has put my arms over my head again like they did yesterday. Nobody moves them. 

Chair legs go out, out. Out a little more. Nurse Patton firmly presses on electrode patches on my inner thighs. She frowns. Aldman and Biederman step in. More electrode patches down the insides of my legs, to the curve of my crotch, right up to the lips. Different colors of wires. Different areas will have different strengths, I hear. Fine with me. Biederman wraps my clit himself. There are patches on the flesh where my legs and crotch join, on the clit ring itself, above the clit, even underneath around the anus and where the cheeks of my bottom meet. 




Shrink Ch. 02



They make a few adjustments and are satisfied. Norris is nearby, leering and watching. Biederman checks his camera and nods. Nurse Patton turns on the dials. 

The first set was stronger but not enough for me. But she's a tough nurse. She ups the dial again, yet again, and one more time, then yet once more, and I feel the jolts. Aldman waves her away finally. "She gets a little distressed by this," he confides in Biederman as I writhe against the straps. 

Norris was leaning against the wall, Aldman with his back to him, so Aldman couldn't see that Norris had his hands in his pants, rubbing his cock. I smiled. Aldman frowns and turns up a dial again. I feel the clit ring jounce with the jolt of current, and I moan. Aldman checks pulse. 

"She will soon realize," he says softly to Biederman, "sex can be associated with pain."

Damn straight. They turn up the juice a few more times. I'm covered in sweat now, moaning, heaving against the straps. As a final attempt at curing, Aldman produces a thin metal rod with a wire attached. He's wearing insulated gloves. He solemnly pushes it inside my pussy and nods at Biederman, who turns up the juice, and I cry out and buck upwards as much as I can. The pulsing current dies down, then revs up again, and I buck my hips upwards again. Aldman nods at Biederman, and then motions to Norris. They whisper, then Aldman and Biederman leave the room. Norris is to watch me for a little while. Norris is excited. 

"You like this, don't you?" he asks.

"Yes," I pant. The current comes in pulses. I ask him if he can increase it. He is nervous at first and looks around the room, but he finally pushes the dial up one more notch. I ask him, which dial does the wire from the metal rod in my pussy go to? He finds that and flips the dial up on that. The power is a little stronger. I ask him to turn up just that one again, so he does. He finally ends up turning that dial up three more times. The power is arcing inside me, quivering. I have tears rolling, it feels so good.

"You really like this," Norris whispers, awed. 

"Yes," I whisper harshly. The power surges again inside me at the same time the electrode on my clit ring pulses, and it feels so good, so wonderfully, wonderfully good, and my whole pussy clinches at the same time. I ask him to turn up the other dials, and the metal rod one more notch. He does and comes back to me, watching.

I'm panting now. I heave up my hips and my belly tightens regularly now when the pulses come, fast and heavy and very strong. Bursts of electricity pulsing around my clit and on it, inside me, on my legs. I'm shaking and feels good, so good. I'm sweaty. Norris reaches out a hand towards my breast, then pulls back.

"Go ahead," I say through clenched teeth. I moan and twist my head back and forth. "Play with them if you want. Touch them." 

"Anything?" he asks.

"Anything."

He nods and uses his fingernails to dig into my nipples and I cry out, one of those "oh oh oh oh" long sighs of pleasure. He plays with my breasts.

"Tonight," I manage to pant, "you're on floor tonight?"

"Yeah," muffled answer. His mouth is on my breast, sucking.

"Come to my room tonight."

"Really?"

"Really." I groan again. I get Norris to put on one of the insulated gloves finally and move the metal rod in my pussy around a little bit. Sometimes he lifts up on the rod a little and the pleasure, it is so wonderful and good, I can hardly bear it.

"Oh God, oh God thank you, thank you," I say, tears rolling down my cheeks. Norris is flattered. 

Aldman and Biederman finally come back. Biederman hides the dials and shuts them down. Aldman pats my arm as Norris unstraps me. "There. You will feel better soon," he says kindly. 

Norris takes me back to my room. He's had to wheel me down in a chair, I'm so limp from pleasure. He lifts me out of the chair and puts me on the bed, shuts the door. I hear a click, then footsteps. He's still in the room. 

Norris, it turns out, is every masochist's dream come true. He is more excited by my weak state. He locks the door and covers the small window with a sign. Nobody will interfere. The bed has straps; they all do here. He removes a couple of portable ones and puts them at the head of the metal bed frame and ties my wrists, then my ankles on the outsides of the bed. 

"Pretty," he says softly. He rubs his crotch with his hand. 

He touches me at first, all over, his hands rough with calluses, smoothing down my skin. I already know from Biederman that this guy has no diseases. 

Norris pulls out a gym bag that is under my bed. I hadn't noticed it. Norris has his toys in there, he says. He makes them special. He pulls out a flogger he's made himself. He's very proud of it. It's a wooden handle from an old walking stick, he tells me, one of those taken from a tree limb where the branch is knobby and crooked, then smoothed down to make a quaint cane. He's shortened the cane, of course, and screwed a bolt in the top of the handle and hooked fine chains through the bolt hole. I ask him to put a pillow under my bottom so it can lift my hips up. He is impressed. This is probably the best day of Norris' life. He flexes the flogger in front of me a few times, the fine chain links glittering in the light. They are probably each no thicker than a gold necklace I've worn. But together – ah. 

He flicks his wrist a few times, and lightly swings it against my open pussy. I flinch a little. He stands beside me and swings again, a little harder. I breathe in hard. He puts another pillow under my hips. That lifts up my hips and spreads my legs wider, makes me more vulnerable. He flicks the flogger at me again, flipping the pussy. I grunt a little. He's a craftsman, and I appreciate it. Sometimes he strikes softly, until I start lifting my hips. Sometimes he strikes harder, and I beg him to stop. He goes beyond that. He stops after a while and wipes sweat from his forehead, rubbing it against his shirt sleeve. He grins at me. Turns the handle around, pushes it, knobs and all, inside me, and grins. I moan. He pushes it in and out, then gets bored with that. 

He's got other goodies I'm sure, but Norris has had a good day. He unzips his pants and gets on the bed between my legs. 

"Pretty," he says again, and fucks me. With the tender flesh from the treatment and his flogging, I cry out and moan and tug on the straps hard. He enjoys it and so do I. He is very excited and is really good. He finally finishes and lies on top of me for a while, exhausted. He idly twiddles one of my nipple rings, then bites on my breast a little. "But not hard," he says. "I can't leave bite marks." 

He unties me. The next day my pussy is sore and red, but they know it has to be from the treatments. Aldman is certain they will work. Biederman comes by my room and plays with me for a little while. I tell him about Norris; he's intrigued. "That would be great in the movie!" he enthuses. 

Nurse Patton comes for me that afternoon and takes me next door to Aldman's office. She leaves. Aldman talks for a while. I'm not wearing anything. He writes notes, asks questions. I rub my pussy against the corner of his desk, then bump it lightly with my clit, and he sighs. I smile and watch him while I rub back and forth, gently, against the corner of his desk, pressing lightly against it at times. The Nurse takes me back to my room. 

Biederman comes by that night. He makes me kneel and spread my legs wide on the carpeted floor. He has me take off his belt, kiss it, and hand it to him, then lace my fingers behind my head. He uses his belt on my breasts a few times, which feels good. He makes me kiss his belt again. He says he's going to punish me now. 

He puts me face down on my bed. He's go his own toy bag. He puts the cuffs on my wrists and clips them to the bedframe so my arms are spread out. He puts a pillow under my hips and another under my chest, so my head can go down, but I can breathe. He puts cuffs on my ankles and pulls them out and clips them to the outside edges of the bedframe, so my legs are wide open, and I am face down on the bed, my bottom lifted a little from the pillow under my hips. He has a vibrating dildo that is a large size. He pushes that inside my pussy, far, and turns it on the highest level. I moan and try to press down against the pillow. He smacks my bare bottom with his hand. 

Then he puts the belt in front of my face and tells me to kiss it again. I do. He tells me that if I beg him hard enough, he will stop the punishment. I say ok. The vibrating dildo is in my pussy, throbbing steadily. It moves around a little in me and is driving me crazy with lust. 

Biederman flexes the belt; I can hear him. The lights are out in my room now. He smacks my naked bottom with his belt, and I jerk my head up. 

"That's one," he says, and he smacks my bottom again. "Two." When he reaches twenty, he stops for a minute and sits on the bed next to my head. He wraps his belt slowly around my mouth and tightens it behind my head, like a gag. He likes that, and leaves it there. I can smell him on the leather. The vibrator in me feels good. 

He kneels on the bed beside me and uses his hand to smack my bottom. He pushes up a little each time, so it moves my body upwards a little on the bed, pushing my clit against the pillow underneath me, rocking me a little. I moan through the belt. He smacks my bottom again, and again, several times, until he's spanked each cheek twenty times, and my bottom is stinging and I'm very, very wet on the vibrator. He gets on the bed and kneels and I hear him unzip. He pushes into my anus with his cock, slowly at first, pulls out a little. I whimper, muffled. He pushes in again, deeper this time. 

"Mmmfff" I mutter through the belt. 

"You're so tight," he says, his voice hot and excited. He pushes in again, harder, further. He pulls my cheeks apart with his hands, shoves in a little further. I moan and rock a little on the pillow below my hips. He reaches to one of my breasts and pulls a nipple to the side, twists it. "None of that." He rocks into me again, his cock going inside my anus, deeper, and he thrusts in, pulls out a little, back in, again and again, and begins to moan and rock. The bed jolts in a rhythm and he grunts as he fucks my ass. He finishes and unties me. We clean up. I lie down on the bed and think he is leaving. He ties me to the bed while I am on my back, using his cuffs. I'm speadeagle on the bed. He smoothes my hair from my face and kisses my forehead. He pages and an orderly comes to the door, unlocks it. Biederman smiles at me in the dim light of the hall light, waves. The orderly leaves, too. The door closes and I'm lying on the bed, wondering, in the darkness, tied and naked. 

There's a click at the door finally, and I turn my head. It's Nurse Patton, and she smiles grimly, enters my room, and locks the door. 



Shrink Ch. 03



Nurse Patton stares at me for a while, her arms crossed, just a grim look on her face. Me, I'm relaxed. I grin back at her. She unbuckles me, "harrumphing" all the time, tsking, then stalks over to the dreary looking dresser, pulls out a nightie, throws it on me, tells me to "wear it!" and stomps out. I grin at the closed door and wad up the nightie and throw it onto the floor. I sleep well.

Aldman hears about the nurse finding me strapped down naked, though. He thinks I got a patient to do that and asks me who. I smile. He tries wheedling and then being stern, but I smile. Finally, he sighs and presses a buzzer. Nurse Patton stomps in, glaring at me, fists on her hips. I smile at her, too. Aldman mumbles something to her, she nods grimly, points at me, says "Follow me." I shrug and follow her.

We walk down hallways and turn corners and finally enter a room that is big enough to have a slight echo. It has a slight smell of an enclosed pool to it. There are tubs on one side of the wall. 

Ole Norris comes in, looking solemn. Whatya know. This is interesting. Water therapy. What'll they think of next? Under Nurse Patton's watchful eye, and sometimes with her help, he hooks me up. They actually have real cuffs out of some kind of sturdy rubber, hanging from a metal rod overhead. I have to strip down before Norris locks my wrists into the rubber cuffs. He's licking his lips the whole time, so I lick mine back at him and wink. He gives a start but keeps cuffing my wrists, pulls up til I'm on my toes. 

How water therapy is supposed to give me an aversion to sex, I don't know. I think these people do nothing but think of sex all day long, and ways to avoid it. 

Nurse Patton tells poor Norris to leave the room. He goes, looking back over his shoulder. Patton gets a hose. A hose! Turns it on to a steady stream, not too hard. Washes me down. It's cool, not bad. She's telling me that she's washing away my filthy nasty habits, and she sprays my body and jets water onto my pussy, and I close my eyes. Too soon, she's moving around, squirting me and chattering on about me and sex and sin. She's giving me a headache. 

She finishes after a few minutes and says I'm to stay there for a little while. Fine. Water drips onto the floor. There's a drain in the floor nearby. 

She leaves, but I wait, and sure enough, Norris enters, then locks the door. 

"Better put a chair up under the doorknob," I tell him, and he nods and does that, turns, grins at me. I grin back.

"Pretty," he says. He walks up to me and watches the water dripping from me, reaches out slowly, slowly, his hand straight. His palm just barely touches my nipple.

"I like that, Norris." He nods.

"Norris -- hey! Norris! I know you can do a better job with that hose than that old Nurse did. C'mon, Norris. Whatya say?" I bat my eyelashes at him. He finally stops touching his palm to my breast and looks up, nods. 

"Pretty, yes." He picks up the hose and starts the stream, then turns it on me. 

I sigh. "No, Norris. Not like that." I have a little chat with Norris. He needs my help. He nods.

First, he turns up the volume a little more on the water. Aims the hose at my navel, which I thought was a good idea. He moves the stream on down my legs, then focuses it on my clit. It's good but not quiiiite what I'm needing. I tell him to stop. I think about it.

There's two changing tables in there, so I get Norris to unhook me and to bring two sets of rubber cuffs with him. I put a towel under my hips, to raise them up. Norris cuffs my wrists and ankles to the table, spreadeagle, and getting the idea and getting excited, works the towel under my hips so my pussy opens up wider and is at the bend in my body, thrusting out a little. I grin and nod at him. He grins back. His thumb flicks the cap on the hose, and the water streams out again.

He starts off slow. He has real talent and promise, Norris. He works his way up the insides of my legs. The first time I feel the water between my legs, I squeal a little and he stops, but I tell him to keep going. Don't stop. 

Yeah. Don't stop.

The stream of water shoots between my legs now, and his aim is good, right at my open pussy, and I moan. It's delicious. He's good at increasing the water, backing off, using his thumb to squirt it in streams at me. I moan again, thrusting up a little.

"That's good, Norris."

But I need -- something more. After a time, Norris stops, lets me up, and eventually I go back to my room. 

Biederman comes to my room that evening. I tell him my idea. He's nervous, not sure. But he agrees finally. He'll always agree with me. 

The next night, it's late. Nurse Patton is gone. Biederman arrives with Norris, and the three of us walk to the pool room. I strip and get in the water and swim, watching them work, feeling the water on my skin. I finger myself while I watch them. 

There's a rehab table in the water. They move it a little closer to the deep end of the pool. Usually, it's on the shallow side. Norris and Biederman are both in the water in their shorts, moving it around. They turn the table so that one end is towards the deep end. I sit on the end closer to the shallow side, and they cuff my ankles to the table, on one each side. The back end is a little lower, because it's on the slope where the pool starts going downhill to the deeper end. I can feel water lapping against my pussy now and then. It feels nice. I like it. 

Biederman puts the oxygen tank on the back end of the table and straps it in place himself. He fits the mask on my face, the mouthpiece in. He watches while I lean back and lie there for a few minutes, breathing, while he checks the tank. When he's satisfied that I can breathe, and he's checked the tank again, I lie back, and Norris ties my wrists down with the cuffs. My head and breasts are completely underwater. I can feel cool air on my lower legs, though, and only now and then water lapping against my pussy, my legs opened wide. I wriggle a little. I feel a hand at my crotch for a minute, and I push up against it, then I feel a little pat. Biederman. Everything's fine. I relax.

Biederman's idea was to take the rubber a little further. He had a narrow tube of it, and he swung it now against my pussy, and I jerked. Norris was fumbling with my nipple rings, and I liked this idea, too. A string tied to a ring, and at the end of the string, a tiny float. The tug on each nipple was luscious and slightly painful and good, and Norris let go and the weights were up, bobbing around, tugging. I felt the rubber tube again. Biederman was hitting hard, and I want him to. I love it. I moan and little bubbles come up. Norris puts his head underwater and checks me. I nod. 

They pull the table forward a little until my pussy is out of the water. The water laps around my waist now, but my head and breasts are still underwater. I feel movement on the table. Biederman. He works with his cock for a while, but he's a shrink, and he had taken something before he got here tonight. He was ready. 

I'm tied down and I can't move. The little floats are bobbing above me, I can see them, and they tug and move along on the small current in the pool, pulling my nipple rings this way and that, one moving forward, the other back, then together, then apart. I want to try that on my clit sometime. 

But my head is underwater, I can't hear as well or see. I'm open and vulnerable. Biederman had tied my legs to the outside of the table and then pulled my ankles down, so my back was arched and lifted of the table some due to the water. It was ideal and it was great and it was wonderful, and now and then I could feel some water dribbling down my belly as Biederman or Norris moved around, and the water would spill down into the cleft, down, trickling between my legs, and that feels good. 

Biederman is ready, and I know this when I feel his cock go inside me. He's so eager because the poor dear man had taken his meds, and he's so tight and ready in spite of having been in the water a while ago up to his waist. Even underwater, I can hear him grunting and I can feel him grinding, and my hips move up and down on their own with the water's movement, and water trickles in and out of my navel and feels so good, so good, sensation all over me and around me, touching me everywhere, and Biederman inside me, his cock in me, and Norris reaches over and squeezes my breast, and I turn my head and see he's got his cock out of his shorts, playing with it the way men do sometimes, just flicking it around and moving it a little. 

I moan, mmmmm and it seems like I can push up and meet Biederman better than ever before because of the water lifting me up, then dipping me down like a wave. Biederman yells out and I can hear some of that, and feel how he just holds for a moment, just a moment, shudders, cums into me. He later washes me while I'm still in the pool, then releases me, removes the floats.

He's very quiet, for a shrink. Thoughtful. Norris takes me back to my room after he pulls the table back to its place in the pool. Biederman leaves, giving a distant smile, and Norris and I walk to my room. Norris dries me off with a thick towel, pats down my hair slowly with the towel, then brushes it until it is nearly dry.

"So pretty," he sighs softly.

"Come here, Norris." He moves around in front of me. I'm sitting in a chair, naked. I eye his crotch. There's a bulge.

"Norris?" I point at his crotch, and he looks down, then back at me, a little bashful. Oh please.

"Norris, it's me. Can I touch it?" He nods. I put my hand on his shorts and feel his cock through the thin material. He jumps a little, but stands there. I move my hand up and down, a little harder at times, a little pressure, then light. He closes his eyes and sways a little. 

"Norris, you're hard as a rock now." He opens his eyes. He has a gleam in them.

"You want to tie me down?" I ask. He nods, frowns.

"Ok. Show me where you want me," I say. He frowns, standing there, but finally ties me to the bed on my back, pulls off his shorts, and kneels between my legs. He stares at me for a moment.

"Pretty," he says again, and leans forward and slides into me, slow. I gasp. He IS hard. He's very hard. And he's slow. I grit my teeth.

"Come on, Norris," I say. "Go faster, please." 

He grunts, shakes his head. He goes slow, slow, inching into me, moving about, feeling his way, then easing back out. It makes me want him worse. 

"Norris!" 

He clamps a hand over my mouth, closes his eyes, and keeps moving, slow, slow. I moan into his hand. His hand becomes moist soon with my moans. 

He moves inside me, then out, out, then very slowly back into me until I am nearly crazy with lust and need, and I squirm and wriggle a little, and he still has his eyes closed, his hand still on my mouth.

Slow, slow, back and forth, in and out, and finally I come and cry out into his cupped hand, and he smiles, his eyes still closed. "Pretty," he grunts, then moves faster, faster, then plunges, and my head jerks back and I cry out again, and again, and shudder and cum. He moves out of me, says "Pretty," and he trails his hand from my mouth, down between my breasts, down to my belly, then puts his mouth on my navel, and I feel his tongue licking it, and then he straightens and moves his cock back inside me again. He's still hard. I realize, he hasn't cum yet. He hasn't cum yet! How could he do this? But he's moving again, and his hands are on each side of my body now, and he is shoving into me like a desperate man now, and he has two tears rolling down his cheeks, and he's saying "Pretty, pretty, fuck the pretty, pretty," over and over, and then I feel it, his tension, his release, the warm goo shooting inside of me, and I have a high-pitched cry and whine and I cum again. 

Not even Biederman is this good.



Shrink Me Deadly



I woke-up to the sound of Johnny Horton singing about the battle that took place in New Orleans. I jumped up out of bed, clicked off the radio alarm, and went to the bathroom to take a piss. It was another beautiful Saturday morning. There was a fog out, so I decided to cook a big breakfast. I fixed coffee, scrambled eggs, and four slices of bacon. It didn't take me long to shove that mess down my throat. I read the newspaper, nothing good was happening in the world.

After four cups of coffee, I decided to get dressed and walk around the block. The fog had lifted and the sun had come out. It was a warm day, which felt good on my bones. I pulled a cigar out of my jacket pocket, bit off the end, and lit it. The smoke filled my lungs with its wholesome goodness, making my walk more enjoyable. When I got to the end of my block, I saw Mrs. Thompson sitting on her front porch with her bare feet resting on the porch's banister. 

"Good morning, Mr. Gable, isn't it a lovely day?"

"Yes, ma'am," I smiled.

It was hard to take my eyes off her feet. They were lovely and her toes tapered down. She wiggled her toes, which caused my heart to skip a beat. Her soles were slightly dirty, which meant that she had been doing a little walking. I smiled again, waved, and continued on my way. As I was leaving, I heard Mrs. Thompson shouting.

"Mr. Gable!"

I whirled around and saw her standing up. Holy shit, did she ever look hot! She was wearing a white t-shirt that was two sizes too small. Her breasts looked large and I could tell that her nipples were hard. Was she excited or was it just the cool breeze? I was hoping that she was excited. The cut off blue jeans that she wore displayed her shapely tan legs and what legs they were! Those were the kind of legs that a man would like to be wrapped up in on a long winter night.

"Yes, Mrs. Thompson, is there a problem?"

"No problem, Mr. Gable. I was wondering if you would like to have lunch with me and please call me Sarah."

Did she just ask me over on a lunch date or was she just being neighborly? It didn't feel right having lunch with a married woman, but I hadn't seen her husband around in weeks. Maybe, he had ditched her and she was looking for someone to fill the void. Or he was just out of town for a few weeks. Sarah Thompson was a beautiful woman and only a horse's ass would say no to a beautiful woman. Besides, it's just lunch.

"I would love to have lunch, Sarah, and please call me John."

"Ok, John, I'll have lunch ready by high noon. I hope you like hamburgers."

"I love 'em."

"Good. I'll see you then."

She turned around and walked back into the house. I grinned real big and looked at my watch. I had three hours to kill, so I returned home to take a shower. The warm water felt great and I made sure that I washed the stink from my body. I ran a comb through my hair, kept it up, until every hair on my head was in place. I shaved, splashed a handful of Old Spice on my face, and rinsed my mouth out with Scope. It was nearing high noon, so I walked a quick pace back to Sarah Thompson's house. She had a few candles lit on her dinning room table with two plates filled with hamburgers and French fries.

"Looks romantic," I said, "you shouldn't have went to all this trouble."

"No trouble at all," she answered with a smile.

I smiled back. She motioned for me to take a seat and I did so with pleasure.

"Dig in, John. I fancy myself to be a pretty good cook."

I took a bite from the hamburger and decided that she was right.

"Mr. Thompson is a pretty lucky man," I observed.

Sarah flashed me a pearly white grin. We ate our lunch and made small talk about the neighborhood, my job, and about the weather. It's a good thing there is such a thing as weather, otherwise, what would folks talk about?

After the meal was eaten, Sarah cleared the table and told me to sit on the sofa in the next room. The room was tastefully furnished, not over cluttered with knickknacks. I noticed some strange artwork hanging from the walls. They seemed to be paintings of rune markings or something to that effect. There was a sort of a voodoo feeling to the place, which made me feel uneasy. The first thought that crossed my mind was to bolt for the door, but I wasn't a sissy, so I stayed planted in my seat. I heard the rattling of dishes in the sink.

Something caused me to lose my sense of time, for I nearly jumped out of my skin when Sarah flopped on the sofa beside me. She placed her feet on my lap and wiggled her toes.

"Why don't you be a dear and rub 'em for me," she spoke in a sultry voice. My hands trembled a bit when I touched her left foot. I started rubbing my thumbs up and down her soles, crunching the knots and removing the tension from her feet. The aroma from her feet was intoxicating, which made me feel light headed.

"Mmmmm...that feels wonderful," she purred in a sultry voice.

Sarah started rubbing the ball of her foot against my crotch, which caused my cock to spring to life. I was losing my will power. The grinding of the foot became more intense, causing butterflies to float around in my guts. The room seemed to swirl and the paintings on the wall glowed red. My hands were still on her feet. I could feel my balls swelling, filling with sperm and I knew my cock was leaking precum. Things didn't add up. Part of me wanted to fling her feet off my lap before I came, but I was powerless to move. My eyes widened as my cock exploded like a cannon. It soaked through my pants and covered Sarah's feet. I was breathing hard, as if I had just run a marathon. Damn, I thought, I'd never cummed so much in my life.

"Look what you have done to my feet, John. You'll going to have to clean them up," spoke Sarah.

My words came out kind of panic stricken.

"I'm sorry. Where's the towels...this sort of thing has never happened to me before."

I looked into Sarah's blue eyes, which seemed to dance.

"I know it hasn't, honey. But, no towels. I want you to lick it up with your tongue. Now get on your knees before me and get to work."

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. I knew I had no choice, but to obey the magical charm that her voice possessed.

I got up from the sofa and my pants felt looser. I figured to have gained weight from all that food; instead, I seemed to have lost some. I grabbed Sarah's ankles and brought her cum soaked foot to my mouth. Normally, the thought of eating my own seed would have been gross to me. This time I could hardly wait to start. My tongue started working its way up and down her rough soles. Her feet had been toughened by many long walks barefooted. The cum didn't taste too bad, it sorta tasted like the burgers and French fries that I had had for lunch. The weight of her legs seemed to grow in my hand and her feet seemed to get bigger too.

"Mmmmm...your tongue feels so good on my poor feet," moaned Sarah.

I was glad that she was enjoying herself, it eased my mind somehow. 

She placed her feet on the ground and told me start kissing them like a slave worshipping his mistress. I could not disobey her. As I was kissing her feet, I started saying things like:

"You are my goddess."

"My sole purpose in life is to worship you."

Sarah Thompson laughed wickedly and stood up. She looked tall, strong, and beautiful.

"Stand up and take off my shorts," she spoke in a commanding tone.

This was when I got the shock of my life. I stood up and walked over to her, realizing that my shirt hung on me like an oversized dress.

"What's wrong, Johnny," purred Sarah.

"My clothes are getting bigger and I...feel a little dizzy."

I realized quickly that my clothes weren't getting bigger, I was getting smaller. I must have walked too slowly, for Sarah removed her shorts and came towards me. I swallowed a lump that had formed in my throat. Her cunt was gleaming with wetness. She grabbed the back of my head and pulled my face against her cunt. The heat was unbelievable and the fishy smell of her hairy pussy overwhelmed my senses. It was like my entire body was being forced inside of her.

She fucked my face and moaned like a wild animal, which frightened me.

"Oh, John, you're the best little guy I own."

She came hard; her female spunk soaked my hair, burned my eyes, and damn near drowned me. Sarah released me and I fell backwards, hitting the wooden floor hard. I coughed and groaned in pain.

"Are you ok, Johnny?" she asked with mock concern.

"Never better. So when are you going to restore me."

Sarah smiled wickedly, "Well, I'll think about it after my pussy has been fed. She's so hungry for cum."

I felt too excited to run, so I stood up and walked towards her. My shirt fell off me and I could feel the cool air on my naked body.

"Looks like you have been shrinking some more. Hehee!" she teased.

She moved nearer to me and I could see that my head was level with her knees. I could feel more butterflies swimming in my stomach and I was fighting to breathe normally. Sarah reached down and placed her massive hands under my armpits and raised me off the floor. My legs were kicking and I wiggled in her grip, until she ordered me to be still. 

I was carried into her bedroom. It was here that I saw a fish tank on her nightstand. It wasn't filled with water; instead, it was furnished with a small table and a chair. A little man was sitting on the chair. I swallowed hard, for I knew who the little man was. It was Mr. Thompson. He shook his head and continued drinking from a small coffee mug. I didn't have much time to ponder his fate, because Sarah tossed me like a rag doll onto her bed. She took off her top and her boobs looked like giant mountains of sensual delights. A wicked grin appeared on her face.

"I'm going to fuck you hard."

Her body completely overshadowed my own. I tried to get away, but she eased herself on top of me. My cock hardened and I felt it slip inside of her. Her body felt warm and immense. She moaned and screamed, as she rode me. I tried to make a sound, but could not.

It seemed like I had spent an eternity beneath her warm large body. When she rolled off me, I struggled to breathe in as much air as I could. 

"Why don't you crawl down to my feet and worship them," Sarah purred.

I crawled to her feet and stood up. I was the same height as her feet, which made me about nine inches tall. My excitement grew and my cock hardened once more. I wrapped my arms, the best I could around her feet, and started humping them for all I was worth. In moments, I shot a big load all over her left foot.

"Mmmmm...you had better lick that up, little John," she laughed.



Shrink Wrapped



SHRINK WRAPPED
By Marcia R. Hooper


A Re-imagining of
my 2001 Short Story
The Girl Who Came Shrink-Wrapped


Adapted from the short story:
HE WHO SHRANK
by Henry Hasse


ONE


On the afternoon it began, Kellie was at the mall, shopping with two friends. It was Friday and the three planned to shop until 6 o'clock, grab a pizza at Gino's, and then catch the 7:15 showing of Flirtation. It had been showing a month now and Michelle had already seen it twice, Tommie once, and Kellie...well, this would be Kellie's first time. Michelle and Tommie could not believe that Kellie was still a Flirtation  virgin. 

"Come on," Kellie moaned. "Leave me alone, okay?" She hated romantic comedies, had grown out of them in middle school. She couldn't believe her friends had badgered her into seeing one now. Especially not the ridiculously childish Flirtation; seeing the ad on TV made her cringe. 

 "I heard that Robert cheats on Amy," Michelle teased. Robert and Amy were the stars of Flirtation and an item in real life.

Kellie had a purple top in her hand, fringed at the throat with fine lace. Eyeing it critically, she compared it to another, lighter purple top, ignoring her friend's taunt.

 "I heard he's cheating on her with Albert," Tommie quipped. Albert was a character in the movie, played by Mallo Rice, a complete hunk. "I don't know what he could possibly be thinking. Albert is soooo hot, but no one will ever make me believe that Elijah would kiss another guy. No way." Elijah was the character Robert played in the movie. 

Kellie slipped the light purple top back onto the rack and fingered a blue one instead. Michelle and Tommie were at the next rack over, exchanging mischievous grins, obvious intent on continuing Kellie's torture. However, at that moment the story took a sharp, left-hand turn into the bizarre as a man approached Kellie from behind, jostled her, excused himself gruffly and walked quickly away. Kellie blinked rapidly, flustered, rubbing her right thigh and wondering if she'd just been groped by some creep. That was her impression, as he skulked away. The man appeared to be middle aged, with longish unruly hair, dressed suspiciously in a rumpled overcoat. 

"You okay?" Michelle asked.

Kellie nodded and continued rubbing her thigh. If she didn't know better, she'd swear the guy had jabbed her with something. She felt a little panicky, thinking maybe she should chase after him and call for help? Who would she call, though? There were only shoppers like herself and Michelle and Tommie in sight; no store personnel at all. Indecision stopped her in her tracks. 

"What happened?" Michelle demanded. 

Kellie felt herself redden. "Nothing," she muttered, and then hesitantly told about the bump and stick on her hip. 

"You should go look," Tommie advised. Beneath her look of concern, there was a hint of amusement, which embarrassed Kellie even further. She shook her head. 

"Bullshit," Michelle told her and grabbed her arm. "If you got stuck, we need to find out with what." So a thoroughly embarrassed Kellie found herself dragged off to the Ladies Room for inspection.

Kellie was not the cutest of girls. Though blonde and blue-eyed, she had an unfortunate complexion, features seemingly a little too large or a little too small or a little too wide apart, and a body that was best hidden beneath loosely fitting clothes or a one-piece swimsuit. In her 18 years, 10 months and 8 days, she'd been with exactly two boys, and neither had bedded her more than once. This did nothing for her self-confidence. The thought of being on campus next semester with a cajillion college boys pretty much skewered the rest. 

A woman and her 10-year old were at the sink, someone else was inside a stall, and a pair of girls a couple years younger than Kellie and her friends were primping at a mirror.

"Which hip?" Michelle demanded. Fretfully, Kellie indicated her right one. 

The mother and daughter eyed the trio with mild interest; the teens at the mirror ignored them and the person in the end stall finished peeing and un-spooled toilet paper from the roll. Kellie judged by her shoes and black slacks that it was not a girl their age. She felt mortified when Michelle ordered her to undo her belt and then began to undo it herself. "I can do it," she protested. The best she could manage was to assist Michelle in getting her undone and pushing her jeans down to her knees. Now the teens at the mirror were staring at her. "This is ridiculous," she mumbled.

The 10-year-old's mom couldn't decide if she was alarmed or irritated. "Are you O.K.?" she asked hesitantly.

"Some guy stuck her with something," Tommie said. 

Mom's eyes opened wide. Purposefully, she strode over and examined Kellie's leg. "Oh my gosh! What is that?" 

Kellie blinked at the angry red pinprick on her leg. Despite her trepidation, she really hadn't expected to find anything. Seeing the tiny red puncture and the reddening swell of flesh around it made her feel lightheaded and nauseated. The room swayed slightly around her and suddenly Michelle had one arm, and Tommie the other 

"Maybe you should sit down." 

Michelle guided her toward the nearest stall while mom said something about calling the police--her 10-year-old's eyes were open wide with excitement; dittoes those of the teens at the mirror-and though dizzy and battling nausea, Kellie noticed the woman in the end stall hurrying to get dressed and join the action. "I'm okay," she protested weakly. 

"Sure you are," Michelle answered. 

Mom had her cell phone out and was pushing buttons. She put the phone to her ear and stood tapping her right toe impatiently.. Kellie was really sick on her stomach now and feared throwing up. The occupant of the far stall opened the door and hurried down to join the others, her black slacks swishing impatiently around her sensible black flats. Kellie looked up as the woman appeared behind Michelle and Tommie and peered over their shoulders. She was dark-haired and anxious looking, though wide-eyed with excitement like everyone else. Kellie loathed being the center of attention.

"What happened?" the woman asked breathlessly. The 10-year-old edged up beside her and Kellie immediately saw the resemblance. This was mom, not the woman with the phone, who was explaining that she needed the police and an ambulance right away at the Raymond's in the mall "Someone stuck her with a hypodermic needle," she said, and by now, Kellie was ready to cry.

"Did you see who it was?" 

Kellie looked at the shorter, cuter of the two mirror teens. She shook her head.

"It was a man?"

Kellie nodded. The spot on her leg itched maddeningly now, like a dozen mosquito bites. It looked like a mosquito bite, from a monster mosquito. The redness had expanded to the size of a quarter now, and damn, the thing itched.

"Don't scratch it," Michelle warned. She tested Kellie's forehead with the inside of her wrist, found it acceptably cool and stooped to examine her leg.

"That's definitely a puncture wound. He effing stuck you good, Kel."

"Bastard," Tommie growled.

Michelle looked up. "Does it hurt?" 

Kellie shook her head. 

"We should have gone after him," Michelle complained. 

Kellie nodded. 

"Did you get a look at him?" She sighed dispiritedly. Tommie also sighed. 

Kellie didn't like the mild burning sensation in her leg. It reminded her of when she'd broken her wrist and the shot of painkiller had made her arm burn from wrist to shoulder for hours. 

"An ambulance is on the way," the 10-year-old's not-mother said. She held her phone open just in case things got worse. Her not-daughter and real mom were exchanging ideas in hushed whispers and Kellie wished they'd go away; just get the hell out of there. They were enjoying this way too much. So were the mirror teens, whispering conspiratorially and fighting grins. She wanted to scream at them and kick the door shut and lock them out and herself in. She wanted to go pee. She wanted to...



*   *   *



Kellie opened her eyes. She was in a hospital bed. She looked around groggily, blinking, her mouth feeling stuffed with cotton balls. Her head throbbed miserably and her thigh ached twice as bad. Twin scraping sounds followed a hushed voice saying, "She's awake." Her mother and dad appeared at her bedside.

"Oh, Kellie. Are you okay?"

Without remembering why, Kellie thought she'd been asked that question a lot today.

"What happened to me?"

Her mother took her hand and patted it gently. "Don't worry, sweetie. Just you relax." Her mother's expression was both comforting and frightened. Her dad looked angry, seething under the surface, and lifting her head, Kellie saw that her younger brother Sean and her younger sister Chrissie were asleep on a long black divan. No light came through the blinds behind the divan, telling her it was night. It was a private room, she guessed, and surprisingly big. She noticed the chairs pulled up to her bed. "What happened to me?" she repeated.

Her mother shook her head and smiled benevolently. "Don't you worry, dear. The doctors are taking good care of you."

"What happened to me?" Kellie insisted.

Her dad started to speak and then winced as her mother kicked his shin. "I told you, dear. There is nothing to worry about here."

"Mom!"

"Everything's fine," her mother soothed. "You're perfectly okay." The furious glance shot by her father told Kellie she was not perfectly okay. She struggled to sit up, and her mother pushed her back down again. Kellie pushed her mom away. "Stop it," her mom scolded. "You'll pull out your IV's." 

A needle was stuck into the back of Kellie's left hand and another in the meat of her right forearm. A glance down her front revealed one of those horrible hospital gowns, the kind that opened in the back, leaving you completely exposed. She involuntarily hunched her shoulders for another reason. They had removed her clothing.

On the divan, Sean moaned and shifted to face the rear, pulling his legs up tight to his chest. This made Chrissie turn over and draw up tight at the other end. Sean was 9 years and Chrissie was 6. Neither looked like Kellie.

Mom forcibly recaptured Kellie's hand and patted it gently. Kellie unsuccessfully tried to take it back, but the ache in her right thigh had her totally distracted--she suspected the pain had something to do with her being there, though what presently eluded her. She did not remember being stuck in the leg or any of the conversation with her girlfriends afterward. In fact, she remembered nothing since about lunchtime.

"What time is it? At least tell me that,"  she said.

Her mom consulted her wrist watch. "It's late. You go back to sleep, dear."

"Mom!"

Still clutching Kellie's hand, mom located the cable connecting the handset to the wall, then the handset itself and pressed a button on the face. After a moment, a scratchy voice asked: "Can I help you?"

"My daughter needs something to help her to sleep," mom said.

"I do not!" Kellie objected stridently. 

"I'll send her nurse," the voice said and clicked off. The light on the face of the handset disappeared but her mother said "Thank you" anyway, and draped the handset out of reach over the top of the bed. Kellie glared at her resentfully.

"You're treating me like a baby, Mom."

"You are a baby," her mom said absentmindedly. She checked the settings of Kellie's bed, lowered the head slightly and raised the knees. "That should make you more comfortable."

"Thanks," Kellie grumbled, though it did the opposite. She tried to cross her arms in a snit, but the IV's interfered. Mom told her to be careful, which only irritated Kellie more. She wondered what potions the bags were dripping into her veins. A sudden thought made her blanche and raise her head with a snap. 

"Mom, was I...?" 

Mom shook her head adamantly no. "Nothing like that. I promise you. Now please relax and try not to wake your brother and sister. They've been here since 6 o'clock and need their sleep."

At least Kellie now had a general timeframe. Whatever happened to her happened this afternoon-was it even Friday anymore?-and she'd been admitted some time before 6 PM. Where were Michelle and Tommie? The realization she'd been with them arrived with the thought. They'd been at the mall, shopping.

She furrowed her brow, ignoring her mother's admonition not to think. They'd been in Raymond's,  looking at tops. They planned to have pizza later and take in a show, though Kellie couldn't remember what. She remembered talking about the stars though. Something about cheating.

"Are Michelle and Tommie all right?"

"Perfectly all right." Her mother patted her hand again. "Michelle called from your cell phone right after you passed out and-"

"I passed out?"

Her mother looked chagrined. 

"My leg really hurts, Mom. Really bad." She tried unsuccessfully to push down the covers to get a look at her thigh, but her mom was having none of it. More came back. She remembered the stranger jostling her as he passed and the sudden sting in her thigh. The sting corresponded exactly where her leg really ached. She felt gingerly through the covers and gasped lightly. It hurt like hell.

A middle aged nurse, armed with a hypodermic syringe, entered the room and joined mom and dad at the bed. Kellie recoiled at the sight of the sheathed needle.

The nurse smiled down at her. "Don't worry, sweetie, no one's poking you again." She took up Kellie's left hand and pointed out the built in port, a short section of Y on the IV. She made a show of cleaning the port with an alcohol swab, and then inserted the needle and depressed the plunger. The syringe was small diameter and contained only a small portion of clear liquid. Despite this, Kellie felt an immediate drowsiness.

"Wow," she mumbled. "Can I have some more?"

The nurse laughed and her mom frowned disapprovingly. Kellie didn't care. Her attention was absorbed by the rain suddenly filling the air. She tried to catch a drop on her tongue. 

"Keradol," the nurse explained. She listened to Kellie's heartbeat and breath sounds with a stethoscope, and then checked her pulse and blood pressure. She appeared not alarmed by her observations. Then she cautiously raised the blanket, moved aside Kellie's gown and inspected the injection site. Mom raised her eyebrows questioningly. The nurse only shrugged. "It doesn't appear any worse. The discoloration appears not to be spreading any further," which was good, because the entire outside half of Kellie's thigh, from her hip to just above the knee, was a horrifying purple. The nurse led mom and dad a safe distance away.

"The truth is, we don't know what the coloring signifies." Hesitating, she glanced back at Kellie, still absorbed in the falling rain. "It's not a bruise." Lowering her voice to a mere whisper, she continued: "We thought at first it might be gangrene-" Mom and dad jointly recoiled. "-but there's no sign of necrosis, and the biopsies revealed none of the markers associated with decomposition. It's got us all stumped."

"But it's related to the injection?" Mom asked.

"Oh, it's definitely related to the injection," the nurse agreed. "We just don't know how."

Mom looked worriedly at her daughter. "It seems to be painful."

The nurse joined her look. "Only around the puncture site itself. There doesn't seem to be any sensitivity in the broader, discolored area. Luckily."

"And you still don't know what it was?"

The nurse shook her head. "Toxicology--the reports that are back, anyway--shows nothing out of the ordinary. Except..." She frowned, her lips twisting in consternation. 

"Except what?"

The nurse hesitated. "Has your daughter recently been pregnant?"

Mom furrowed her brow. "Why?" 

The nurse shrugged. "I'm not saying anything. No pelvic exam was done-none was called for as there were no signs of sexual trauma. We only know that her hormone levels are out of whack. But that could be a result of whatever discolored her leg. We just don't know." 

Mom eyed her daughter, anyway, her eyes narrowed. Then sighed. 

"You'll keep us informed?" she said.

"Of course," the nurse said. A moment later she was gone but Kellie failed to note her leaving, or if she did, failed to remember it later. Her attention was wholly engrossed in the beautiful rain.



*   *   *



It was 3 A.M. Kellie wasn't aware of the time, only that she was awake and felt like absolute shit. Looking woozily around the room, she was glad to find that her parents and brother and sister had gone. God, her head hurt. What had they given her, anyway? Her hand went unconsciously to her right leg and she grimaced.

"That should go away very soon," a low, rough voice told her. Startled, Kellie looked over to find a man sitting in one of the chairs, against the wall. It took her a full five seconds to recognize the face, and surprise replaced her fear.

"Professor Grove?' she said wonderingly. "What are you doing here?"

Grove pushed his bulk free of the chair. He was 6'2", be-speckled, dark-haired, swarthy, unshaven, rumpled looking even in a crisp white lab coat. A stethoscope hung around his neck, doctor-like. He shambled closer to the bed and nodded in greeting.

"How do you feel, Kellie?"

Kellie was confused. She knew it was late, knew from the quietude of the building it was the middle of the night; so why was Professor Grove was here, regardless of the improbability of his being here at all? Blinking, she looked at the door, back to her biology teacher, at the door again, and then back to Grove.

Grove joined her at the bedside. She controlled an urge to shrink away. Grove was slightly menacing, even at the best times, which this most assuredly was not. She was fairly certain it was Grove that  had stuck in the leg that afternoon.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was a tremolo. She flinched when Grove reached out and placed the back of his hand against her forehead. A shiver ran down her spine, shaking the bed. She cowered, looking up at him fearfully. 

"No fever," Grove observed. He placed his fingers against the pulse in her neck; Kellie flinched in response. "Don't be concerned. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You already have," Kellie countered. "Today at Raymond's." She withstood another deep shiver. "What did you inject me with?"

Grove ignored her question. "How's your leg?"

Kellie shook her head. She felt around inconspicuously, or tried to, for the nurse's call button. Grove removed it from the top of the bed and hung it out of reach over a plastic assembly attached to the wall. He moved the phone as well, placing it on a table out of reach. She made to scream as he began to move the blanket, but he clamped a meaty hand over her mouth. Kellie's eyes shot open to maximum roundness.

"I assure you--" He knocked Kellie's hands aside and bared her right leg. "I have no intention of hurting you. I need to see the injection site, that's all." Kellie struggled vainly to keep his free hand from exposing her thigh. 

"Please be still. I have no interest in you sexually." He bent to look more closely at the discoloration and muttered, "I hadn't expected that." He grunted when Kellie recoiled at his light probe of the wound with a fingertip. Standing erect, looking down at her, he warned her not to scream and lifted his hand an experimental inch away from Kellie's mouth, and then dropped it to his side when she didn't suck in air. He snorted as Kellie frantically covered herself again. 

"What did you do to me?" she demanded. "What was in that syringe?"

Grove pursed his lips. In the corridor, a hushed voice requested a Dr. Stanton to call the 4th floor nurses station. An alarm, one of hundreds she'd heard in her 10-hour stay in the hospital, bleated softly from across the hall. Grove ignored both.




Shrink Wrapped



James was his name. Not Jim or Jimmy, Just James. To friends, enemies, lovers, haters: "James." 

He could have been a quarterback, at 6'3" with powerful muscles and eagle sharp eyes. He could have been a sailor, as his face showed a deep tan, and crinkles about his eyes. He could have been a lot of things, but he was only one: a spy.

Not a "Bond, James Bond" spy. Inwardly he cringed at those movies. James filled the need in a nasty world to have someone on your side who could out-nasty the bad guys; but keep it on a leash. Get in, get out, get the job done, usually with one or more dead guys left behind. 

Every month, the job increased in complexity. We developed facial recognition, they stole it. We built micro- cameras, the Chinese sold them to both sides. Now, worst of all, lots of 'them' were small dark skinned men, where James was hard to hide.

"Be damned if I see how, Major." The only other name James had was his rank, rarely used by anyone unofficial. "Al-Ba loo hides in a code name. We can track him sometimes, but the closest to the west he ever comes is Cairo, and that place has developed into the worst shit-storm in the world."

"Perhaps I can help," offered Perry, the Science officer for Project Blackout. "We have a formula that does some amazing stuff. It might help you rid us of the terrorist pig."

"So what's up?" asked James.

"Well, we know they'll be looking for someone your size on any route into Egypt. Frankly, there's no way to get you in. But what if you were already there?"

"If I was already there the job would be done. What kind of magic have you got?" Replied James with the voice of one who worked boots-on-the-ground talking to an ivory tower pencil neck.

"Ah, but what if you could enter invisibly and leave the same way?"

"Harry Potter has come to work for us, has he?" sneered the Major.

"No, he hasn't. But Silky has. Major, this is Lieutenant Rabbit, who both has and is the answer to your dreams."

"Major. Or should I say 'James'?" he turned to see a ravishing redhead, barely five feet tall, with eyes like green diamonds, much brighter than emeralds. She answered his dreams, alright, but he didn't share those kinds of dreams with anyone. Her face could have been made of porcelain, if porcelain came in breath-taking. The intelligence he saw challenged his own, and the number who fit on that list was less than a handful. 

She held out her perfect hand, and his suddenly oafish and clumsy fingers grasped hers as he struggled to find words, a deficit never previously encountered.

"You're going to make me invisible?" He managed.

"Not exactly, but nearly. I've been working with quantum compression; getting rid of the empty space in atoms. Shrinking things. We've gotten to the level we can shrivel a live creature to about a twelfth of its normal size for about 12 hours. I propose that I walk through customs with you hidden in a way they'll never think to look. Almost invisible."

"Squish me down to a cigar and stick me in your pocket? Women get a pass on pat-downs?"

"Er,ah, not exactly...." Her face crimsoned to almost match her hair. I think, well, the safest thing...is to put you.... in my.... vagina." Her voice dropped at the end so much he almost thought she said 'vagina.'

"I'm sorry, where?" He asked in honest confusion.

"My vagina, OK? I said it just like you heard it! In. My. Vagina. Right in the old crotch. A cat-carry. In my pussy. You got a problem with crawling in my snatch?"

The room stood silent for a few heartbeats, and then the Major, who never laughed, began to giggle so hard he could hardly catch his breath. "No," he finally gasped out. "I'd love to get in your panties."

There was paperwork, and final plans, and details to work out, but soon James found himself in the strangest situation of his long and strange career. He held the formula in his hand.

"You have to get naked now," Silky informed him. 

"Clothes aren't affected. You gotta go bareback." She smiled.

"You first."

"Me? I don't have to strip. I'm not taking the drugs."

"Look, honey, I gotta get undressed in front of you. I get that. And I read your medical report, so I'll be safe skin-to-skin with you. But we're about to get real personal, and if you get to look, so do I."

"My medical! You'll be safe! You bastard, I'm the one risking all kinds of STDs. I haven't fucked half the girls in Eastern Europe! I'm giving you a ride, not a peep show!"

"So how many girls have you slept with?" James slid back at her.

"Only three. Wait, what... that's none of your business. I'm not removing my clothes. Period......Which thankfully I'm not having, or this would get messy."

"Both of us strip or neither. This is your crazy idea. Probably just make me sick or kill me. You want to prove your ideas, drop the linen."

Silky rolled her eyes in a way that only years of training as a female with incredibly dense men could cultivate. She gave a shrug that would make a French man proud, and huffed "Oh. All right!!" through teeth clenched tighter than the Arab-Israeli border.

She quickly grasped the bottom of her blouse and pulled it over her head, shaking loose her cascade of shimmering scarlet hair. In almost the same motion she reached behind herself and slipped out of her bra, allowing her taunt breasts to bounce slightly with her movements. 

She hooked her thumbs into her slacks and slid pants and undies down in one move, stepping out of them as they fell. To James's amazement, she had an unshaven pubic thatch, and the carpet did match the curtains.

"Satisfied, Perv? Get a good look, and get your clothes off. And drink the damn formula!" This time her voice got louder with every syllable.

He followed her commands, though he turned away so she wouldn't have the satisfaction of seeing his penis grow as the rest of him shrank. In seconds he had the strangest perception, as everything around him began to enlarge. Silky seemed to swell until she looked down at him, and then faster and faster until she was a towering giantess and he only reached her ankles. Her red pilose juncture appeared to hover twenty feet off the floor.

Her hand reached down to him, and this time he griped her thumb with both hands. He stepped onto her palm, and she carefully lifted him to head height. He gripped her thumb tightly, the floor seemed leagues away.

"OK," she whispered, though it seemed to come from a loudspeaker. "Here's the string, in case they get real invasive. You're a tampon!" With that she lifted her right leg and steadied her foot on a chair. 

He watched with mixed horror, excitement, and a little sexuality, as she spread her labia with her left hand and slid him, feet first, into her waiting orifice. 

Like being in a wet sleeping bag, he thought to himself. Hidden behind some red shrubbery. With the most tantalizing musky odor. He felt himself harden against her soft tissue, and wondered if this counted as having sex. 

As she shifted her posture, he could feel her muscles move, and watched from his unique perspective as her panties rose to block his light. Granny panties, light cotton, for maximum anti-falling safety and breath-ability, as they had discussed.

He tied his safety rope, as he thought of it, around his torso. It was literally a tampon string, and served the purposes of one more piece of camouflage should customs inspect closely --really closely -- and also as a removal tool. No one had ever tried this before, and dying in her bits didn't appeal to him. 

Soon he learned the sensation of her walking and sitting. He didn't know what she felt, but he became a contortionist as her body flexed. 

He awoke with a start. Still in the warm, wet cave, darkly erotic. He knew where he was, and the gentle background vibration told him they were airborne. However, he had been pulled into her maw in a way that would have been delightful were he normal sized, but left him fearful of suffocation. 

He squirmed around and followed his rope to orient himself. Pushing with his legs, he pantomimed a sperm in reverse, working away from her cervix. In fact, he could rub one leg against the firm swelling that must in fact be that very object. 

He stepped on it, and pushed with his arm upraised, and was rewarded with a few strands of silken -- Silky -- rope, which would, he knew, in the light match her roseate crown. 

Grasping these strands he hauled himself to her introitus so he could breathe. He found himself as rigid as a fundamentalist's beliefs, perhaps from the smell, perhaps the warm slippery walls. He also couldn't prevent swallowing some of her secretions, covered with them as he was. 

At any rate, being in Silky's vagina turned him on tremendously. Unable to find a comfortable position, he finally began to frotteurize some of the soft skin folds that encased him. After only a few seconds of this he embarrassed himself by completely losing control and spewing his seed all over the wall. 

"Now I've cum inside her vagina. That must mean we've had sex." James thought to himself. "Though I guess she doesn't know it."

He felt the vibrations cease, and knew danger lay moments away. And he also knew a six inch tall man would be helpless if found. What would happen to his Silky -- oops, where did 'his' come from? -- at any rate, she would suffer greatly if they were discovered.

Pushing further inside, he fervently prayed his redheaded goddess had a workable plan. Now the issue became more of a not sliding out problem, as he traveled inverted while she walked through customs.

Two hours later, or an eternity as James experienced it, daylight flooded into his hideout as Silky stepped out of her panties. She tugged on his rope, and in a reenactment of his birth he slid into her waiting hand.

"That went well," she said. "They hardly looked at me. I'm obviously not native, but also not at all a six foot plus man. Which you're going to become in a few minutes. So are you always so squirmy?"

James stood on the floor arching his back to stare skyward at the rubicund hedges that had hidden him. Suddenly, she seemed to shrink before his eyes, and soon she looked upward towards him.

"That, little Silky, was a strange and wondrous ride. Has any man ever spent the entire day in your vagina before?"

"You, James, continue to believe that our intimate contact has sexual overtones....Oh, shit!" She rubbed her hand across her labia, brought it to her face, sniffed, licked tentatively, and shot him a disgusted look. "When you returned to normal size, so did all your cells, including the semen that is dripping from me now. I swear, give a man a ride and he thinks it's ok to shoot sperm in your pussy! Don't you think that's a little rude?" She glanced at his manhood. "And speaking of rude, Cyclops is gawking at me."

"Silky, I'm sorry, I've never done anything like that before; well of course not, no one has, but I mean you just smelled so incredible... Every time I look at you or smell you, or think about you, I, well, you see the results. But in all fairness, you are naked."

"So shut up already and fuck me like a normal sized man," she said as she slid under the sheets of the bed. "You don't think having something that big worming around inside me for hours affected me? I thought I would scream when you rubbed one out and I had to sit quietly."

James didn't wait for a second invitation, and slid his erection into a space that had held his entire body short moments before. They lost themselves in pleasure, and he learned that every sexual fantasy he had envisioned about her failed to live up to the reality. 

She rode him with wild abandon, clawing into his back, throwing herself in a dozen directions, slamming against him as if her loins were on fire. They may have been, he would not have noticed as all he felt was her; smoothness, tightness, wetness. This time he lasted long enough for her to scream against his shoulder as she shuddered in orgasm, but then he exploded so hard and so much he felt his prostate probably had inverted itself. 

As they rolled apart, spent, he thought he would have to be cautious as his pubic area now ached from the bruising punishment leashed upon it.

"I'm sure glad you have to complete the mission now. I'm so shot I could just....go.....to.....z.zzzzz." And Silky curled up and slept.

James took one last regretful look, and got up and quickly dressed. Silky's purse strap contained the garrote he needed, and before she woke he had stealthily snaked over a plastered wall into a secret compound, and proved himself as deadly as the Arabs had feared.

Silky came to as he dropped next to her, and she snuggled over against him. 

"Ready to get inside again?" she leered at him.