6 comments/ 56811 views/ 5 favorites A Troubled Mind By: Quin I don't care for sex; I never have done and neither does my husband. We, that is James my husband and I are very proper and religious. In any case during the early part of our 14yrs of married life James would spend his sperm quickly and would soon be asleep; but it did not matter. Sex, I repeat, is unimportant to us; we are far too busy with other things. Why then have got myself in such a mess? Why, this morning did I request an urgent meeting with Pastor Michael to beg his understanding -- plead for his help and advice? The situation is not through any fault of mine; indeed not, I have been lead astray by an evil man. Though I ought to have been stronger and will accept that I may have to pay a price for my stupidity and weakness -- but not for being wicked -- I am not wicked! "Gina, come in and tell me your troubles -- but I'm afraid I have very little time at the moment," Pastor Michael had said when I entered his office. I expected him to be of more help but he seemed impatient and bored; though he did pay more attention when I went into a little more detail. At first I had rambled and become upset, mixing up my story and not explaining things properly. The pastor had made me begin again then was more attentive because he started to ask me questions and insisted that I fill in fine detail, so, he had told me, that it would enable him to 'get the full picture and understand the situation better'. "You're not the first housewife to be unfaithful," he had told me, quite brusquely and before I had hardly begun my tale. "If it troubles you badly maybe your first port of call ought to be your doctor, maybe he'll recommend a counsellor you can speak to." But it was more than that -- as the pastor realised when I managed to straighten myself out and compose myself; then he became very interested -- very interested indeed. No, I had not encouraged the man nor had I any desire to flirt. Indeed, I thought he was rough and course and without good manners. Soon I was proved right when I overheard him making disgusting remarks to his friends -- about me -- about how I looked. Before long they cared not if I heard them snigger and stared at me lewdly, making comment. Then the man would often make an excuse to be near to me and would enjoy my embarrassment and anxieties, looking me straight in the eye, making me avert my glance to look down at the floor. He was a big man with an evil grin, showing off his unusually white teeth that contrasted with his unkempt black beard. When he was near me I could detect his body odour. I disliked him from that first day he walked into the little drapery shop where I worked. Usually I was not alone, working together with the owner, a lady just a few years older than I. "Would you mind if I asked you to call into the shop while I'm away - on a regular basis, just to keep an eye on things?" She was going abroad for two months and it suited me for I would still receive full pay. You see her trip provided an ideal opportunity to completely renovate the old building in keeping with the area. Quite simply, Dora, the owner, didn't want to lose me. All her plans had been made long before I came into her employment. "Just for the season," she had said when offering me the job, "Trade isn't good, and I'm going away in the winter." But trade had improved and the little shop had taken on a new lease of life. Yes, it was fine by me and I would go in to work and reorganise the stock, the records and make sure all was packed away safely and kept clean; there was lots to do. All was fine the first week and I kept out of the way whilst the workmen stripped the walls and cleared away the dusty dirty mess, leaving one half of the building just a bare brick shell. Then though he, that evil man, began to leer at me, in a lewd way, sometimes licking his lips, smirking. Sometimes I felt nervous and had palpitations or butterflies in my stomach -- especially when he came up quietly behind me in the small kitchen we had to share. When he went away I would hear him making fun of me, telling his friends how he had scared me, making me tremble -- suggesting that maybe I trembled because I wanted him -- wanted sex! They would all laugh loudly. He told lies! They told lies! They said that I had begun to wear shorter skirts and blouses and shirts that showed off my bra. Hadn't I also begun to leave an extra button undone to display 'a bit of cleavage'? Certainly not! True I had found a need to wear some older clothes that perhaps didn't fit as well but only because the shop was so dusty now and I was handling so much old stuff, like clearing out old paperwork from the attic. What was the sense in wearing my better clothes? Things went a little further when one day the bearded man sneaked up behind me when I was bending over low to pick up some files. What could I do when to my horror I heard him breathing heavily, then placing his fingers on the small of my back that was uncovered because my shirt had ridden up he prevented me from rising. He pressed his hand on me making me bend even lower -- I knew he would be almost probably able to see my underwear; then he made me have a conversation with him, as though nothing was amiss! When he finely let me up I turned but he was standing very close to me, smirking, showing his teeth, I could hear the sound of his excited breathing and he seemed to force me to look up to his face; it was as though his eyes could see right inside my head and he knew something about my inner thoughts. I was scared and began to shake when he rubbed his rough hand over my face and pushed a finger against my lips making me open my mouth and I tried to push it out with my tongue, but he seemed to think I was doing it for another reason and it excited him even more. From then on the man would appear as if out of nowhere and he would touch me, like rubbing my shoulders, massaging me or slipping an arm around my waist while he spoke to me and caressed my belly with his other hand. I would be too shocked and scared to stop him and would simply freeze on the spot trying to avert his gaze. But sometimes he would take hold of my chin and make me face him so he could see me while he rubbed those rough fingers over my face, letting one push against my mouth, making me part my lips to let it in. He enjoyed it and I reasoned that if I put my tongue against his finger I would prevent him from pushing it to far in and anyway if he liked that it would satisfy him then he wouldn't pursue or attempt any other dirty act. One time he whispered to me asking me if I enjoyed licking his finger -- then asked what it reminded me of - what was I thinking of? No, licking his fingers was not what I was doing! I ought to have called the police and reported him when one day when I was unaware of his presence and climbing down from the dirty attic that I heard him below me and stopping dead felt his hands on my thighs. He gripped my leg when I tried to step down preventing me reaching the floor, it was awful, I had to stand there, listening to his vulgar comments as he tormented me making it very clear that he was 'admiring' the view up my skirt, even commenting on the colour and skimpiness of my panties under the smoothness of my pantyhose. The man kept rubbing my legs, my inner thigh and asked me if I was enjoying it, getting aroused; I told him an emphatic 'No!' "Come down now!" he said. It was a trick to humiliate me as when I did he was so close to the ladder that I was in his arms and he held me keeping a hand on my leg that caused my skirt to fold up as I descended -- then just as I had turned to face him his friends appeared and saw him holding up my skirt and leaning forward as though he was about to kiss me -- as though I was about to kiss him! I was distraught and when they left, laughing, I cringed and almost sobbed. I caught some of their comments as the men apologised for interrupting him while he replied, "I told you that she wanted 'it'! The following week was even more disturbing because the man would now try to cuddle me or hold me in front of his friends -- just to embarrass me I think. I asked him to stop doing this but he ignored my request. When he did get me alone he would pester me to tell him my likes and dislikes regarding sex though I usually didn't answer. Pastor Michael made me remember and tell every question the man ever asked me. I told the man how religious my husband and I were and that we didn't place importance on sex. The man said it was a shame because I 'looked like I would enjoy a good ride'! He said that I was frustrated and that he could tell that deep inside I was curious and excited. I denied that having him touch me aroused me and asked for him to leave me alone. The man said he had noticed how erect my nipples became when he touched me but when I opened my mouth to protest his finger was ready to slip in between my lips and I struggled to speak to continually refute and deny the many following comments and suggestions as I kept his finger in check with my tongue. It was perhaps silly and unwise for me to answer, "I don't know" when the man whispered to me asking if his finger going in and out of my mouth reminded me of sucking a 'cock'. He looked surprised and made me confess that I had never done that -- it was dirty! "But your tongue sure knows what to do!" he grinned. "You can let yourself go with us," he said, "No one will ever know what we do in here -- in this little shop." I said that it was wrong and I had no intention of doing anything; that apart from my religion I could not be unfaithful to my husband. "No one will know," he said, "You get aroused having me touch you don't you? Do you wonder what it would be like to let things go further -- feel how exciting it can be -- how pleasurable?" When I had reached this part of my story with Pastor Michael he seemed very impatient and I thought he was about to dismiss me from his office. "I need to be somewhere else," he said curtly, "I have an appointment to keep." Then he scratched his nose and asked, "Did things go further - a lot further?" "Yes Pastor, " I told him ashamedly, "Perhaps you're right and I need to seek the help of a trained counsellor. I'm sorry for taking up your time." "Let's not be too hasty," he broke in, "You are sure you feel a need to talk this through?" Of course I was. "Bring everything out into open as it were -- to tell me...well...someone, of every incident, in detail -- to have the benefit of a clear conscience of course, so you can understand why this happened?" "Yes pastor." I had assured him. He looked almost uncomfortable when he asked me, "And there is lots to tell?" I admitted that I had done some bad things -- let the Devil rule and influence my actions. Pastor Michael said, "Really!" in a funny way but was now interested and concerned. "I think we should carry on with this one evening," he suggested. "Is your husband away on business? I'm thinking that you would be more relaxed and comfortable in your own home. I wonder, would you like me to call round tonight?" I assured the pastor that I would take the opportunity to purge my soul and reveal all that I had done and take his advice if he could suggest a penance, a punishment. "I do really feel I deserve to be punished Pastor Michael." I said. The Pastor came that evening and seemed impatient for me to carry on outlining my problem, even refusing refreshments. I was confused now; he helped me recap and pick up where we left off. The sequence of events came flooding back and when I faltered, shamed at what I had done, the Pastor urged me on and encouraged me to go into great detail telling me how cathartic that would be, heal my soul. The evil man from the shop had continued to take extra little breaks from his work when he would come and seek me out in the part of the shop that wasn't yet being renovated. When sometimes his friends were there too, like using the kitchen or when I had cause to go into the area where they were working the bearded man would embarrass me in front of them and grab hold of me pulling me close to him. The others would watch intently and it made them feel lustful -- I could tell this when I looked at them -- and saw obvious signs. It was like they were waiting for something to happen, something very dirty and wicked. The man would grin and he made an issue of running his hands all over me, letting me wriggle and struggle, protesting all the time -- trying to stop him from trying to hitch up my skirt as we struggled. The atmosphere would become very tense when he clasped both of my wrists and held my arms down my side. Cruelly he gripped both my arms behind my back with one hand and he played his silly game. Putting his finger against my lips he would force me to take it in my mouth while they watched. "Show them how you like to pretend my finger is a penis!" he would say, "Lick it! Show them how you suck cock!" One day he had me in such a position and I was letting him slowly push his finger to and fro into my mouth, my arms held fast behind my back, reasoning that it would get the silly game over with quickly when closing my eyes to cover the embarrassment of listening to the other men making rude comments while displaying signs of their arousal. Suddenly the finger was whipped out and replaced, to my horror by the man's slobbering mouth, forcing his tongue between my lips. As if that was not bad enough his hand took hold of my right breasts and he squeezed it, hard, before rolling my nipple between his thumb and fingers. I struggled and fought but the friction of my body against his seemed to heighten his lust as really only my hips and belly moved back and forth, to and fro. Therefore I took the logical stance that it would be better to cease and let him finish 'feeling me' for the amusement of his friends as also, what was happening was that the roughness of the situation was making the buttons of my blouse fall open. My tactic wasn't totally successful as I heard the men pass comment on the daintiness of my bra which meant that most of my buttons were now undone. For an age I had to allow the man to kiss and maul me, licking the inside of my mouth with his tongue and tickling, if that's the right word, mine. I'm sure that I had become so well accustomed to sucking and licking the finger that automatically almost I found myself doing the same to his large wet tongue. Trying again to struggle free he held on tighter and I felt his manhood pressing into me. So too I could smell his sweat and feel the roughness of his beard as he kissed me hard on the lips but while all this was going on the worst thing was realising that a man, other than my husband, was attempting to stimulate my breasts, making my nipples harden and sending shockwaves shooting through my very nerves. Unable to free myself I had to bear with it and comprehend the fact that witnessing this assault were three other common and rough men. This had an odd and unusual effect on my inner being; but to my astonishment, not entirely one of devastating repulsion. I was glad when the bearded one stopped kissing me if only so I could take in a breath of air; but my relief was short-lived. Still massaging my breasts he nibbled my ear, then I felt his hands unfasten the last two buttons that held my blouse together. Opening my mouth to complain two of his fingers quickly blocked the hole and he commanded me to suck. "Come on suck hard -- pretend it's a penis -- show them how you suck cock -- harder!" Get it over with I thought -- just comply, do it -- do as I'm ordered -- eagerly I sucked, please them I reasoned, and they will leave me alone, do it how I imagine a fallen woman would, move my head up and down too - but then. "Come over here," I heard the man say to the others, "Come and have a feel how firm her tits are!" No! This was going too far. I tried to spit the fingers from my mouth but to no avail. Now there I was being held tightly and forced to simulate a dirty act of oral sex whilst men took their turn to feel my breasts, now uncovered almost completely with only a thin little bra to protect my modesty. "Please don't!" I cried in a second or two of oral relief as the man pulled aside my blouse. When I glanced down I saw how my nipple was being rolled, pulled and pressed then saw a look of sheer depravity in the eyes of the man fondling me. Our eyes should not have met because then it was as though some evil hidden urges were exchanged and awoken. He leaned forward and kissed me, giving my breasts an extra hard squeeze -- I let him put his tongue in my mouth and touch mine. The bearded man laughed, sounding dirty and evil. "She likes it!" exclaimed one man. "I brought something for my lunch today that will taste better!" The man kissing me broke away, then, a minute later, looking me in the eye, smirking, whispered, "Suck the banana, let me watch you -- suck the 'pretend cock', I like seeing you do it, look at me while you suck!" I was astonished -- I needed to close my mind off from this filth, this evil. Just do it, I thought! Get it over with! Suck the banana -- do as they say -- let the man watch me -- let him play with me -- look at him whilst I do it, how the dirty sexually deprived man enjoys it! Just go through the motions. Let him see how I suck and lick! Close my mind now and just do it -- give them what they want then they will go away. I explained to Pastor Michael how uncomfortable, and very tender, the extremities of my breasts felt as the constant friction of various hands rolling over my body, squeezing, gripping and teasing caused blood to gather and make me erect, like the cold does -- but unlike the cold it was accompanied by feelings and excited nerves that should not be inflamed as they lead to the mind being corrupted. The pastor asked if I was experiencing such thoughts and feelings now, as he observed that my nipples had stiffened. I failed to neither confirm nor deny his observation, though my embarrassment grew knowing his eyes were now constantly checking, gazing at me. Had I awakened lustful thoughts and desires in his head? Was I creating in his head an imaginary scenario, with him surmising being one of the perpetrators, rolling his fingers over my paps? I think a temporary fright prevailed with the men scared of the possible repercussions deciding that enough was enough, though their amusement at my humiliation wasn't disguised. Left to button up my blouse I hurried away to put the episode behind me and continue with my tasks. The pastor weighed me up when I went silent. "Did you feel pleasure?" he asked pointedly staring at me. I was ashamed to answer but confessed to having a weird and unusual feeling that confused me. "It was as though I was enjoying being humiliated and exposed to the lusts of those dreadful men!" I said after clumsily trying to justify why I hadn't sought the help of the law. "You returned the next day," he pointed out accusingly. "Is it not a fact that you enjoyed the uncovering of your body, the sexual thrill from having your flesh exposed in front of men? Is it not true that you would thrill to have any man touch and expose you? Would you not feel the same wicked sensation if you exposed yourself now -- in front of me?" "No -- definitely not -- how could you suggest such a thing? It was the devil himself trying to get inside me!" "Prove me wrong then," said the pastor, "Expose yourself the same way and see if your emotions remain controlled and pure! In this situation you ought not to experience any form of lewd pleasure or sensation." Well, he insisted I could not give him an excuse to condemn me out of hand. I unfastened my upper garments and let him see my underwear. He seemed shocked that I fully drew my clothes to one side to uncover my breasts but I wanted him to see I wasn't holding anything back in my attempt to make him see that I had been tricked by Satan and would not feel anything but pure thoughts now. A Troubled Mind Ch. 02 The morning brought with it a sense of foreboding wondering just how would Pastor Michael receive my further confessions of allowing strange men to implicate me in wicked goings on. I reflected on what had followed that day when they had first manhandled me. It is surprising that I attended work as normal and though nervous and fearful I tried to get on with organising the files. At first the men kept away but I heard their banter and coarse laughter. About an hour had passed before a voice behind me said, "We didn't expect you in today – you seemed upset about something. There's some fresh coffee in the pot if you'd like some." I didn't answer, just merely glanced up and carried on working. They were being very crafty, pretending nothing had happened. Perhaps they felt scared and expected a visit from the police. "Quite happy – to come back here, alone!" he said quietly but his observation also sounded as though it implied something further. For a while I was conscious of his presence, making me jittery and clumsy, my hands shaky, then I found the courage to look up and face him but he was already gone. The tension then was unbearable as everywhere I went, every room every nook and cranny I expected to find the bearded man or one of his friends. Lowering the loft ladder was never done quietly but with files to go back up and others to sort out it had to be done. The first two trips went well and confident now I descended the ladder holding a box which contents needed sorting. Just four steps from the bottom – I stepped down but my skirt didn't. I felt the hot breath of a man on the back of my neck as hands ran up the outside of my thighs taking my clothing with them. A kiss was planted where leg meets buttock. "What a lovely arse you have!" I froze and stayed silent while his hands touched every inch of my thigh and bottom and I knew his eyes would be staring taking in the sight of pantyhose covering white brief knickers. He instructed me to step down another rung; I did as he asked. Taking the box from me he cast it aside holding me against the ladder facing away from him. The panting of his breathing gave away his rising feelings of lust and sexual excitement. His hands explored, touching me in ever more private places; one hand came up to unfasten the front of my shirt. "Let's have a feel of those tits!" he grunted in a quiet whisper. I objected as he found what he was looking for, his touch making me jump and rear back toward him, unfortunately pushing my bottom back into his groin. "Good girl!" he said, "Keep doing that!" When I refused his other hand came round to my front, I yelped, astonished that he was seeking a way to touch me between my legs. As though it would make a difference I pleaded with him that he would ladder my tights by being so rough. "I will have to walk about with torn clothing and people will wonder how I got holes in my pantyhose!" I reasoned hopelessly. He whispered in my ear, "You ought to wear stockings. Wear stockings in future then it won't be a problem! Keep still and I will be careful." I cried out as his hands found their way down under the waistband of my pantyhose and then felt his cold hand slip inside my panties. I stood open mouthed and unbelieving as his fingers touched the outer lips of my vagina and tried to gain access. I wriggled and squeezed but he misunderstood my actions – as I think did my subconscious and the part of my brain that controlled baser animal urges; I became damp, nay, wet, and it made him more determined to take liberties! Moving my hips had let in his fingers making me gasp and yell. He moved like a rampant dog jerking his midriff against my backside making me feel the stiffness of his manhood. His probing fingers and cruel treatment of my nipples made me jerk back and forth against him. I was going weak and giving up attempts at resistance, I had to stop struggling because of the strange (and unintentional) effect it was having! My vagina was very wet and a tingle was moving through my very bones. The movement was doing something to my head, dirty feelings, evil feelings – but curiously pleasurable feelings. I gasped when I felt his hands move to pull down my pantyhose and underwear. He left them below my knees, bunched up and he grumbled again that I ought to wear stockings, dismissing my complaint that he would tear or damage my clothes. My hands gripped the sides of the ladder tightly and I managed to lower a foot down another rung enabling my abusers fingers to penetrate and apply pressure and friction to a certain spot that appeared to be responsible for my strange reaction. Now my hips were almost covertly helping my assault, wriggling hardly noticeably but in a wanton manner. At the back the hotness of his hard penis poked at me then slid up and down against my bottom crack. Never before had I felt anything like this; it was dirty wrong, but left me no desire to want to make it cease; I decided that this was beyond my control – not my fault. I now felt weak and was giving in to the strange emotions, letting them take their course. The man suddenly stopped thrusting his manhood against my bottom. Giving my breasts a very hard squeeze I felt his hot breathe on my neck; he growled at me to 'Get up the ladder, into the attic'. Now I shook and trembled alarmed and fearfully apprehensive at the thought of what was to follow. I begged the man to allow me to pull up my underwear otherwise I could not obey his request. He nibbled my ear at the same time mumbling to me. "Remember – from tomorrow stockings!" I slowly scrambled up into the attic, ashamed, vulnerable but helpless, conscious that the man saw up my skirt and would see the telltale dampness between my legs. Gathering me against his body, holding me in a tight grip he carefully uncovered my breasts while I whimpered and sobbed, trying to avoid the wet kisses. The cry I let loose when he guided my hand to feel his hard organ could have raised the roof. "No, I will not look at it!" I screamed at him, "No, I will not hold it, I will not play with it!" I insisted. I thought I had won the battle when he stopped making forceful attempts for me to surrender to his wishes. Instead my attention had to centre on his hands that once again heaved up my clothing enabling him to thrust down into my underwear, his fingers finding that same wet spot which made me go weak and send unwelcome urges of perverted and wicked pleasure surging through my body. It was difficult to do, hold my head down to avoid his sloppy lips and tongue without catching sight of the angry looking sex organ that was erect and waving about, poking out of his fly hole. I swear it was only a curiosity having not seen such a sight before that compelled my eyes to keep gazing at the thing and my brain to take note of the finer details, the big purple head, how the foreskin had creased and folded back, seeing the swollen blue veins – and having that smell, that musky odour, permeate my nostrils. There was a moment of bravery on my part when I remonstrated with the bearded man for clumsily tearing a hole in my tights but I took fright at his angry tones when he reminded me that I should have the sense to don stockings then commanded me to take off my tights and knickers altogether. So upset was I that I failed to realise what a major step I was taking by baring my lower half, undressing in front of him, helping him to sexually molest my body. I was shocked only when I bent to peel off the clinging nylon from my feet and saw, close to my face, the stiff weapon, swaying around, the little eye already weeping; I was sure that I saw the big purple head throb and for a second, just a second mind, a depraved urge ran through me as the shaft bobbed in front my face and I felt a need to rescue the drop of thick juice that looked in danger of spilling to the ground by taking it in my mouth. What would it taste like? No sooner was I upright that the man held my face and kissed me while his fingers went to work in my hole. Such was the wriggling and fidgeting by both of us as his (not my) excitement grew that I forgot which parts of his anatomy I thought permissible to touch enabling me to balance myself that to my utter horror I realised that my right hand was wrapped around his hard penis – not only that but quite subconsciously (it must have been the devious work of the devil) I felt my forearm going to and fro, drawing the wrinkled skin over the big head then pushing it back only to repeat the movement. I dared not stop the action, as it would have been embarrassing to draw attention to the act and given the man further excuse to humiliate and ridicule me. Perhaps I would withdraw my hand shortly and nothing would be said or noticed. How hot the penis felt, and I was forced to compare it with my husbands' smaller organ though I had never pulled it in this way and let my fingers measure the girth and I know I would have not had the room, the length, to slide my hand along to the belly then out toward the purple head. The bearded man wanted to adjust our posture but he did it very carefully and slowly, gently turning me to face him more square on and guiding me backwards to lean against the wooden roof support and he allowed me to spread my legs a little to steady myself. Now his fingers seemed to be more efficient in their effort to force me to abandon all sense of decency and submit to baser sexual instincts as my hips had begun a lascivious movement and my right forearm moved with a more pronounced determination. Concentrating on the why's and wherefores I didn't immediately understand the reason why the bearded man took hold of my right wrist and pinned both my arms against the wooden beam and it was far too late to spoil his plan when seeing him bending his knees spelled out his evil intentions. As he straightened up he stared defiantly into my now wide-open eyes and took great pleasure in watching my expressions as his weapon bored up into my vagina and he entered me with his penis. Struck dumb I stared back at his grinning face, my whole body lifting from the floor and impaled on his organ I rose and fell like a piece of flotsam on the tide. He was fucking me! I use that term because this was neither lovemaking nor an act done for the purpose of breeding, to procreate; it was sex, basic animal sex – I was being fucked! Against my will this was happening, forced and humiliated into taking a 'cock' (that's what common people call the penis isn't it?) inside my twat. The filthy man was panting for breath but that didn't stop him from being greedy, licking and sucking my breasts and nipples – he was sucking my tits dear reader – and fucking me! It was uncomfortable, but so much better when he released my wrists and allowed me to support myself by holding him around his shoulders and cradling his head in my bosom though a casual onlooker might have misunderstood the scene and accused me of enjoying the sexual contact encouraging the man give maximum thrust while pressing his face onto my paps. It felt silly to hear us both grunting and panting, almost in unison, so much so that due to my confusion and desperation I actually laughed and giggled. The man now changed tack and kissed my lips though now it seemed pointless to resist and having my arms around his neck meant that I it was having the absurd effect of pressing his mouth closer to mine. Catching my breath was easier if I cooperated and exchanged tongues, opening my mouth wider for him. There was a suddenly a tremendous surge of power resonating through my body, my very soul. A power very evil and wicked, disguised as joy and pleasure convincing me that there was no need for shame or guilt. I know I uttered something really filthy as I kissed the man back, hard and squeezed my vaginal lips around his shaft at the same time crying out loud followed by a lewd grunt and obscene loud grin. I moaned as I experienced his hot spurting fluid squirt up inside me wriggling around on his cock, wanting more. In my head I wished that I could have watched this fluid, this sperm, ejecting from that thick hosepipe, that little drop I had seen earlier was just a dribble from the whole bowlful that was waiting to ejaculate. Now it was spurting up inside me! Why did I, five minutes later, on returning to normal, have such a feeling of disappointment? Should I not have been glad that those wicked influences had left me – glad that the devil was letting me be? The bearded man lost no time in making himself decent and returning to his work, leaving me in a state of mental limbo to do the best I could before descending the ladder, confused and traumatized. I was halfway down the rungs when I heard the muffled giggles and comments. All the other men were there, sneaking peeps up my skirt and noting my unfortunate state. I stood before them and I, like they, stayed silent save for their loud intakes of breath and the occasional guttural noise. A partial reflection of myself in the window plus, how I felt, let me know just what the men were able to view. Pantyhose not pulled up properly, holed and soiled, skirt too was stained, while blouse had buttons missing in the middle showing my bra and making it obvious the entire garment had been undone. My hair was ruffled and my eyes tired and half-closed must have made me look like a common slut. "Fucking Hell!" exclaimed one man with surprise. I stood there, once again, humiliated and shamed in front of these strangers, letting them feast their eyes on me, thinking their dirty thoughts – seeing how their trousers bulged, inflamed by their decadent sexual desires, knowing that each and every one of them wanted to copy what their friend had done – sample the sexual delights of my body – fuck me – they all wanted the chance to fuck me! The men drifted away back to their work; I felt it was time for me to go home, reflect on the evil temptations that had trapped my soul. Pastor Michael came round to my house several times. From his second visit I began to notice how annoyed he became when I expressed some of my thoughts. Sometimes he would get angry if I didn't admit to holding certain desires. He would demand that I allow him to illustrate how easy it was for me to give in to temptation. Grabbing me he would endeavour to 'excite' me, and it shames me to say, more often that not, our evening would end with him inside my clothes copying the actions of the bearded man. "See how wet you have become!" he would bellow, "How easily you become wanton and respond to the devils wishes!" I tried to resist but then he said it was Satan being crafty knowing he was a man of God, giving him a false impression, pretending the evil did not live inside me. I ventured the theory that it was the men whom were wicked not I but he pulled me down on the couch and proved me wrong by making me wet until I went very weak. When those powerful sexual eruptions came and I lost control he delighted in making me admit what a dirty sexually obsessed fallen woman I was. He forced me to vocally admit to my pleasures and said it would be therapeutic if I uttered loudly the bad words I had admitted to using. "Did you like having cock?" he would demand while he stimulated me, "Say it! Admitting it in my presence will take away the power the devil has over you. Say it!" By this time I would be upset and confused, "I liked having cock – I liked being fucked by a stiff cock!" I would scream. Pastor Michael would always wait while I was at my weakest before he made me answer his more extreme questions. "See how aroused you are – even by me – a man of religion – a man of good character? You do know that I only bring myself down to this level in order to help you and allow you to purge your soul?" His hand would go faster, fingers in my vagina, and he would seem to enjoy re-enacting the scenes, biting and sucking my bare breasts. I would be left shamed and humiliated, half-undressed, on the couch, cursing my emotions and wishing I had not displayed such an obvious joy and willingness. Another day he hit the roof when I told him of my shame at admiring the largeness of the bearded man's penis. "Nonsense!" he claimed angrily, "You are merely exaggerating the man's size pretending you felt fear – or maybe so to increase your sense of sexual pleasure when you recall the event." The pastor insisted he prove his point and pushing up close to me on the couch made me feel his erect cock. "See, even mine is such a size – quite common and normal! Move your hands along from tip to belly and squeeze it to measure the circumference." Whispering in my ear he suggested also that it was quite normal for most men to give out large amounts of seed. He bid me to move my hand faster and he drew away to let me watch its ejection. I dared not tell him that his penis was merely comparable only to my husbands in girth though a little longer then I began to wonder if perhaps he maybe jealous of men better endowed than he; a thought that in spite of my dilemma offered some amusement to me. I did get the chance to examine the little eye and true enough it did feel 'nice' to have the hot sperm run over the soft skin of my belly and breasts. Though I must right away emphasise that at the time the pastor had inflamed me and I was in that state of helpless abandon. The very same state he was supposed to be preventing me from being influenced by! I decided that Pastor Michael was of no help and indeed was doing this for his own ends. That evening, when I masturbated him, it became apparent that he only wanted an excuse to 'have me'; Pastor Michael I told myself, just wanted to fuck me! A Troubled Mind Ch. 03 This morning I congratulated myself on my ability to weather the storm of abuse and torment I have been forced to suffer. True, I had launched into a tirade the other day, an outburst, venting my spleen at Pastor Michael, condemning him for the selfish and evil way he has handled my dilemma. No more will I succumb to his unsavoury influences. Wanting to be rid of me now (does he feel guilt or fright that I might tell the world that he misused his power to try and seduce me, to satisfy his sexual perversions?) he has referred me to a respectable and specialist group of church folk who have vowed to help me. The problem though seemed to be far worse than I thought as yesterday when I visited the doctor he insisted on changing my medication. Now I am stronger though and was quick to notice his lewd expression as he stared at my cleavage. I'm sure I saw him lick his lips and I knew very well why he needed to shuffle around in his seat. The men in the shop have tried to confuse me by being polite and gentle, constantly enquiring as to my welfare and helpfully offering help, even bringing me cups of tea. I have obeyed the requests of the bearded one and to avoid his anger and violence have begun to wear stockings and, craftily on my part, reasoned that if I show him and his buddies sexually alluring underwear then their dreadful sexual appetite will be sated all the more quickly; get it over with I say! Not seeing him I was compelled to ask the other men, "Where is the big man with the beard?" They tried to make believe I had imagined him; they pretended to look perplexed. "No one in our gang wears a beard," they said. One brought a chair and I accepted the advice that I should sit down for a while. They looked at me pitifully, showing sympathy but I realised it was a ploy. They knew how my very short tight skirt would ride up displaying stocking tops and naked flesh. I tested them by letting my knees part and opening my thighs meant that they would see my bright pink dainty panties. Yes, I saw evidence that they were aroused and harboured unclean thoughts! Alone that afternoon in the small room upstairs I toiled away at my work knowing full well that any minute I would hear footsteps on the worn creaky staircase, then the door would swing open and in would walk men, maybe two, perhaps three – and they would take me – make me perform on them all manner of dirty sexual acts. Of course it did happen – I said it would! I can still taste the slimy salty sperm that shot down the back of my throat and remember how it felt when my tongue licked over the seeping hole to prevent more of the dirty stuff being swallowed and instead pressed the globules against my palate. I had been compelled, forced, at the very same time, to make vulgar movements with my hips, thrusting them back and forth against the face of another man who knelt between my outstretched legs sucking and licking juices from my vagina. My breasts hung out over the top of my bra so hands could play. They wobbled as, perched on the edge of a wooden chair rocking my pelvic bone against the man I imitated the actions of riding a gently trotting pony, balanced by each hand gripping a hard penis like they were handles, taking one, then the other, between my lips. (I could not help but note that the men treated me much more gently than the bearded one, even allowing me to set my own pace.) Perching wide legged on the edge of a hard chair can be very uncomfortable so I welcomed the suggestion I should stand and bend over. Grateful for the change in position I stood and removed my knickers then bent forward offering my bottom up to whichever man still retained stiffness. Co-operate and get it over with! That was my motto. At my first meeting with the group from the church I sat with two men and a lady, all counsellors, very understanding, and comfortingly, I felt they believed my problem was real. They told me it was common for women, who like myself suffered continual sexual assault and abuse to surrender up their morals and principles, and for ease, even begin to enjoy and actively participate. They were concerned only with my moral welfare and spirit, advising that it was up to me whether or not I ought to report certain matters to the authorities. You see, that was the part the group were sceptical about – my insistence that this was a conspiracy involving many men – even my doctor may be involved. "Your feelings of guilt is causing your mind to invent a story, so you can absolve yourself of any responsibility for your actions. You know, because of your upbringing and teachings of our church, that you should be punished for your sin of indulging in illicit sex. When you receive that punishment then you will feel you are making amends then you can begin to get back to normal. Are you really being forced into having sex with several men against your will or is that a fabrication and do you have a lover? Our method will work whatever the truth. You see the devil likes to see you tormented. We have a very unorthodox but very effective method of defeating him. The devil will see no point in pursuing his evil deeds if you make him believe you don't care – pretend to enjoy your sins – then he will think he has won the war for your soul. Meanwhile, from another angle we encourage you to come here to us and tell us, in detail, about your sinning. Indulge in your sins then as you recall and retell to us how you wallow in the depraved pleasure you have enjoyed we will punish you so your troubled mind associates bad things happening when you sin. Think of it as aversion therapy – you will be allowed to indulge and enjoy – but then suffer for your sins." It will be embarrassing for me I know; telling tales of sucking and fucking, with men whose names I won't even know. But I think I will be able to fool the devil as the group suggests by pretending to enjoy the filthy acts I am forced to endure. So this morning I went off with renewed vigour, not letting the devil see how I felt shamed and humiliated by knowing that before the day was done my body would be sexually violated. This morning I smiled at the men on my arrival and didn't wait to be persuaded to join them for an early hot drink before we all started work, instead, I happily wandered amidst them and peeled off my coat almost seductively (though I'm not sure how that is done by genuinely wanton women). "We are glad to see you are feeling better this morning," they said. They grin and I know they are admiring me, the short leather skirt and fishnet stockings. They know I wear stockings, don't they! Their cocks will already be awakening, like snakes unravelling from their coiled up sleep. My thin top is far too tight and clings to my breasts like a second skin, my nipples prominent – asking to be sucked. (Why are the men pretending to be more interested in reading their morning newspapers?) I'm ready now to do battle with Satan – let him see how pointless it is, futile to expect me to weep and lament at the loss of my decency. "See Satan!" I will cry, "See how I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh – you are doing me a favour. I am not weak and will not beg for mercy – instead I will relish and savour the wickedness you impose on me. I will not be frightened of the many men you send who want to molest my body – I will delight in their touch – I will welcome their cocks in any orifice they choose to invade." For now I will leave the men and I wonder if Satan has already given up. It's not long to go before the owner of the shop is due to return and today as the construction men begin to finalise their work additional men in white overalls arrive to paint and decorate the walls. They are cheerful and like my smile but as I'm wiser now I see the lust in their eyes as they study my body. I think of how much more excited they would be if they knew what was under my short skirt – and what thoughts I had in my head. How eager I am to test the theory of my counsellors! Are these reinforcements sent by the devil? That night, as I attended my first therapy session I related my history to the same three people, the two men and the woman, who had undertaken to be my 'guides'. We sat comfortably in an office of the large building that served as a headquarters. While every detail of past sins was coaxed from me there was no pressure or mental discomfort felt. "Let's stop for a break now," suggested the woman. "How about if we take a stroll; we'll show you around the building?" We all went together, though I had to hide the fact that my interest was somewhat limited. Passing through several rooms I was informed of its use by one of the group. Eventually we descended a staircase but by this time I was anxious and annoyed because this was nothing at all to do with the purpose of my visit. "This is where we hold many of our events and also where we teach and practice many of our lessons." I saw that on my right was an open door and inside the dimly lit room I spied a bed, a large bed judging by the dimensions of the little of it I was able to see. What events and lessons were learnt here; why place a bed down here? When the woman asked if I had taken my medication that day I became agitated at the question, wondering how she knew of my prescribed tablets. "You have told us that you did imagine what might it be like to have those new, those different men touch you, feel inside your clothes, undress you," the woman said sternly. I became upset. "Why do you say it in those tones – like I have done wrong – that's what you told me to be like, fool the devil, be evil and wicked in my thoughts!" They pushed me into a room, next to the one with bed, and my goodness I didn't expect to see the shackles and harness's hanging from the ceiling and walls – the manacles and various benches and seats, the restraints. This was going to be my punishment room – I didn't want this! Frozen with fright I stood whimpering and sobbing, hands were busy, fingers undoing buttons, unfastening zips, and undressing me! "What are you doing?" I screamed. "Scream as loud as you wish," a man told me, "No one will hear you down here – other than any of our own people who no doubt will delight in coming down to join in." "Did you think it would be so very easy?" said the other man sniggering. "Pleasure comes before pain," said the woman, "Swallow this pill for me." I refused and spat but they forced me, holding my jaw, pinching my nose, a glass of liquid making me gulp involuntarily. "No – you can't do that!" I screeched as the woman and one man who stood in full view began to undress too. The other man behind was busy tethering my wrists together and running his hands over my nylon clad behind. Why was it that by leaving me in pantyhose and bra it caused me to feel more humiliated than if I had been stripped naked? "What's the matter," asked the woman mockingly, "If your tales are true then you should not be shocked by the sight of a hard penis or ashamed to be undressed – or have you been telling lots of lies?" No, of course I hadn't – surely they must believe me? "You told us that you were ready to show Satan just how defiant you could be – enjoy your depravity." Now the man was holding his erect penis and I just didn't know where to look – but I was commanded to watch as the woman closed her hands around the shaft and began to masturbate him. A whip was brought across my bottom stinging and burning. It seemed best to obey my tormentors. "Watch while we fuck," said the woman, "See how his swollen cock slides in and out of my wet pussy – giving me pleasure. Do you feel that powerful pleasure when a cock slides in your cunt? Tell me the truth – do you feel pleasure, it is simply an act, a lie, when you say you fell horror, feel violated?" Through my tears I watched astounded as the man rammed into the woman, seeing the look of sheer bliss on her face. The crack of the whip prompted me to answer the question. "I feel frightened, and ashamed that I am made to do things, dirty things, while men snigger and touch me – then it changes – only at first does it horrify me – then, oh my god! Then I feel excitement and arousal at being forced into performing filthy acts! Please, let me go now – I've changed my mind about doing this!" "Watch me being fucked!" said the woman. "Watch!" I cried but obeyed as she made the man shuffle her forward, closer, in reach of me. What was I to do when she held out a hand and stroked my vagina over the nylon of my pantyhose? What could I do when as the man supported her she leaned forward and kissed my lips? "Does this not excite you too?" she purred. She asked for my tongue; on her command we licked each other's. Something was happening inside my head – the pills she had given me were taking effect. I wanted the other man who stood behind me with the whip – wanted him to fuck me – I wanted cock too! It was not forthcoming – not yet. "Have you ever licked a cunt?" asked the woman, then without waiting for an answer said, "Of course you haven't. Get down on your knees!" The man behind encouraged me with a slap and a lash. Why did I experience such a feeling of exhilaration? The dirty rampant cock of the man in front slipped out from the woman's wet hole and fell against my face – it seemed a reflex action and the natural thing to do to open my mouth and suck it in hard. That was what the men at the shop always made me do. "Good to see you are enjoying our game!" said the woman, "But no, I want you to lick my cunt!" How humiliating, how mortifyingly shaming. It was one thing submitting to evil forceful men but surely a woman should not demand that from someone of her own gender! I could taste her – and the man too. She held me, held my face against her quim, like she was having sex with my head, exciting herself by the stimulation of my tongue and even my nose. "Lick my arse!" she demanded of me, straddling over my head and widening her thighs. I did my best, pushing out my tongue, but my efforts didn't please her. They decided that I needed the whip and was made to raise my backside as the woman turned and bent over a bench. Another bench was placed under my body then I was placed so my weight was forward and my face became buried in the woman's crack, between her vagina and her anus; she stretched out her legs sideways preventing me from failing again as my tongue and lips were encouraged to lick and kiss both her holes. The woman shuddered then shouted to the men. "Whip her – then fuck her!" Curiosity probably got the better of her – or perhaps she got a thrill from seeing me suffer. There was the sound of nylon being ripped apart; I felt hands on my naked skin, then fingers opening up my vagina – getting it ready for penetration. The woman turned and watched the men take turns with me, holding my head against her wet cunt. "We want you to explore your fantasy," she said speaking softly but with a tone of command. "We want you to come back here and tell us how bad you have been." I didn't, and couldn't reply as my head was grabbed, turning me away while a man squirted his filthy sperm into my mouth. The drug was now wearing off and I felt panic return with the full effect of humiliation. Every single second of the last hour was vivid in my mind and I felt disgusted at my behaviour because even though I had no choice or influence over what I had been made to do I had experienced a depraved pleasure and sexual joy, and would have been happy to do more. If I go back without completing my 'mission' they will be annoyed; I would have failed and they probably will punish me anyhow. The woman has given me a pill, which she says will help me and make me feel relaxed. There is not much time left. I have had a letter and a phone call, all arrangements have been made without my knowledge for the shop to reopen; there will be a small party to mark the occasion. I feel I have been treated badly, overlooked, not given credit for all the work I have done. The decorating is going well; I compliment the men, or rather one man, as the other two who are now at work in the shop are merely boys hardly passed their twentieth birthday. I find myself left alone with the youngest, forever smiling lad and think that if I had a son I would like him to be like this boy. But I can't think of him a son; that would be wrong because of what I'm about to do. "You've done a good job," I say. "Yeah? Thanks," he says, "Better if we'd have had more time, we didn't get much notice." He stares at me as though I am mad and being direct he asks me, "Are you okay – why are you looking at me in a funny way." That's how my test began. I stood swaying gently, looking straight back at him, yes, with perhaps a silly grin on my face, but inside I felt anguish and fear – did I dare, for the first in my life, against all my principles and moral beliefs seduce, invite sex, from a stranger? He looked through the door, along the corridor, to see I think if his friends were coming or were within earshot so he could beckon them to witness my odd behaviour. He glanced back at me, perplexed and amused then before he could call out or turn away I gave the first signal; unfastened one little button. "What the fuck...!" he swore, not sure what to do next. How ridiculing it would be if he left the room. I undid another button and cupped a breast, managing to maintain my stare. "Are you sure.... erm?" I saw him begin to realise just what I was putting on offer. "I don't think.... shit.... you're old enough to be my mother!" I was trembling, I am not a seductress; I am not confident, not glamorous. He looked around, looked again down the corridor – no one was there. I saw his expression change, knew his lust was rising. He looked at me more steadily now, looked at my breasts. He cleared his throat and quietly closed the door – then he approached me – his arousal was showing at the front of his workman's overalls. I took a deep breath when I saw him start to undo the buttons of his fly. "I didn't have you down as the sort of woman who...you know...a sexy bitch! You fancy a bit of cock do you?" I would have taken fright, backed out, if he had not then placed his arm around me and roughly pulled open the rest of my blouse. "Nice tits!" he said, "Do you like to have them sucked?" He was staring into my face as though I was supposed to answer! "I don't know!" "Well that's a silly answer!" he was mocking me; I was making a strange moaning noise. "Shit, you're gagging for it, aren't you?" My hand was taken and I felt his hot penis; he closed my fingers around it and made me play with it whilst he fumbled with me and hitched my skirt up to my belly. "Back up and lean against the wall," he ordered. He told me that I looked sexy in my stockings and suspenders. He said how much easier it was to get inside my knickers. I felt him tug on the gusset to gain some slack then pull it to one side. He bent his knees, touching my pussy with the tip of his cock. "Put it in for me!" he whispered. I was mentally incapable and sobbed as, still playing with his dick as ordered I jerked it against my vaginal opening hoping that it would go in by itself and save me the shame. The forbidden feelings washed over me, the cock touched the place that creates and induces the depraved pleasure. This though was the whole purpose of the exercise, to show the Devil he was wasting his time and I could simply go along with it all and take it with a pinch of salt. When the boy straightened his knees he was deep inside me almost lifting me off the floor. He was fucking me hard! But it was okay as the boy was helping me. Give me more – yes – squeeze my tits. I laughed now and kissed him, encouraged him, enjoyed seeing the depraved look on his face. "Yes, go on – harder!" I grinned back at him so he could know I liked what he was doing. Yes, shoot that sperm inside me! I was sad when it was over, when he had finished and put away his dick. A Troubled Mind Ch. 03 There was so much to do, so many things to organise before the owner returned for the grand opening. During mid afternoon I walked through the premises noting the little things that needed further attention, fine detail that others wouldn't even notice; so much to do. To calm my nerves I had taken the pill given to me by the woman, though it did make me feel quite odd. I was so busy and concentrating so hard that I failed to acknowledge the three decorators who stood talking in the main showroom. Maybe if I had not have raised my head from my notebook then nothing would have happened; it could have been my fault entirely. I actually felt annoyance thinking that there was no need for the boy to have told his workmates what had gone on. I knew he had – the way they looked at me – the lustful expressions on their faces. I had let the boy put his cock inside me and we had enjoyed it – but he should not have told the others. They knew I still carried some of the boys' juices inside me, felt his mouth over my tender nipples. Did they sense that my vulva was swollen and the lips of my pussy wet and lubricated, soaking the front of my knickers. They just kept on staring at me – all three males – vulgar, their eyes penetrating, not even bothering to hide the tell-tale tightly stretched material, the large protrusions sported at their fronts; three – three men, hard and sexed up – wanting me – wanting my cunt, probably also my mouth. The men are watching me. I found myself wondering which man would be the most arrogant, boastful – if they displayed their erect manhood's – together, like a contest. Which man would be most stimulated – by little me! Would it be the boys', young and rampant, eager to get going, fuck fast and hard? Or would it be the older man, slower and experienced enough to take his time, relish the sensation, slide his cock in and out, full length, letting me have time and room to squeeze the sides of my cunt around the thick shaft? I could not believe I was thinking like this, acting like this. I walked into the smaller side room and tried to collect my thoughts. This was a room I knew well – many times I had been pulled, coaxed into here by the other men – fucked in here by the bearded one. I just knew I would be followed in; the older one came up behind me – I could hear him breathing. "The lad has spun us a tale saying that you had a little fun with him earlier. Sorry if it's not true; I'll give him a good reprimanding and a clip around the ear. But if it is actually true...!" Well I began to tremble but was very convinced that the pill I had taken contained something very powerful! I didn't want to deny what had happened; usually I would have beside myself with horror and disgust and threatened to report the man. I couldn't tell a lie could I? I turned slowly, because I was nervous, but brave, at least it was a brave act for me. I didn't answer and looked at him, and he at me – and then he knew! His fingers had begun to undone my top. "The boy said that he really enjoyed it!" The man sounded rude and quite bad, then his voice dropped to a whisper. "Sit down!" It was frightening, being so close to the groin of this man, watching while he unzipped and drew out his large cock, hard and swollen, pointing toward my face, my mouth. I knew what he wanted me to do, his dick hovered just a couple of inches away, and already it was seeping from the tiny hole. He dropped his pants and for the first time I got chance to examine a man's scrotum, his balls, in that wrinkly bag. I saw all the veins that zigzagged his shaft, filled with blood, purple, like the big head that pushed through the soft skin, shiny and angry. I had to touch and hold his balls, just to see how it felt how the weighed. I hadn't planned to let that big purple helmet slip easily into my mouth but it seemed silly now for me to resist or refuse – not at this stage. Sucking the dick seemed to come naturally, much more agreeable when one isn't forced. I tasted the wetness that spurted gently from that hole that men pee from but strangely it wasn't an unpleasant sensation; my head bobbed and drew more of the liquid to the back of my throat, swallowing. Neither did it seem to matter that the two boys had come to join us – or that both were releasing my tits from my bra. I had a desire to want to know how the big man's cock would feel inside my pussy though I didn't dare just ask. We had so little time, that day – there was so much to do. I would have to make it clear somehow, let them know that time was at a premium; we didn't have the luxury of hours to wallow and savour the moments. I hoped my eyes would convey the message but it needed more. I startled them by stopping what we were doing and stood up, fixing my eyes on the man; I lifted my skirt, rubbed my hungry pussy, pulled my panties and hoped he would fill the void. How good the boy's were, how perceptive and unselfish they were to take the trouble to hold me, balance me, while the man pushed forward entering my hole. I cried out but they could clearly see it was through joy and happiness. Bounce me up and down, more, faster harder. It was almost impossible to keep my lips covering the mouths of the boys as I kissed each in turn. Better when they had me on the table, now I was secure my hands became free to play with the young cocks, sometimes wanking them, as they call the act, sometimes being able to take the delightful youthful penises in my mouth. How greedy I was, not deciding whether I wanted to drink their jism, wanting to feel it flow into my mouth, or whether to have these energetic young men fuck me, ram those lovely cocks into my cunt! Why not both? The man had shot his load inside me, making me orgasm – though I was far from satisfying my appetite. "Fuck me boy!" I instructed the one who had not enjoyed me that morning. I wrapped my legs around his waist as he stood at the table's edge, going like a piston engine. I eased off only while I drunk down the salty sperm of the other boy, letting him piss it out onto my tongue. Oh what a tale I would be able to tell to my counsellors! It was later in the day – 4:15pm when they came to look for me again. "Goodness! You want me again – do we really have the time?" I was giggling, in high spirits. "I have so much work to get through!" I said, bending over for them, my tits hanging from my bra. The boys displayed their weapons for me and as one banged into me from behind the other pushed his penis past my lips and held my head firmly fucking my face. If neither boy managed to oblige me too with an orgasm I was reassured to know that the older man, with his more massive specimen, waited patiently, watching, while the boys warmed me up; I had no idea at all who the fourth man was or from where he had suddenly appeared. It didn't matter though. Well the big day finally came around. Dora had returned to reopen the shop and she was throwing a party by way of celebrating the event. As usual I was kept very busy, helping to serve the refreshments and such like. I had hoped that Dora would have publicly acknowledged all I had done for her – all that reorganising – but well, it was not forthcoming. Maybe I had done too much, tired myself out. I had been very busy, what with all the extra, unplanned activity too! One large glass of wine was all it took for me to buckle at the knees. How embarrassing it was. Something was going wrong though, I could sense the way people had been looking at me. I didn't feel confident anymore – I wished I had another pill. Voices, I heard voices all around the bed I had been laid on. I could put names to every voice. How amazing it is that of all the many people we meet each one sounds very different. I didn't need to open my eyes. They were talking about me. Dora said, "She shouldn't have been at the bloody shop every day!" "Well you said to expect her popping in!" (One of the builders) "Not to stay – I was just trying to make the poor woman feel useful!" "She said she was organising your records." "No." (Dora was laughing, mocking) "There is nothing of value up there. I said she could empty the attic and take it to be destroyed – it's no more than waste paper, very little of it at that! You must have seen her walking around carrying the same files, the same bits of paper. So what happened?" "Well, we tried to be patient with her but suddenly she kept going on about the big guy with the beard, saying he kept cornering her and forcing her to do things." "And...." (Dora is interrupting) "There is no guy with a beard?" "Not on our gang no. I should have taken steps – but I did have a word with a man from her meeting hall, Michael, who said he'd speak to her doctor. Anyway, the lads found her comical – they made her cups of tea, and kept popping through to see if she was okay. Unfortunately one day I went to look up in the attic wondering where two of my men had disappeared. I found them with her – they were having sex, taking advantage of her. I had to fire them." (I hear Dora's man friend speak) "So why isn't the woman's husband doing more?" "She doesn't have an husband," (Dora is telling them my personal business and anyway it's untrue!) "He left last year; ran off after having an affair with a younger woman. Told everyone he was tired of living with a religious nut and not having a sex life. Guess what? He was a big man with a beard!" "Oh my goodness, how sad!" I hear the people leave the room but someone has stayed behind. I dare to open my eyes and see, to my great surprise that the woman from the meeting hall is here – and the doctor. Perhaps they will give me another little pill. They tell me not to speak and just stare down at me. Dora has quietly come back into the room too and she is leaning over me; she wants to whisper in my ear. "They are going to take you back to the meeting hall – so you can have a lie down on the big bed in the basement. I will be along later with some friends – then you can show me how much you have learned." Dora looks different – she looks mean and evil, smirking at me. "Go quietly and don't make a fuss – or we may have to take into that other room. Do you remember – the one with the benches – the shackles – the whips? We don't want to have to chain you to the wall do we?" I go peacefully letting them lead me out the back way. I saw a man standing in the shadows; he is a big man with a beard. I swear I heard him laughing. The End A Troubled Mind Pastor Michael had a gentle touch -- at least to begin with. He made me direct him as to how the men had fondled my body and he quickly learned how bad men entice the nipples to harden, tweaking them between finger and thumb. "You saw their arousal -- in their trousers -- that made you lustful -- it wasn't the devil -- it was your own wickedness, your own dirty desire for things sexual. You saw evidence of their erections -- did you notice that they were all aroused?" I tearfully admitted that I had been compelled to gaze at a sight I had never before seen; yes, at all the men in turn. I had to admit also that I fully knew that my agreement to simulate a sex act on a banana would inflame them more. The pastor silenced my sobbing by sliding two fingers across my lips and almost subconsciously, out of habit, I let them into my mouth. I swear that my tongue was not my own and out of control when it began to lick and tease as my cheeks sucked in, relaxed and sucked again. The pastor's spare hand kept busy with my nipples, pressing kneading then holding my breast before suddenly slipping inside my undergarment to touch my red tips and feel the bare flesh. He removed his fingers from my mouth and keeping his face near mine, still playing with my breasts he questioned me relentlessly making admit how it was not the devil within me but my own wantonness and depravity that allowed the men to abuse me. It was the abuse that I craved and took pleasure from he said -- and he would prove that to me. He made me pray, still holding me he made me enter into an agreement with him that he would take responsibility for guiding me back to the right path and away from wickedness. I prayed and listened and repeated oaths when asked while he leaned close and, hidden from my view carried out movements with his hand that remained secret and private from me. Finished he seemed short of breath and perspired, hot under his collar. He would visit me again -- tomorrow.