by Ray Gordon
At last, the orgasmic waves receded, leaving Marianne exhausted in their wake. Panting for breath, her holes desperately trying to eject the massive phalluses, she lay quivering, for the moment unable to move or to extract the huge shafts from her painfully bloated sex-ducts.
Managing to straighten and spread her legs, she reached between her thighs and gently but firmly pulled the can from her gripping vaginal sheath. As the metal cylinder slipped out, she gasped. The sensations causing tremors deep within her womb, she rested before attempting to remove the bottle from her rectum. 'What have I done?' she cried as her vagina closed, sealing the entrance to her womb once again. 'Christ, what have I become?'
Pulling, twisting, she finally managed to slip the large bottle from her bottom-hole, allowing her creamy anal tube to deflate, return to its former size, leaving a strange empty sensation within her pelvis. Bringing her body upright, she sat on the edge of the bed and gazed between her parted thighs. Her outer vaginal lips red, sore, swollen, her girl-come pouring in torrents from her hot hole, pooling on the quilt, she quivered, praying that Barry was still in the garage - unaware of her disgusting act of self-abuse.
Slipping her panties up her legs and covering her inflamed holes, the once most sacrosanct regions of her very femininity, Marianne decided to go for a walk, to think, to contemplate her new-found sexual deviancy. Creeping downstairs, praying that Barry wasn't in the house, she slipped out of the front door and through the garden gate into the street.
Still wondering why she'd had no power over her actions, no free will, when Barry had used the trigger word, Marianne made her way to the park. Was the word really beginning to work? she pondered. Autosuggestion was a very real thing, perhaps that's what was happening? Whatever it was, she assured herself that it wouldn't happen again. She'd fight it if it did!
Sitting on a bench by the pond, Marianne reflected on the recent events. No pubic hair. Anal intercourse. Oral sex. Swallowing sperm. Lesbian sex. Whipping. Bondage. A candle, a hairspray can, a perfume bottle, a deodorant bottle, a huge plastic container, a vibrator... 'My God!' she breathed, wondering where the old Marianne had gone.
There seemed to be nothing left to discover - she'd charted all the areas of her body, sounded all the depths. Whatever Barry came up with, whatever strange devices he was constructing, there was nothing she'd not already endured - was there?
Aware of her wet panties, she glanced around the park. There was no one nearby, no prying eyes as she slipped her panties off and leaned back with her thighs open. The summer breeze cooling her burning vaginal lips, she smiled, examining the crotch of her red panties - the white stains, the creamy wetness. Slipping her hand beneath her short skirt, she toyed with her distended inner lips, eliciting pleasing sensations from the soft, warm flesh, inducing her girl-come to flow from her spasming vagina.
Moving her fingers up her drenched valley to her stiffening clitoris, she closed her eyes, massaging her sensitive bud, breathing slowly, deeply, as the sensations permeated her quivering womb. Squeezing her nipple through her flimsy top with her other hand, she quickened her rhythm, rubbing her swollen clitoris faster, increasing the electrifying sensations.
A yapping dog at her feet suddenly disturbing the intimate pleasuring emanating from her erect nipple, her throbbing clitoris, Marianne quickly adjusted her skirt, covering her feminine nakedness as she scanned the park for the animal's owner.
'Go away!' she hissed at the dog. 'Bloody dog! Go on, bugger off.' Jumping up and snatching her panties from the bench in its jaws, the dog ran off towards a man walking some distance away. 'Oh, shit,' she breathed as the man took her panties from the dog's mouth and began strolling towards the bench.
'I'm so sorry,' he smiled as he approached Marianne. 'Are these yours?' Her face flushing as he held out her wet panties, Marianne returned his smile, wondering what to say, how to explain herself.
'Er... no, they're not mine,' she laughed awkwardly, gazing into his dark eyes.
In his mid-thirties, tall, slim and very good-looking, Marianne wondered what he'd do to her in the park, to her body under the hot summer sun, if he knew about the trigger word. Lowering her gaze to his bulging jeans, she sensed her insatiable clitoris stir between her pouting vaginal lips.
'I think your dog found them on the grass, over there,' she said, pointing behind the bench.
'Well, someone must have left the park feeling rather chilly!' he laughed as he sat beside her, dropping the panties beneath the bench. 'Don't mind if I join you, do you?'
'No, not at all.'
'He's not my dog, by the way - he belongs to a very good friend of mine. I bring him here for a walk when she's working.'
Marianne's stomach sank. A very good friend of mine. When she's working. But what was she thinking? She could hardly be jealous; she didn't even know the man. It was a neighbour's dog, she hoped.
'Do you come here often?' he asked.
The cliché brought a smile to her face. What's a nice girl like you... What's a filthy whore like you... 'Yes, quite often,' she replied.
'Always alone, or with your boyfriend?' he probed.
'Always alone. I don't have a boyfriend,' she lied, brushing her long blonde hair from her pretty face. 'Not at the moment, anyway.'
The words, the lies, tumbled from her mouth without her thinking. Eyeing his bulging jeans again, she wondered what he'd think if he knew that she was naked beneath her skirt - naked and hairless.
'Your very close friend, is she a...?' Marianne began hesitantly.
'No, no, she's only a friend. I'm single,' he replied, obviously reading her thoughts, her body language.
'Oh,' she smiled, her heart fluttering. 'Do you live very far away?'
'See that house there, on the edge of the park?'
'What, that big place with the tall chimneys?'
'Yes - that's my house.'
'Nice. I live... I have a small house. Nothing special, but it's home.'
'Fancy coming back for a drink?' he asked, lowering his appreciative gaze to her shapely thighs. 'I usually have a scotch after walking the dog.'
Her stomach somersaulting, she thought of Barry. He'd wonder where she was, where she'd gone. So what? she reflected. He doesn't own me! Imagining the man between her thighs, licking, sucking on her girl-flesh, his tongue stiffening her clitoris, she realized that she didn't even know his name - and she was about to go to his house!
'I'm Marianne,' she introduced herself, holding her hand out as she stood up.
'Oh, sorry... My name's Rod,' he smiled, standing and shaking her hand. 'So, would you like to come back for a drink?'
'Yes, all right. I don't have a great deal of time, but I'd love to see your house.'
Following the yapping dog towards the large house, Marianne spoke of the hypnosis course she'd been on. 'I was thinking of setting up as a hypnotherapist, but I flunked the course,' she said despondently.
'Hypnosis is an interesting subject,' he replied as they neared the house. 'But it can be dangerous if not used properly.'
'Dangerous?' she queried.
'Yes. In the wrong hands, hypnosis can be very dangerous. Delving into the subconscious, suggestion and all that, can be very dangerous indeed.'
Following Rod through a wooden gate and along the garden path to the back door of the house, Marianne wondered how to mention the trigger word without giving the game away. What would he do if he knew the word? she thought excitedly, her clitoris stirring again, her stomach swirling, her vaginal juices flowing down her inner thighs.
'Come through to the lounge,' he invited, locking the dog in the kitchen as she wandered into the hall. The lounge was big and expensively furnished. The walls lined with books and paintings, the red carpet thick, plush, it was more like a luxurious private study.
'What would you like to drink?' Rod asked, opening an antique cabinet as she sat on the sofa.
'Er... vodka-and-lime, please. As I was saying, I flunked the course but... Well, perhaps
I shouldn't tell you about it.'
'Tell me what?'
'The lecturer was taken ill on the last day. He'd placed what he called a trigger word in my subconscious and... it's boring, let's talk about something else.'
'And the trigger word is still there, is that what you were about to say?'
'Well... yes, it is. Oh, thanks,' she smiled as he passed her a glass.
'I told you that messing around with hypnosis can be dangerous.'
'No, there's no danger. No one knows the word so...'
'What is the word? Sorry, I didn't mean to...'
'That's OK. My telling you won't do any harm. As long as you promise not to make me do a dance or sing or something.'
'Of course I won't,' he laughed. 'I'm just interested, that's all.'
'The word is juxtaposition,' she enlightened him trustingly.
'At least it's not likely to crop up in conversation.'
'No, hopefully not!'
Watching Rod sit opposite, Marianne wondered what the hell she was doing in a stranger's house, her pussy knickerless beneath her very short skirt - admitting to having had a trigger word planted in her subconscious. I must be mad, she thought, sipping her drink.
But it would be nice to get to know someone - to get to know a man other than Barry. A clandestine relationship, she mused, the thought exciting her. Rod probably lived alone, she reckoned, gazing around the room, imagining leaving Barry and moving in with Rod. I am mad!
'You're not aware if the word's been used, are you?' he asked. 'I mean, if someone had mentioned the word and sent you into a hypnotic trance, you'd remember nothing about it afterwards, would you?'
'No, not at all. The course lecturer used it and told me that I was standing at the sink doing the washing up. Apparently, everyone had a good laugh watching me wash nonexistent dishes!' she giggled. 'And, when he clicked his fingers, I had no recollection whatsoever. I didn't even know I'd been hypnotized.'
'I've seen it done on TV, but I'd always thought it to be an act.'
'Oh, no, it's real enough.'
Placing his glass on a low table, Rod moved forward in his chair. Come on, come on, Marianne urged in her mind, her pussy lips swelling, her clitoris ripening, her vagina wetting. Perhaps all men weren't the same as Barry and John, after all.
Despondency setting in as she watched him pick his glass up, Marianne wondered whether to make her excuses and leave. It must have crossed his mind to send me into a hypnotic trance and have his wicked way with me. Perhaps if she were to call and see him again, he'd use the word and...
'Juxtaposition...'
Staring blankly across the room, Marianne smiled inwardly as her stomach somersaulted at the prospect of having sex with a stranger. What will he do? she wondered. Ask me to strip? To open my legs and show him my pussy? Her sexual arousal reaching dangerous heights, she waited, praying that he'd bury his face between her legs and suck an exquisite orgasm from her yearning clitoris.
'They were your knickers, weren't they?' Rod asked, his voice soft but firm.
'Yes, they were,' she replied, monotonizing her words to bring authenticity to her hypnotic trance.
'Why had you taken them off?'
'I was masturbating,' she confessed, her vaginal muscles tightening, her clitoris insatiable in its yearning.
'Do you always masturbate in the park?'
'Yes, I do.'
'Aren't you afraid that someone might see you?'
'No. The thought of being caught excites me. I love being watched.'
'Has anyone ever watched you masturbating?'
'Yes, many times. Last week, there was a man in the park. He was behind some bushes, watching me.'
'And did you come?'
'Yes, several times.'
'So, you're not wearing any knickers, then?'
'No, I'm not.'
'Show me how you masturbate.'
Her heart banging hard against her chest, her womb contracting, Marianne parted her legs as wide as she could. Moving her buttocks to the edge of the sofa, she lifted her skirt up over her smooth stomach, revealing her shaved pussy-slit, her soft mound, to the stranger's gaze.
'Why have you shaved?' he asked, moving across the room and settling between her feet.
'I prefer it that way, it looks good, feels good. It excites me to see my fanny naked.'
'You look sore, what have you been up to?'
'Using a can of hairspray. Pushing it into my cunt and masturbating.'
'You're a very attractive girl; I can hardly believe my luck,' he grinned as she parted her inflamed cunny lips and massaged the soft flesh surrounding her vaginal entrance. 'The chances of meeting a nymphomaniac in the park are slim enough, but to meet one who has a trigger word! The implications are incredible.'
His words exciting her, Marianne continued her female masturbating, her blatant self-abuse, as he watched the amazing spectacle. Suddenly aware of his hot breath on her inner thigh, she moved her buttocks further forward, opening the centre of her body, offering her vaginal entrance to his mouth, his tongue.
'Ah, yes!' she gasped as his hot, wet tongue swept up her sex-valley. 'Ah, God!' Vigorously frigging her clitoris as Rod's tongue snaked its way into her vagina, Marianne was coming ever nearer to her desperately-needed orgasm. Suddenly, Rod's finger delved deep into her bottom-sheath, the delicious sensations of depravity lifting her higher to her sexual heaven. 'Coming!' she gasped as her body shook and writhed.
Moving her hand aside, Rod engulfed her throbbing clitoris in his hot mouth, licking, sucking, sustaining her incredible orgasmic pleasure. Her lustful sensations heightened by her wickedness, her trickery, Marianne could barely endure the waves of orgasm crashing through her body. On and on she rode the crest of her climax, quivering, wailing her appreciation, almost forgetting her hypnotic trance.
'Don't stop!' she cried as his finger delved deeper into her tightening anal sheath. 'Oh, God - don't stop!' His tongue sweeping over her pulsating crown, Rod elicited the final orgasmic palpitations, leaving the girl drained, her vaginal juices flowing from her hungry cunt.
'You enjoyed that, didn't you?' Rod asked as he slipped his finger from her tight rectum.
'Yes, yes!' Marianne gasped appreciatively.
'You'd like me to fuck you now, wouldn't you?'
'Yes, please - fuck me. Fuck my wet cunt.'
Her vaginal cavern aching for his solid penis, Marianne's stomach somersaulted as he unzipped his jeans. God, make it good, she prayed as she opened her legs as wide as she could, offering her girlishness to the stranger.
'Damn it,' Rod cursed as the front doorbell rang. 'I forgot he was coming round.' Leaving Marianne aching for sex, Rod zipped his jeans up and told her to compose herself. 'You'll come and see me again, do you understand?' he said firmly.
'Yes, I'll come and see you again,' she replied.
'Tomorrow morning, come here tomorrow morning and I'll fuck you, Marianne.'
Clicking his fingers, he stood up to answer the door. 'Sorry about this,' he smiled as the bell rang again. 'I forgot a friend was coming to see me.'
'Oh, that's all right,' Marianne smiled as she climbed to her feet. 'I'd better be going, anyway.'
Seeing her out through the back door, Rod eyed her shapely thighs as she wandered down the garden path. 'We'll meet again, I hope,' he called as the doorbell rang once more.
'I expect so,' she replied, opening the gate and escaping into the park, her vagina urgent in its craving for satisfaction.
Another conquest, she mused, wandering back to the bench. The evening breeze cooling her swollen vaginal lips, she sat down, gazing at the ducks drifting around the pond. I've got an evening of sex to endure, she thought, wondering what Barry had constructed, what hideously beautiful device he intended to use on her.
Unaware of the time, she relaxed in the early evening sun, contemplating her new way of life, her blatant debauchery, her trickery. Whichever way her relationship with Barry went didn't matter now t
hat she'd found Rod. Sod Barry. Closing her eyes, picturing the stranger licking between her legs, she fell asleep - her body exhausted, her mind awash with sex.
Finally arriving home at ten, Marianne found Barry in the lounge. 'Where the hell have you been?' he asked angrily, looking up from his armchair. 'I was worried about you!' Worried about your ruined evening, more than likely, she thought, sitting on the sofa.
'Well, where have you been?'
'Walking,' she replied, her thoughts swirling with images of Rod, her secret master.
'Bloody hell, Marianne! You could have told me you were going out. Jill and her friend came round to see you. They were very upset.'
'Were they? Oh well, there's always tomorrow evening.'
'That's not the point. You can't invite friends round and then go off out. What took you so long?'
She suddenly realized that, if the word worked and Barry sent her into an hypnotic trance, she would reveal her clandestine relationship and ruin everything. Thinking quickly, she smiled.
'Actually, I ran into a girl I was at school with. We had a drink, chatting about the old days, and I completely lost track of the time.'
'Oh, I see. Well, you'd better apologize to Jill.'
'Yes, I'll ring her in the morning. So, how was your client?'
'Client? Oh, yes. Er... I didn't bother in the end. I was worrying about you so...'
'You don't have to worry about me, Barry. Anyway, I'm going to bed - I don't feel too well.'
'I'll come up, too.'
'No, let me get to sleep first. I feel awful.'
Climbing the stairs, praying that Barry wouldn't follow and force her to endure hours of perverted sex, Marianne slipped her clothes off and climbed under the quilt. Closing her eyes, her fingers toying between her full vaginal lips, she fell into a deep sleep, dreaming about her conquests - and her future exploits.