The Marquis, Freud, and a Shrink

Alex had earlier in the evening won a dance contest at an abandoned strip joint; it had been taken over by an outlaw motorcycle gang before being gutted and remodeled. It still featured a stage, runway, and sound system. Her passionate performance earned her first prize, and the honor of sleeping with Stone, the president of the local chapter of the Gypsy Jokers.

Stone, after arriving at his hillside home above Universal City, plied Alex with dope and booze, sending her into a mind numbing high before being joined by Rocky, Stone's best friend and roommate. The two men smoked, drank, and told erotic tales, before easing Alex into an intense ménage a trios. The two burly men ravished her body, leaving her quivering, panting, lost in a drugged induced haze. Rocky, exhausted, excused himself, saying he was tired, satiated by the wild fucking.

Stone hugged and comforted the young realtor, soothing her before springing his biggest surprise. Still quaking from her first threesome, Alex was introduced to the dungeon. The burly biker gingerly led the trembling woman down a flight of stairs, and through a security door. He switched on a series of indirect lights, revealing a house of mirrors. Stone moved slowly, but deliberately, through the converted basement, lighting an array of candles. The flickering candlelight played tricks on the eye, creating a shadowy world of reflected images, bouncing off the mirrored walls, creating a fuzzy, dreamlike world.

Alex stood in the middle of the room, body still bathed in the sensual aftermath of hot physical sex, her first taste of being ravished by two men simultaneously. Her trembling legs sent slight shivers throughout her body, causing her full breasts to sway. Her erect nipples, and flawless, blemish free olive skin glowed in the near darkness, creating an image of erotic perfection. Her physical gifts, full breasts, flat stomach, and fleshy but pouting ass, were perfected by the mirrored candlelight.

"Join me, Alex, I have a story." Stone motioned her to share the elevated bed. The only wall without mirrors was behind the headboard. There, on a poster, the word's "Justine's bed" was inscribed above the image of a shy young girl, smiling demurely as if she were hiding a secret.

Alex cautiously accepted the biker's invitation, mesmerized not only by his commanding voice, but also by the playful candlelight. She leaned back on an oversized pillow, her boozed and drug filled mind struggling to focus the shifting images.

"Have you read the Marquis de Sade," Stone said, flashing Alex a sly grin.

"A little, in college, in my human sexuality class."

"He is my philosophical guru."

"What? I thought sadism was his thing."

"Perhaps, but there's much more to the Marquis. He once boasted," Stone said, "that morality is nothing more than fashion."

"So, right and wrong are only what's in style?" Alex's murmured, her cognitive functions numbed, overwhelmed by the booze, dope, and most of all, her bodily needs.

"That's only part of it. Alex, nirvana is here. We can only be happy and enjoy our true nature when we are freed from all moral and social restraint." Stone lay back, briefly savoring the Marquis words, and then added, "He wrote that his novel Justine was a work capable of corrupting the devil."

"Oh my, that's sounds wicked," Alex said, less aware of Stone's words than the mesmerizing play of reflected candlelight.

Stone reached over and cradled Alex to his muscular chest, softly stroking her hair. His large, calloused hands gradually moved down her neck and shoulders, followed by soft, moist kisses. His lips found her swollen breasts, tonguing her erect nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through her numbed body. She was immobilized, captured by his hypnotic message and the surrealistic scene. Stone's sexual dungeon had propelled her into a netherworld.

Stone slowly slid off the bed, reached for a lit candle, and waved it gently above her heaving breasts. "I have something to heighten our senses. Watch!" Stone carefully dipped the candle, splashing hot candle wax on his chest. He smiled, and then moaned, "Fucking erotic! Now, your turn."

Alex grimaced, then flinched, as the hot wax splashed on her quivering abs. Stone grinned, waited for the candle wax to pool, and then lightly splashed her breasts. "Oh, fuck. What are you doing?"

"Patience, my Justine."

"What?" Alex was puzzled by the Justine reference.

"Role playing, my dear. Tonight, you are my Justine."

"God help me," she blurted.

"If there's a God, he's smiling down at us."

Stone slid on the bed, lazily dripping hot wax around her fleshy breasts. He picked up two larger lit candles, playfully splashing candle wax on her erect nipples. When the wax first met her silky skin, Alex grimaced, then shuddered. As she grew accustomed to the initial shock, she discovered a warm sensation spreading across her chest, bursting into a fireball, touching off sparks of intense pleasure. The fireball of pleasure exploded somewhere deep within her, sending shockwaves of sensual heat to her erogenous zones. Her breasts and cunt burned with a mixture of heat and pleasure. Alex was on fire.

Stone stared into her glazed, out of focused eyes, moist with tears of erotic joy, before smothering her soft lips with his. He probed her willing mouth, causing the young widow to moan, suddenly blurting, "Oh, fuck." Stone eagerly explored her soft skin and voluptuous curves, savoring every corner of her willing body.

After long moments of heavy panting from the sensual foreplay, Stone pulled a silk scarf from a nearby table. He teasingly trailed the scarf over her trembling breasts, hips, and thighs, finally coming to rest on her shaved pussy. He toyed with her clit, dancing the opened scarf about her labia, slowly slicing her gash with its softness. Alex's thighs became moist, fluids streaming from her tingling cunt.

Stone held back the silk scarf, replacing its softness with his moist tongue. He worked her cunt, first gently licking the labia and clit, then plunging his fleshy tongue deep within her gushing cunt, nearly drowning in her juices. While Alex panted her approval, Stone slowly inserted the scarf into her ass, adroitly pushing the wad of silk deep into her rectum. Her moans intensified and hit a crescendo when Stone swiftly tugged on the scarf, yanking it free. Alex screamed, sensing she had been turned inside out.

The screams echoed off the mirrored walls of the dungeon, moving Stone to impale her with his manhood. He once again introduced the scarf into her ass, relentlessly pounding her, sending shock waves to every cell in her body. Time stood still, frozen by the intense passion. The incessant screams and guttural moans seemed to come from some wounded animal, far away, unnatural and unearthly.

Stone reared back, gathering strength for the finale, when Alex erupted, spewing forth a geyser of fluid, splashing Stone's chest and face. Volley after volley inundated the philosophical biker, bathing him with her love offering. He quickly followed, inundating her with copious amounts of his cum. The lovers collapsed in each other's arms, gasping for breath, bathed in the afterglow of pure lust. Alex now knew what Justine knew.

Alex awoke, confused as to time and place. She pushed herself up, squinting at the man sprawled next to her. It dawned on her; she was in the basement dungeon of an outlaw biker fond of the Marquis de Sade.

Alex silently crept upstairs, dressed, and drove home. The first rays of morning sunlight lit the Hollywood Hills. She would be home in minutes.

* * *

The next two weeks Alex put in ten-hour days, burying any thoughts of her troubled personal life under a mountain of work. The competitive world of real estate, once again, consumed every minute of her day. She sternly rebuffed Clay's advances at the office, and ended her brief affair with Todd and Stone. The two Gypsy Jokers left her feeling dirty, disgusted, and ashamed. She had crashed into an abysmal sinkhole, lacking any sense of self. She was depressed.

After sleepless nights, filled with obsessive thoughts about sexual degradation and plummeting self-esteem, she sought out professional help. She had a four o'clock appointment with Dr. Hermann Hartman.

She sat nervously in the waiting room, having seconds thoughts about seeing a shrink. Her conservative parents distrusted psychiatrists, psychologists, and the entire world of psychobabble. The "Good Book," they reminded her daily, had all the answers.

An inner door opened. A tall, dark haired man emerged, smiled, and pointed toward his office. "Alexandria, please come in."

"Thanks."

Dr. Hartman waited for her to take the sofa before sinking his tall, lean frame into a wingback chair, holding a clipboard to his chest. "Do you mind if we tape our session?"

"No, as long as it stays confidential."

"Absolutely. So why are you here, Alexandria?"

"Please, call me Alex.

"Good call. I like that." Dr. Hartman's kind eyes conveyed a sense of calm, the very thing she needed.

Alex spoke of her ten-year marriage, her husband's death, about how'd he been cruelly snatched from her by lung cancer, her year of morning, and her busy professional life as a realtor.

"It sounds as if you are doing fine, coping well with both your professional and personal life. A year of heartache and loneliness, all part of the healing process." Dr. Hartman paused, searched her eyes, looking for the real story.

He was a committed analyst, eclectic in his approach to therapy, employing a "bag of tricks," as he called it, but favoring Freud for sexual issues. He valued and honored doctor/patient ethical principles, faithfully abiding by the moral tenets of his profession. But, he had his own demons. He loved beautiful women, especially voluptuous brunettes. He had a thing for small boned women with fleshy tits and ass; he was especially drawn to women with silky smooth skin. He had successfully repressed his libidinous side, working overtime, sublimating his carnal desires, giving into lust only in his fantasies, and occasional raunchy role-playing sessions with his long time girlfriend.

Alex eventually alluded to the sexual debauchery of the last few months. After the fourth weekly session with her shrink, she had revealed, in vivid detail, her lured affairs, detailing her dungeon experience with Stone. The account of the strip show, the life style of the Gypsy Jokers, and descriptions of her wild sexual adventures, unleashed a flood of desire for both patient and doctor.

He was obsessed with Alex's sexual escapades, convincing her to leave nothing out, pushing her to reveal all. One afternoon, he caught her glimpsing his groin, sensing she could see the outline of his manhood. He shifted in his seat, trying to push his hard cock down his pant leg, self-consciously trying to conceal it from her. Dr. Hartman wasn't sure whether she was merely looking down, pausing, gathering her thoughts, or gazing at his hard cock. The unknown only made him harder.

The shrink rose from the wingback chair and grabbed his suit jacket in one quick motion, trying to conceal his enraged cock. "Alex, next week I'm delivering a paper at a conference in Santa Monica. Could we meet in the hotel lobby, go somewhere close for our session? It's an important conference. It's at the Hilton on Ocean Blvd."

"That will work. I've business in Santa Monica that afternoon. Okay, I'll see you at five."

"Excellent. We are nearing a break through."

"I truly hope so." Alex flashed the doctor a sensual smile, and quickly closed the door, leaving Dr. Hartman hard and horny.

Alex chose to dress more provocatively today, her skirt and blouse revealing more flesh than usual. She consciously shed the more conservative dress for business sake, trying to appeal to a couple of male clients. A little flirtation can grease the stubborn, lumbering wheels of business. Unconsciously, Alex was feeling antsy, sexually frustrated, in need of a fix.

Dr. Hartman was engaged in a conversation with two elderly gentlemen when she arrived at the oceanfront Hilton. She waited until they finished, then approached. "Good evening Dr. Hartman. How was the conference?"

"Okay, but I'm glad its over. I need a drink."

"Won't that interfere with our counseling session?"

"Maybe. How about we call this a fun session? We'll suspend the doctor/patient relationship and blow off steam the old fashion way."

"Is this a good thing?" Alex flashed the doctor a skeptical look, frowning slightly, squinting her disapproval.

"Sure, but maybe we shouldn't meet in public." Dr. Hartman searched her eyes, trying to read her soul. It was risky, but he sensed Alex was vulnerable, ready for his sexual advances. It was dangerous, but he could control her. He knew what buttons to push to ensure she would never talk.

"Where do you want to go?" Alex looked confused.

"Your place. We can relax, freed from prying eyes and ears."

"That's unethical. I'm your client. I need your professional help."

"Alex, we can relax and talk. It will be good for both of us."

"You're the doctor." She acquiesced, moved by some unknown force. She rationalized that he knew what was good for her. He was, after all, her doctor.

Dr. Hartman followed Alex's Lexus through the Hollywood hills, enjoying the winding ride in his Mercedes convertible, arriving at her home as the sun sank into the Pacific. He used the bathroom, while Alex poured two glasses of cabernet. She visited her master bedroom and freshened up, applying lipstick, brushing her luxurious dark hair, before checking herself in the mirror. She looked good, she thought. Maybe after the doctor leaves, I'll soak in the Jacuzzi, fantasize, and pleasure myself, she mused as she moved toward the living room.

They savored their wine, talking freely about Alex's past, reliving some of her sexual adventures. He peppered their chat with probing questions, trying to discover Alex's true concerns. After several glasses of wine, Alex felt a chill, lit the gas log in the fireplace, and once again sank back on the sofa. Dr. Hartman had removed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing a tattoo on his left forearm. It was a rendering of Sigmund Freud. The inscription above Freud's head read, "What's on a woman's mind?"

"Alex, please stand up."

"What?"

"Please, just for a moment." He flashed Alex a reassuring smile.

Alex stood slowly, wobbling a bit in her pumps. "Now what?"

"Walk closer to the fire."

Alex walked near the fire, turned and watched the tall, dark haired doctor approach, his soft brown eyes traveling over her shapely legs, full breasts, and pouting ass. He pulled her to his hard body, gazed into her eyes, then slowly lowered his head for a hesitant kiss.

"No! This isn't right." Alex tried to push him away, but he was far too strong.

"Who said, this isn't right?"

"You're my doctor!"

"And I have the medicine of choice." He kissed her again, this time gently nibbling and licking her full lips. He moved his arms around her, pulling her close, feeling the fullness of her ample breasts pressing into his chest. His mouth became more insistent, pushing past her lips, engaging her smaller tongue in a lustful dance. His large hands moved down to her ass, grabbing, kneading the fleshy mounds, pushing his rigid cock into her midsection.

The doctor/patient couple stumbled to the sofa, sinking into its softness, passionately embracing. The living room was consumed by the lustful moans of forbidden sex. Dr, Hartman moaned his libidinous approval as Alex's full breasts spilled into view, glowing in the soft light of the burning fire.

The first round of sex was intensely physical, forceful foreplay, eager mouths consuming the erogenous zones, opening with wild, uninhibited French kissing, and ending with wet oral sex, her tongue lapping the head of his thick cock, his mouth moving her to a clitoral orgasm. He shoved her down hard, impaled her with is ever expanding cock, sending her over the edge the second time. Alex screamed, announcing her orgasm, chanting, "Cuming, cuming, oh fuck, I'm cuming." She clawed his back, digging in her nails, leaving long, deep scratches on his broad shoulders and back.

The second round was slower, more romantic, lasting over an hour, as the two tangoed in a sensual dance of carnal delight. They fucked in slow motion, gazing into each other's eyes, challenging the other not to climax. It was a tantalizing contest, each teasing the other, trying to prolong the erotic pleasure without going over the edge. In the end, the doctor won, sending Alex into a long, shuddering orgasm, rocking both of them for more than a minute.

Dr. Hartman left about midnight, leaving Alex alone to confront her inner demons. Perhaps the Marquis de Sade was right. We can be happy, enjoy our true inner nature, when freed from all moral and social restraint. Alex was freed at last, given permission by the high priest of modern society. Why? The doctor said so.

The End. Ah, but only the beginning for Alex!