Shrink

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does he want to watch? Or play?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

"What about something a little rougher?"

"How rough are we talking?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Like what?" I asked.

"Ropes, bondage."

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

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

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