"Wife turned on" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brown Heather)

CHAPTER FIVE

My weekly sessions with Dr. Higgins did wonders for my spirit. His brand of therapy was just what I needed. Even though Don was still as cold as ever; I was still convinced things were improving.

However, all along I was riding for a fall. In the psychological rebuilding process I had allowed myself to completely ignore the fact that I was still dependent on my husband. Don was paying the bills, and if he decided I had had enough psychiatry that was the end of it.

Looking back, I can see how naive I was. It was stupid of me to expect that Don would keep pouring money into my doctor bills, no matter how much I felt the psychiatrist helped me, when he couldn't see any direct benefits for himself.

It was certainly true enough that Don had been the one to insist that I see Dr. Higgins, however that hardly meant he was at all sophisticated about psychiatry.

Dr. Higgins charged $75 an hour. Considering the low esteem in which my husband held me since I'd been tarnished in his eyes by rape, there was no way he was going to think I was worth that kind of money.

Perhaps if Don had just come flat-out and told me the news, I might have been able to accept the end to my therapy without an extreme reaction. However, such was not the case, and the way in which I learned the news was devastating.

"It's as simple as this, Mrs. Randall," I was told when I reported for my weekly session. "I'm not running a charity clinic here."

"But, Bob," I protested, shaken by the fact that he hadn't called me Mary as much as anything.

"Dr. Higgins," he sternly corrected me, bringing me down even more so I felt about the size of an ant. "I can only be on a first-name basis when I'm getting paid. Otherwise, I'm afraid a more formal approach is necessary – that way the former patient won't get any incorrect ideas about our status."

It was chilling the way he pronounced the word "former". He made it sound like he was not a psychiatrist talking to a patient, but a judge passing sentence on a criminal.

For several moments I was speechless with shock. During that time I mentally reviewed everything that had happened in the office in which I suddenly felt like such an intruder.

"But the love-making…" I blurted when I could no longer stand the pressure in my skull. "How can you just throw it all aside?"

"You're forgetting that any intimacies we've shared are merely part of the treatment," he replied coldly. "Obviously, there's no way such therapy can continue without proper payment."

I reeled from the impact of his words. The only way I would steady myself was to get angry and blurt: "In other words, no money, no fucking!"

"My professional ethics prevent me from putting it that way, Mrs. Randall," he answered smugly, not in the least affected by my ire. "But you have hit the nail on the head."

"Then you're saying I've meant nothing to you except $75 an hour." I dared to speak the ugly truth.

"I am the doctor and you are the patient," he said, starting to sound like a cash register instead of a person to me. "Like it or not, psychiatry is just a business like anything else. You wouldn't expect your plumber to give you service without proper payment, so there's no reason why, you should expect the same from your psychiatrist. Good afternoon, Mrs. Randall."

There was no point in arguing with him. It was over between us. In fact, I suspected that had I continued to protest he would have signaled to his receptionist to call the police.

Somehow I managed to hold my tears until I hit the street. However, once I was outside the tears flowed uncontrollably. Passers-by were looking at me like I was some kind of freak. Needless to say, nobody bothered to stop and ask if they could help.

Embarrassed by my breakdown, I ducked into a mid-town alley so I could escape all the cruelly prying eyes. The environment in which I found myself perfectly matched the way I felt – crummy, bleak and uncared for.

Leaning with my back against one brick wall, I looked through tear-tilled eyes at the graffiti streaked on the wall opposite from me. Trying to compose myself, I forced myself to concentrate on the crudely scrawled messages.

They were all obscene, of course, further proof of what a down-at-the-heels, sleazy place the inner city had become. It seemed like everybody with a piece of chalk in their pocket or a can of spray paint had a dirty mind.

For some reason the item that eventually caught my attention was not a worded construction, but a drawing. Some amateur pornographer had recorded his impression of two people fucking. Needless to say, there were no faces – just a huge cock buried two-thirds of the way within a spread-legged pussy.

Considering my devastated state, I was abnormally attracted by the obscene drawing before me. Even after I'd stopped crying, I couldn't take my eyes off of it, and couldn't stop thinking about it.

The drawing seemed not just chalk lines but practically a reflection of the real thing. In fact, the cock actually seemed to be moving up and down in the cunt. I watched it and watched it as though I eventually expected cum to fly before my eyes, the way it had when I had watched myself in the mirror being fucked by the psychiatrist I had so depended upon to make me feel like something more than a piece of shit.

I was so absorbed that I didn't even hear the voice from the street until its owner walked into the alley. It was only when I heard the scuffling of footsteps through the rubble in the alley that I turned to my right and realized that I was not alone.

"Hey, lady," a young sailor said, "what're you hanging around here for?" The way he said it I suspected he had already drawn his own conclusions.

I didn't know what to say. I thought of just leaving, pushing past him and getting out on the street where there were a lot of other people and he wouldn't dare try anything funny with me.

However, when I took a step I abruptly froze. The wetness I felt when my thighs scraped together was so shocking that my determination dissolved. Like it or not, the dirty drawing on the wall had made my pussy soaking wet.

The sailor laughed when he saw me stop in my tracks, as though he knew the reason for it. An eerie feeling came over me that I was no longer in control of either the situation or myself.

"How much do you want for a blow-job?"

Realizing he thought I was hanging out in the alley because he thought I was a whore, I was speechless.

"I'll give you ten bucks if you cop my joint," he said breezily. "Five more if you swallow my cum."

I started to back away. But when I did, I heard my cunt squish and I stopped. It was so loud the sailor couldn't help but hear it too.

"If your pussy's wet, I'll fuck you too," he grinned. "The way your box sounds maybe you ought to pay me."

Then, as I stood transfixed, he began rapidly undoing the buttons on the fly of his uniform. All of a sudden I found myself gazing at a big, stiff prick, already drooling with a glob of cum.

Closing the space between us, he shoved the head of his cock into my stomach like a knife. Then, without warning, he delivered a karate-chop to the back of my neck. I fell to my knees like I'd been shot.

"Suck, baby, suck!" His boyishness turned to growling meanness. "I'm not used to being teased by whores."

When he raised my hand again, I feared my neck might be broken if I didn't cooperate. There seemed no choice but to do as he said. Obediently I closed my lips over his hard prick.

"Okay, bitch, that's better," he rasped. "Now take me all the way down to my nuts. Deep throat me or I'll leave you lying here like the rest of the trash in this alley."

Fearing for my life, I began to fuck him with my mouth the way I had originally learned from the rapist. A stranger to cock-sucking until a few months ago, now I was able to take one all the way down my throat.

I tried to hate what I was doing, but factors beyond my control were conspiring against me.

Having involuntarily become horny before the sailor ever stepped into the alley, I was unable to restrain my runaway senses from responding with twitching excitement to over ten inches of male meat. A prisoner of my female reflexes, I couldn't help but suck his big cock in earnest.

By the time my lips were nibbling against his balls, the pussy juice was streaming down my thighs. My cunt was so wet it was as though my panties weren't even there. Glancing downward, I saw that the ground was getting damp from the constant dripping between my legs.

Because the sailor was young, perhaps not even out of his teens, he was as randy as a stallion. He was ready to come only seconds after his prick was hilted in my mouth.

Slamming his pelvis into my face, he shot his wad without further delay. The steaming ball of his molten cum hit my stomach like a meteor.

He was by far the youngest man I'd ever blown, and the taste of his jizz showed it. Much sweeter, thicker and voluminous than either the rapist's or Dr. Higgins', it broiled in the pit of my belly with the raw energy of youth.

When he pulled out, his cock was as hard as ever. I'd read about the capacity of young men to tirelessly perform, and now I was obviously going to get a first-hand demonstration.

"Are you ready to fuck me, baby?" he leered, proudly stroking his stiff, dripping tool.

At this point I felt utterly defeated. Totally intimidated by his sexual vigor; I nodded my head.

"Then get on your hands and knees," he directed. "I want to fuck you like you're a bitch in heat. The way the animals do it on the farm back home."

When I hesitated, he pushed me down. Groveling on the filthy ground, I avoided his kicks only by raising myself to all fours and distracting him by pointing my ass in his face.

"That's better," he said, leaning over to lift up my dress. "Now spread your legs so I can get to your pussy."

I could feel my twat burning like a huge sore as I parted my thighs. His fingers slipped under the crotch of my ruined panties and tore them away like tissue paper.

"Will you look at that!" he enthused. "That's gotta be the hairiest, wettest pussy I've ever seen. No wonder you became a whore, with a snatch like that."

Then he stopped talking and started fucking. His cock's aim was true and swift and soon the throbbing head seemed to be reaming out my womb.

While he screwed me from the rear, he clawed his hands under my torso and ripped my blouse and bra away. Seizing my drooping tits, he squeezed them like he was milking a cow back on that farm he'd mentioned. I was certain they'd be black and blue tomorrow.

His prick was sticking me so deeply that it seemed to engage a whole network of nerves devoted entirely to fucking. Just as my reflexes made my knee jerk when it was hit, I now began to automatically wiggle my ass. An orgasm was starting to uncontrollably build at the crux of my being.

"Boy, you really wanted it, didn't you?" he panted, as he pounded away. "I've never been with a whore who needed to fuck so bad."

There was no way I could deny the truth of what he said. I began to accept the fact that my subconscious must have lured me into the alley, knowing that eventually some man would assume my body was for hire.

Even the part about me being a prostitute seemed pointless for me to defend myself against. After all, wasn't I acting just like one?

"Fuck me, fuck me," I gasped. "Fuck me harder… harder. Make me earn my money."

There was no doubt that he intended to. His cock was screwing me to the hilt, his balls churning hotly against my clit because of the upside-down position of my body. My pussy was being stimulated to the maximum, both inside and out.

Still, I was greedy for more. In having sex with this anonymous sailor, I felt I was proving something to all the people who had used me and then rejected me lately.

The rapist, those two cops, my husband, Dr. Higgins – they'd all taken advantage of me. Then they'd abandoned me once I was no longer of any use to them.

Even Ann in her own way had been an offender. In the final analysis, she had put her own needs before mine and left me.

But in the alley with this teenage sailor I felt like I was in charge. I had something he wanted and he had to pay for it. The money he was going to give me for fucking said to me that my cunt could still be under my control if I just set my mind to it.

Of course, when he had no more cum to shoot, the sailor would leave, too. However, that would be because I was through with him, not vice-versa. He'd leave the alley with a drained set of balls – and I'd leave tingling with the afterglow of orgasm, and several dollars richer.

Therefore, in light of my mental state, it was no wonder that I kept urging him on to screw me harder and harder, deeper and deeper. His hard, straight cock in my cunt seemed to prove to me that I was capable of being a hot-blooded woman, if I put my mind to it, rather than a doormat.

Responding to my greedy lust, I urged him to remove one of his hands from my tits and take care of my ass. "Finger my butt," I urged. "Stick as many of them as you can inside and ream me out."

It was easy for him to do because in my kneeling position my anus was gaping. Not only that, it was wet inside, its walls oozing like those of my pussy. The way I felt, if I had a hole, it had to be penetrated by something, or I'd walk away from the encounter feeling cheated.

Fortunately, the sailor's fingers were long and slim, and their owner was eager to handle some juicy ass. He got three digits in with such ease on the first try that it seemed only natural for me to encourage him to insert the last two.

"Your whole hand," I groaned. "Fuck my asshole with your whole hand."

After he did as I asked without too much trouble, I still wasn't satisfied. Even though I'd never even fantasized about such a practice, it now seemed perfectly natural for me to beg him to fist-fuck me. I wanted those tough, young knuckles all the way up in my shit-gurgling bowels.

Now he was plugging me in both of my tight holes – his cock to the hilt in my cunt, his fist to the wrist in my butt. I was having orgasms in both canals, not to mention the electric tingling from his gouging caress of my hanging tits.

When he came, it settled nothing. As his scalding spunk spewed to the center of my being, I immediately became interested in how I could take advantage of his youth to make him do it a third time.

I'd had his dick in my mouth. Then my cunt. Wasn't it time for some male juice in the tightest hole of all?

"Switch!" I cried as he squeezed off the last flood of jizz in my pussy. "Put your fist in my cunt and your prick in my ass."

Still as hard as a rock, his boner pulled from my twat and raised its throbbing sights a notch. Then his fist came ripping from my crap-chute with a deafening pop and the transference was taking place.

Steely cock-head crushed against the ridges of my anus, knuckles against my pussy lips. "Push, push!" I squealed.

He did. Penetration in both holes was instantaneous. It felt even better this way.

Even though my asshole had been thoroughly widened from the previous arrangement, the sailor's cock was still a tight fit. And his pumping fist in my cunt was brutally divine. It seemed incredible to me that I had had these two holes for so long and had never employed them to the maximum until now. Even my bye affair with Ann had not seen sex this raw.

Within me I could feel his knuckles moving upward in my cunt colliding with his prick moving downward in my ass. When they chafed together through meaningless tissue my climax accelerated to new heights. I felt like I was flying.

I waited until he was in both holes as far as he could go, then began undulating my hips and begging for a third ejaculation. "Come in my ass!" I screamed. "Make my ass as sticky and wet as you made my mouth and pussy!"

He grunted like an enraged bull making a deadly pass at a matador. Then he gored me with liquid – the liquid of his third eruption of cum. It was even hotter, thicker and grosser than either of his previous two eruptions.

Shit had been boiling in my colon all along. Now it seemed to catch on fire, ignited by the molten results of the sailor's spurting prick. There was just so Goddamn much male lava!

I was thrilled to know I'd be crapping male goo for days. When I put the toilet paper to my ass after my morning bowel movement, there'd be as much creamy white stuff as stinking brown stuff.

And what made it best of all was that the spermy condition of my rectum would be my secret. I'd say so long to this sailor and never see him again. After he was gone, out of my life forever, his cum would belong to me alone.

To hell with the rest of them, I thought, as one gloppy spurt after another filled my colon. I'd get this guy's juice, his money, then I'd walk out of the alley a free and independent woman.

Up until this affair in the alley, I'd always assumed that whores were fallen women. However, with a trick's jizz spurting up my anus, and the remains of two previous outpourings sticking in my craw and cunt, it seemed to me that the cheapest hustler had more say-so over her life than the most respectable wife and mother.

When the spurting in my ass had stopped and the sailor's prick had gone limp, the power of my body abruptly ceased. Getting to my feet to receive my money, I found myself facing an entirely different person than the eager teenager willing to give me anything I wanted.

The guy who had fucked me in three holes had suddenly become a man. A hard-bitten one more concerned with male dominance than in rewarding me for the pleasure my willing body had provided him.

"Where's my money?" I asked when I realized he wasn't coming across with it.

"I don't pay for it," he coldly said.

Suddenly I felt like a silly fool. There was no point in even protesting. How could I have been so dumb?

The fist that had so joyously reamed my butt and cunt became a weapon. Leaping from his side, it closed the gap between us in a blur and cracked against my jaw bone.

With my senses an instant jumble, I crashed to the ground. Then the bastard took ahold of his now wilted cock and pissed all over me.

I'll never forget the last words I heard from him before I mercifully passed out: "If I get the clap, I'm coming back to find you. You better hope you're clean because I'll beat the slit out of you, you filthy pig."