The Sex Rehab Diaries: Rachel

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Dancing_Doll
Dancing_Doll
1,013 Followers

As I began to come out of my haze, I could hear the low rumble of excitement through the crowd of partygoers as they'd watched the incredible scene unfold. Tamara lay back, finally satiated on the sofa. Her eyes told the story; she had been impressed by my efforts. Not to be outdone by the moment, I smiled at her as I felt Conrad's softening cock slide out of my pussy, releasing a stream of cum that dripped from my pussy and began to puddle onto the marble floors.

Tamara smirked and I knew what she wanted. Like a good little slut, I leaned forward and lapped at her pussy in long strokes, like a dirty little kitty that could never be satisfied. I draw the juices from her folds and her soft skin and then leaned into the floor to lick the puddle of clear juices that I'd missed. Then I turned, still on my hands and knees and afforded her a view of my sore and raw pussy that her husband had just ravaged. I looked up at Conrad who was looming over me.

"Don't waste a single drop, Rachel," he reminded me.

I leaned down to the puddle of his cum and my juices still slick on the floor and ran my tongue, back and forth, sucking the warm cream up into my mouth until it was gone. Somehow, on my hands and knees in that room, collard and leashed, my face still glistening with juices and the taste of cum on my lips, I felt entirely free. My sexuality had finally come into its own. I was able to be who I really was and experience desires that had always been of my own choosing.

I looked around at the sea of faces, of men and women in various stages of undress. They were primal with bodies undulating and flushed skin and they looked at me with obvious arousal. I didn't have to say it; Conrad spoke for me.

"Enjoy her," he said to them.

From there, the night looses focus in my memory. I remember the hedonistic tangle of limbs, the tongues on my skin, the cum flooding my face and breasts and dripping down my belly. My fingers were pushed into warm wet pussies, and my cunt was filled with cock over and over again. I was a pleasure toy for everyone to use to fulfill urges and needs, and it was absolutely perfect.

So perfect that by the time the party had ended, I had entirely lost track of time and space. The goodbyes were unnecessary. We had all enjoyed every moment that had been shared that night.

The sun was almost rising by the time the limo dropped me off, a block away from my family home so as to not arouse suspicions. I run the remainder of the way home, enjoying the cold sting of air against my face, helping to cool the heat that had been burning within me all night. I quietly crept inside and snuck up the stairs without anyone noticing. It felt strange being back in that room as though the entire experience had been just a dream. I slept most of the next day, and when I came down the stairs, I was surprised to see my parents sitting at the kitchen table. My mother looked ashen and my father appeared furious.

"What is it?" I asked with concern.

"Where were you last night?" my father snapped.

"At a club... with my friends," I lied. "Look I know I got in a little late but..."

"Getting in late is the least of your problems, Rachel," he said, setting his blackberry down in front of me. "I received anonymous photos today from someone who wants money in exchange for not selling them to the media."

I stared at him blankly. "What?"

He pushed the phone towards me and I immediately opened the first couple of attachments and gasped at the shocking images of me from the previous night. There I was, naked in a cage, on my hands and knees and being led around by a leash with my face buried in Tamara's cunt while her husband fucked me from behind. Oh my god.

My eyes widened with shock as I looked back at my father's scornful expression.

"Do you realize what this will do to my campaign? To have lewd photos of a politician's daughter acting like a slut whore at some kind of pervert party? What were you thinking, Rachel? Even if I pay the blackmail money, there's always the possibility of these photos or some others leaking out at some point. To say nothing of the possibility that someone might have filmed this on their cell phone. No, we need to circumvent any potential damage that might result from this going public."

Guilty tears sprang to my eyes. "But how? What can I do?"

"You're going into Sex Rehab," he said with sudden finality. "If any of this leaks, we'll have to put on a united front as a family. We'll say that you had issues that you needed to deal with. You'll got treatment for your deviancy, and we can say that you're cured."

"Cured?" I cried incredulously, fighting back the urge to laugh.

"Rachel, this is not a matter of discussion. You will obey me."

I thought back to the previous evening, when I'd submitted to obeying a different kind of dominant force. One that had allowed me to indulge and even celebrate the real me. The resentment in me began to grow, even though I knew I had no choice but to go through with the charade of group therapy. The truth for me has always been simple. If repression is the cure, then quite simply, I didn't want it.

Back in the classroom at The Belleview Retreat for Sexual Health, I looked up from the pages of paper I was reading from. I felt bold with my resolution, feeling renewed frustration after having relived those moments being of being told to subjugate my feelings and desires once again.

"Some of you might think that that sex party cage was degrading," I said out loud. "But the cage I've been forced to live in for the sake of everyone else in my life has been the far more destructive force."

"Hell yes," the guy with the dark sunglasses shouted enthusiastically. "Fuck the rules, babygirl! This is your life. How can anyone else tell you how to live it?"

"Dexter," Dr Clark interrupted. "That's the wrong attitude to take here. Society's expectations are not the enemy. We are here to learn to work with them instead of against them."

"Look, with all due respect Doc, none of us have done anything wrong in this classroom. The only thing wrong is that we got caught... by friends, significant others, jilted wives, family, and in my case the almighty media machine."

"Media machine?" I echoed. I looked at him a little more carefully. There was something about Dexter that seemed strangely familiar. And then suddenly, hearing his name again made things click. Oh my god! Was that really Dexter Lloyd, the famous Hollywood actor? The one with the infamous party lifestyle and the crazy media personality?

"Dexter, you'll have plenty of time to share your story tomorrow," Dr Clark said, quickly standing up as though to take control of the classroom again. "Thank you Rachel, you can sit down for now. But let me assure you, group therapy is meant to help you, not to restrict who you really are."

Dexter chuckled. "Right," he muttered dryly, eliciting a look of disdain from Dr Clark.

I went back to my seat, but I couldn't take my eyes off him. I couldn't believe someone like him was in our group therapy class. I was immediately intrigued and excited to hear him tell his story next.

Dr Clark smiled. "Until our next class, please don't forget that sexual addiction is an affliction. And there is a cure. And I promise that you will find it here, so I congratulate you all for finally taking the step towards the path to recovery."

I barely even heard what she said; I was too happily distracted. Blah blah, group therapy and cures... I looked at Dexter and we both shared a rueful grin.

And just like that... our fourth therapy session was adjourned.

*** The End ***

Author's Note: The Sex Rehab Diaries is an ongoing series, featuring the intimate confessions of the patients of Dr Clark's group therapy class for sexual addictions at The Belleview Retreat for Sexual Health. Dexter's story is next...

Dancing_Doll
Dancing_Doll
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AnonymousAnonymous8 months ago

Hypersexuality is a real disorder treated as a form of sexual dysfunction. Would anyone WANT to start a marriage or extended relationship with a partner having this affliction? Hope not. It's not like a guy with erectile dysfunction, but a person that cannot control or manage a deep craving that would likely upend a family. I knew of this from my early academic career days when a star professor's wife was rumored to suffer from it, and it certainly explained her behavior that devastated an incredibly decent and dedicated man. He divorced her and ended up leaving the university from embarrassment.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 10 years ago
next part!!

Waiting for your next part.. just read all four and couldnt stop reading.. I have read all your stories but these seem to be the best.. really waiting for the next ones to come in.. am a fan of your writing and the details you mention..

verbicideverbicideabout 11 years ago
Alas it ends

Too bad the series ended here for all intents and purposes. This was such an erotic effort Dancing Doll and should you ever return, I'm sure I'm not alone in wanting to read more.

Azrael556Azrael556over 12 years ago

I particularly enjoyed "But the cage I've been forced to live in for the sake of everyone else in my life has been the far more destructive force."

I think that's the biggest fear a lot of us in the kink community have. "What if our family and friends knew?" Admittedly most of my remaining friends ARE, and I've been distant from my family (geographically) for decades. But John Ringo, the sci-fi writer who "came out of the dungeon" when he wrote the novel "Ghost", put it very well when he said BDSM is the "last of the loves that dare not speak its name."

It was another great read, Dancing Doll.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 13 years ago
great

great concept, great writing. good luck with publishing!

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