Dr Strangelust

What began as a flight of fancy for 21-year old English student nurse Emma Davis was fast developing into a dangerous obsession. No sooner had she finished reading the latest instalment of Dr Strangelust's ongoing saga than she was busily firing off an e-mail, sloppy cumstained fingers slipping all over the keys. ~Oh gosh, Dr Strangelust, Chapter IV made me the wettest yet...I'm literally trembling with desire~

The cute redhead paused momentarily, reading back over the words, her words, yet words it was impossible to believe SHE had just typed. Her mind must surely have blanked momentarily, for she would never have said that sort of thing to one of her most fervent lovers, let alone a complete stranger. And not only was he a complete stranger but, judging by the stories he posted, Dr Strangelust could possibly be the nastiest, filthiest and most deranged sex fiend imaginable. Despite all that, Emma felt an overwhelming urge to continue. ~Please, please, please, please, please post the next episode – and quick! Love Emma x~

She looked again at the message, barely recognising words more akin to some knicker-wetting schoolgirl's first crush than a grown woman who should know better. Arriving at a compromise between logic and lust, Emma erased a couple of the 'pleases' so as not to appear so desperate, allowing a finger that was still scented with her inner juices to hover over the return key. You can't send that, the cogent recesses of her brain contested, yet the treacherous digit touched the pad irrespective, sending the message spiralling into cyberspace. Little did Emma realise, as her heart pounded ardently, that her life would follow a similar downward spiral over the coming days.

That task out of the way, Emma lay back on the bed and enjoyed a half-hour snooze before being awoken by lust. Ingesting more of the good doctor's prose, these were words and phrases that seemed to soak to the very core, not just getting inside her head but her entire body. Over the past week she had discovered sensuous nerve ends in places she never thought existed, from the very tips of her toes tingled to the ends of her hair that seemed to dance with electricity. When she read, her entire body took on a rosy glow.

And what a lovely body it was too. Standing 5'2 in her favourite white pumps, the demure redhead was blessed with a deliciously curvaceous pair of boobs and a peachy bottom. "Oh doctor, doctor, doctor," she sighed out loud, absorbing a few more sentences of the story before clamping shut her eyes to visualise the scene.

So powerful was the writing that she had no choice than to allow her imagination to run wild, almost as if it were beyond her control. Yet perhaps what made the story all the more erotic and, not to say personalised, was that the main character in the story was also called Emma. Coincidence perhaps, it was that connection that had drawn her to it in the first instance, subsequently hooked her in and, from that point forward, kept her completely rapt over four wet chapters.

Though looking back it seemed longer, it was a week ago that she'd discovered the EMC Writers' Site, the initials standing for 'Erotic Mind Control', after Kara had borrowed her laptop. Evidently her housemate was a fan too.

In the story that was fast reaching its stark and uncompromising conclusion, however, the main character Emma could hardly be more different. An unfulfilled housewife of 26, she had taken to corresponding with a prisoner called Max Jenner, serving an eight-year stretch for aggravated rape. Though Emma (the one in story) was appalled by the crime, secretly she craved the danger, constantly fantasising about what Max might do upon his release.

For some unaccountable reason, that struck a chord with her namesake the reader, though Emma probably wouldn't have cared to admit it had she not been drinking heavily one night a couple of weeks back...

* * *

Though they'd been together in the shared house for several months, Emma and her housemates had engaged in minimal socialising. At 21, Emma had deferred going into the medical profession for two years to enjoy instead the pleasures of travelling whilst she was still young. Hence, she was a little older than the other four she shared the huge gothic-looking house with. But, on that particular night, she'd been persuaded to go out to celebrate Rick's birthday. The pub inevitably led to a nightclub and, arriving back home collectively plastered, a drunken game of Truth or Dare ensued.

Harmless fun at first, unsurprisingly the topics took a decided turn after the vodka came out, finding their way around to secret unfulfilled fantasies. Jess and David, who had become an item, confessed almost in unison to fantasising about a threesome. sadly, Jess favoured an MMF and David an FFM so, by morning, the idea turned as cold as the coffee left on the mantelpiece overnight.

Attention turned to the other female housemate, Kara, a petite black girl with closely braided hair, big brown eyes and full lips. When cajoled into revealing HER secret unfulfilled desire, she confided to harbouring exhibitionist fantasies, a craving to have sex in a public place or the great outdoors and risking discovery. The black beauty shuffled her backside to give her labia air to breathe, the delicious thought having evidently travelled quickly from brain to pussy.

All eyes turned to Emma who had to admit Kara's fantasy appealed to her too. In fact, the very idea had also made her very hot indeed, and not just a little wet. Yet it was unoriginal and the others barracked her harshly, bemoaning a lack of imagination and forcing her to come up with a fresh idea to satisfy their curiosity.

As Emma mulled it over, birthday boy Rick, the youngest and quietest of the group made a drunken confession that forced them all to view him in a new light. His desire, he confided, was to have his very own sex slave. The others guffawed somewhat cruelly and Emma found herself giggling at the irony. The poor lad couldn't even find a girlfriend, let alone some willing young sub.

And then it was back to Emma once more. Even in her drunken state, it hadn't escaped her that, as the fantasies progressed around the group, they'd become ever more daring, not to say extreme. No, she couldn't admit to THAT, could she? The words didn't actually seem to come from her own mouth or, if they had, they were intercepted somewhere between brain and vocal chords, as she confessed to her secret rape fantasy. The others' breaths held tight, Emma elucidated how it might be a burglar or a friend of a friend that found her alone in the house at night and had his evil way. Immediately she regretted having been so candid, heading straight to bed and hiding her shame beneath the covers.

* * *

That was a fortnight ago. Now Emma slouched on the bed revisiting Chapter IV whilst pleasuring herself a second time. She couldn't help but imagine that was her in the story, a delicious thought.

A series of inevitable twists and turns along the way, the heroine of the story was eagerly awaiting the outcome of Max the rapist's interview with the parole board. A favourable outcome and he could be a free. The neglected housewife could almost feel his muscled body on hers and smell his sweat. God only knew what four years of pent-up lust could do to a man. The girl reading the story felt it too, flicking her clit repeatedly with an urgent fingertip.

Yet, as the story progressed before her eyes, it transpired that Max was denied parole. He was still deemed to be a threat to women by the doctors and psychologists. In a cruel twist of fate, the bored housewife then took to allowing herself to be fucked senseless by the estranged husband she abhorred, if only to stem the burgeoning desires. In a way it helped that he hated her equally, his thrusts into her wanton cunt deep and uncaring, rough and painful. As he fucked her, the Emma in the story imagined it was Max the rapist. When her husband bit her neck, she came harder than in eight years of marriage.

Deep down of course she probably didn't really desire Max at all, pandering purely to her lust and crazy fantasies. In fact, if she happened to meet such a vile person who treated women in the way he did, she'd doubtless run a mile. She planned to stop corresponding soon, and was secretly relieved to hear his parole had been rejected, especially as his desires were becoming ever more extreme. Yet could she escape his clutches so easily when Max had built up such a close profile of his lustful female pen pal that he knew more or less where to find her?

The last sentence forced the reading Emma to experience a second incredible orgasm that evening which jolted her body. Just when the weeks passed and the housewife thought she'd heard no more, a latest letter arrived from Max. The usual misogynous claptrap, it signed off somewhat alarmingly: 'Just so you know, I'm going over the wall tonight, Emma. And then, believe me, I'll be coming to find you.'

"The bitch deserves it, the little pricktease," the student nurse mouthed to herself, before suppressing the guilt of the unwarranted outburst.

But then, that was the effect Dr Strangelust's story had on her.

After doing some washing and ironing, Emma returned to the laptop. Exhaling hard, she saw thater e-mail inbox had one new item in it. Despite three similar pieces of feedback sent after previous chapters, this was the first time she'd been deigned with a reply. Emma's heart pounded hard into an ample left breast, her brow was glazed and her fingers shook over the return button. A tentative push and the message filled the screen.

As she read, Emma savoured the words, hearing his voice – or the voice she imagined, all baritone and confident – in her head. ~Thank you for your messages of support, Emma~ the first line read, and she shook at the mere mention of her name from one so revered and who had quickly assumed an iconic status in her life. ~I'm glad to hear you're enjoying the story~

"Oh I am," she mouthed aloud, tongue tip gliding over a set of pearly white teeth and unable almost to resist the temptation to touch her heaving breasts.

Cupping beneath their generous expanse, the horny redhead pushed the two orbs together to form an imperious-looking cleavage in the partially unbuttoned blouse.

~Feedback like yours makes it all worthwhile~ continued the message. ~In fact it's the lifeblood, if you like, of us amateur writers~

Oh, you couldn't have put it better she thought to herself, apart from the 'amateur' bit. This was a true professional at work and she for one would gladly pay good money to read more. "You're welcome, so welcome," she groaned, as thumb and forefinger clamped tight upon a left nipple that was as pink and perky as a puppy's nose.

The erect teat throbbed like crazy as Emma rolled it first one way then the other, marvelling at the feel of her own hands. A thousand, maybe more, times she'd done this to herself in the past, but never before with the intensity she was experiencing now. It was as if it were the good doctor's sure fingers on her bulging nipples. That thought alone very nearly pushed her over the edge for the third time in as many hours.

~Rest assured I'm busy writing the next instalment and it won't be long, I promise~

Emma found her right hand roving, almost of its own accord, down the flat plane of her belly. Reaching the elasticated hem of her panties, a set of uncontrollable fingers ventured inside to make the guilt-ridden discovery that she was soaked through again. The crotch of the panties was glued fast to her sticky little shaven vagina. Aroused beyond return, the last line of the e-mail caused her breathing to race crazily and an orgasm to pulse through her body before she'd even had a chance to touch the rapidly-swelling clit.

~If you sign up to the link below, perhaps we can chat soon on a one-to-one...and who knows...?~

Emma clicked the link immediately, spending the next few minutes creating a profile she hoped Dr Strangelust would approve of. Her user name was wetemma80. A cursory glance at the members' menu revealed none that fitted the good doctor's profile but, just to make absolutely sure, she typed a public message: ~Dr Strangelust, are you here?~

A dozen replies came back from various assorted perverts, none of whom matched the wit or intellect of the only man she had a desire to converse with. Early evening still, she'd return later. For now she needed a nice hot bath to cleanse away the stickiness and soothe the soreness of incessant fingering. Wrapping around a light kimono she tiptoed off.

Smooth soothing music spilled from Jess' room opposite, along with a soft green light that glowed around the circumference of the door. Doubtless the lucky bitch was entertaining David again, his room at the end of the landing blackened and deserted. Glancing around guiltily, Emma placed an ear tight to the door, serenaded by the sound of nocturnal activity, the rhythmic bedsprings and light moaning. It was almost enough to prompt her to reach for her pussy once more, were it not so sore.

Creeping down the stairs, she passed Kara's room, then Rick's, both of which were unoccupied, the first floor of the shared house as quiet as a library. Hopefully that meant she could enjoy a nice long and undisturbed soak. Oh yes, the soap felt good as it caressed her body like a fine layer of duckling feathers and, despite the ache, a finger slid once more into her slick love-hole, amid thoughts of Dr Stangelust and their imminent (she hoped) liaison.

Having enjoyed a wonderful half-hour among the suds and the equivalent time doing her hair and painting her nails, as if she were going out on a date, Emma addressed the laptop with a deep inhalation. Yet sadly there was still no show from her elusive suitor, forcing Emma to go surfing the net. Yet, even the more extreme porn sites did little to satiate her needs.

As another tiresome hour passed, the other housemates arrived home at intervals, doors downstairs banging as Emma grew ever more frustrated by the doctor's non-show. When a further half-hour elapsed, she was on the verge of calling it a day when something weird happened. Emma nearly jumped out of her skin as the screen erupted in a lightning flash and a message appeared in its wake, inviting her to a private room. It had to be him. It could only be him. Stealing a deep breath, the hyperventilating redhead tentatively accepted the invite, finding emmawet80 in Dr S's Dungeon. The first thing that struck her was his avatar, a freaky cartoon skull with piercing red holes for eyes that flashed as they bore into her eyes like red hot pokers. It was really quite disconcerting and not a little unnerving but she found it hard to look away.

~Glad you could make it, Emma~

Emma's heart thumped like a metronome. ~Hi, thanks~ she replied, feeling somewhat timid in his presence and mightily relieved to have the comfort and anonymity of the screen as a barrier between them.

~No, thank you~ he came back.

She chose her words carefully, anxious not to sound like the knicker-wetting schoolgirl. ~Well I absolutely love your writing so it's all true~

~Good, you're my number one fan, huh?~

Emma blushed. She was aware of the reference from Misery. ~Yes, but in a nice way. Oh, I hope you don't think I'm some psycho bitch~

There was a pause. ~No, not at all~

Taking a deep breath, she suddenly felt thoroughly mesmerised by the flickering red dots at the centre of that freakish skull. It was getting right inside her head, making her dizzy. Overawed and a little lost for words, Emma went into autopilot: ~God knows how you come up with all the ideas~

~Years of practice~ came the reasoned response.

Emma pursed her lips. Mmm, that sounded good. There was so much she wanted to find out about the man, but wasn't sure how to go about it without seeming crass or schoolgirl-ish. There were certain things she'd prefer, for instance if he happened to a sexy older man that would be awesome. Local too would be nice, but if not local, at least in England. From everything she'd gleaned, from the maturity of his writing to the nostalgic retro of his punny screen name, he had to fit the first criteria, surely in the forty-plus age bracket. As to location, whilst he wrote in English, that didn't necessarily make him English.

They bantered back and forth, mainly about his story, and within ten minutes, it occurred to Emma how much she'd given away about herself in idle chit-chat but how little she'd actually learned about him. A usually sensible young woman, it occurred to her that in the story the main character, the other Emma, had more or less given away to Max the rapist everything bar her precise location. But there was enough information to track her down if he so desired, or when he so desired.

The student nurse shivered at the thought and reminded herself to be more careful.

~So where are you from?~ she enquired, trying desperately to redress the balance.

There was a pause and she agonised whether it had been the right thing to ask. Yet she had to know, for peace of mind if nothing else.

~A long, long way away from you. In fact as far away as it's possible to be~

~Australia? I thought as much~ she typed, part relief, part disappointment.

A lull in the conversation as she chose her upcoming words carefully, Emma was drawn once more to the hypnotic blinking red eyes. In an odd way they made her relax but, in another way, edgy. Yet there was no escape, for even when she looked away from the screen, the image was burned indelibly on her brain like a white-hot filament.

~You want to see a picture of me?~ she asked, immediately biting her lip.

~Yeah, sure?~

Before she could work out how to upload an image, however, the skull avatar disappeared, replaced by the face of a middle-aged man. It was passable without inducing the wow factor on first sight. But it was an older man nonetheless.

~Mmm nice~ she replied, as much out of politeness as anything.

~Good, glad you like~

~Oh I do, I'm into older men~

Suddenly and, before she'd really had an opportunity to appraise the facial image thoroughly, it changed once more – to a huge-looking circumcised and fully erect penis, bulging with worm-like veins. Emma gasped, studying the manhood somewhat more closely than the face and, having to admit to herself in this once more heightened state of arousal, that it turned her on no end.

~Oh gosh, is that yours?~

~Hope you like~

~Oh I do, very much~

With that, the penis faded away and the skull returned, its eyes burning more intensely than ever.

~So, do you a picture YOU might share?~ Dr S prompted

~Oh sorry yes, but only clean ones~

~That's okay, put it up in your display~

Emma followed the instructions carefully, airing the nice picture of her as a bridesmaid at a friend's wedding the previous July. Her auburn hair piled up high and clutching the bouquet, she looked decidedly pretty and with the carefree air of summer.

Dr S seemed to agree. ~Mmm, pretty picture~

~Thank you. Here's one taken a little more recently~ she added, substituting the wedding photo for one of the five housemates taken at the club they'd attended on Rick's birthday.

~Nice looking bunch~

~We're all training to be doctors and nurses...like you?~

~Yes, like me~

Relaxing just a little under the glare of the skull, Emma provided Dr S with a brief synopsis of each of her housemates.

Suddenly the tone changed. ~So, have you slept with any of them?~ he asked, taking her by surprise.

~Gosh, no~ she responded. ~I'm not that kind of girl~

~Oh, so what kind are you then?~

~A good girl, of course~

~A good girl, huh?~

Emma could almost feel the mocking in his 'tone'. It made her feel uncomfortable.