My Pleasures Were Undignified

She jerked herself away. "I... I have to get home."

"Oh," Sherry replied, unperturbed. "You're gonna need to call a cab, I'm going to bed. Phone book's in the kitchen." She stood up and ambled away in the direction of the bedrooms. "See you around, maybe?" Patricia snapped back to herself as Sherry moved out of sight - she realized she'd been staring, hypnotized, at the stripper's magnificent rump.

She tore the obscene tool from her body and made her way unsteadily to the kitchen. She called the first taxi company in the book. The dispatcher seemed unaccountably excited and amused by the address she gave. Then she numbly went to gather her clothes, trying not to think about the woman in bed upstairs. If she did too much of that, she would find herself in that bed too.

The taxi arrived with amazing promptness. She hadn't even found all of her things before it pulled up to a screeching halt in front of the house. Patricia was grateful that it was early morning and no one was about to see her leaving. The taxi driver pushed open the door next to him, and appeared to be very disappointed when she got into the back seat instead. At her direction, he headed off to the club in a surly fashion.

Away from Sherry, the spell was wearing off further. Patty was suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance, of what the driver was seeing with his sneaking peeks at her in the rearview mirror. She summoned her dignity and stared resolutely out the window until they approached the club.

The parking lot was nearly empty since the club was closed. Finding her car was easy, a police cruiser was parked next to it. Two uniformed officers were examining it. "Wait, stop here!" she cried to the cabbie before he could turn in. She got out paid him, not able to look him in the eye. Then she started the long walk to her car and the waiting police. Michael must have called them, she suddenly realized. Of course he would have.

Her nipples were pierced. How could she face Michael, how could she face her children? She was an abomination, a harlot with pierced nipples and shaved pubes and no panties and every inch of her skin stank of sweat and pussy, even her hair smelled like cunt, and every hole was sore and aching... and she still wanted more. More from the very Whore of Babylon herself. Patty sagged down in the middle of the lot and sobbed brokenly. She cried out to Jesus for strength, for forgiveness, not caring about the police coming towards her. She'd never prayed more fervently; and she'd never prayed with so little faith God's answer would be "Yes".

Popular Pastor Takes Leave Of Absence From Rock Baptist Church, Cites 'Personal, Family Issues'

"...habit brought -- no, not alleviation -- but a certain callousness of soul, a certain acquiescence of despair..."

No church ever directly challenged the Corinthian again after that. Before long Sherry was gone, anyway. There had been some preliminary discussions already, but the news story sparked a tempestuous bidding war among the various adult video companies and when the dust settled she had moved to L.A. That was over a year ago now. I sold off the store; she only let me bring a few of my possessions along.

A porn star's life suits her perfectly, of course. Filming takes up only a few weeks of each year. The rest of the time, she's stripping on stages around the world, or dancing in clubs, or fucking anything that moves, or doing photo shoots. (Nor are all of those for porn magazines; the more respectable media has taken notice of her, too.)

She won almost a dozen AVN awards this year, and her salary is closer to that of mainstream celebrities. (So, too, is her fame.) Her future seems extraordinarily bright; she's one of very few porn stars who look good in HD. And certainly no actress has ever been as... accessible to her public.

Unlike stripping, porn requires gynecological exams. Sherry's first trip caused something of a stir; it turns out she has a male chromosome or something. Her 'ovaries' are like failed testicles. Apparently most women like that don't even undergo puberty, but that's pretty obviously not the case with Sherry - the docs say she's "hypersexualized". They're calling it "Atypical Swyer Syndrome" if I remember correctly, though they promise not to use her name when they publish.

She's quite undisturbed by it - as far as she's concerned periods and pregnancy would just interfere with her activities. Personally, I'm quietly grateful. I wouldn't want any child to have Sherry for a mother.

I do have some small power over her, a 'nuclear option'. I'd kill myself if she molested a child, and she knows it. Fortunately children aren't exactly common in the circles that she travels, and she must 'bring me out' at least every few weeks. Otherwise, she'd have a truly legendary collection of STDs. Still, she hates to give up valuable fucking time, so I spend most of my few scattered hours making up doses of the potion; she doesn't have the patience. It's not much of a life but it's something.

Rereading this account, I have to admit that the risque details I've included might seem excessive or merely titillating, but I couldn't help including them. Chalk that up to Sherry's influence; she's a part of me. The strongest one, now. Even as I write this, I can feel her stirring inside. My 'turn' is running out. I just want there to be a record, some kind of trace that Carl was here. She'd probably want to destroy this account if she thought I would try to publish it, but she's pretty focused on her own pursuits. She'd never waste time going to look for it so long as I don't do anything to jeopardize her lifestyle. Maybe I'll hide it in the bureau this all started with. We brought it to L.A. with us.

Some of this is extrapolated, like poor Mrs. Palmer's thoughts. But the fact that she did what she did means that Sherry read her pretty well. She babbled enough about herself and her mission in the course of that night; I don't think she's misrepresented.

To anyone reading this at some future date, who may be tempted to follow in the footsteps of Tawesson and myself, heed our warnings. The id is more powerful than we, with our millennia of civilizing influences, might credit, and ta

Poor Carl dear, you waited too long, didn't you? It's all right, I won't destroy your little confession. I know you'll hide it; you wouldn't dare spoil my fun. But I like the ideas you didn't want to write down. I agree... take some submissive, work them up into a frenzy of sexy obedience, and make them drink the potion... Why, you'd have the perfect slave!

I think I'll go hunting tonight. Someone who won't be missed... Thanks for providing me some extra doses!

Love, Sherry

XOXOXO