The Porcelain DollbyRoissy001©
People are like fine porcelain. You can pick them up, touch them, toss them around if you want to take a big chance of hurting them, or simply drop them and watch them break. I guess you could say I'm a prime example of china that got chipped somewhere along the way. It happened back in high school, I'm quite sure. I just can't remember when. I mean there is one of them like me in every high school. You've all heard about them or known someone like them yourself. You know what I am talking about--the girls who will do it with anyone, at any time, in any place. If the whole football team were to line up...well, like I said, you already know the story. What you don't know is that I was one of them.
My name is Janice Ellen Fitzgerald. I'm 26 years old. My reputation got so bad back in Englewood, New Jersey, that my parents moved us all out of town in the middle of my senior year. I didn't care--Easton, Pennsylvania had just as many studs, just as many opportunities to do IT. And do it I did! I can remember nights when I took on six or seven guys in a row, doing anything and everything, and through it all, I knew that what I was doing was absolutely wrong.
I know now that there was nothing I could have done to stop what I was doing. You see, it wasn't really me who was doing it--it was someone named Susan, inside me all the time. You could say it was me watching Susan in a kind of detached, far-out way whenever it happened. Oh, I scolded her enough, even tried to punish her every once in a while, but I knew my efforts were doomed to failure from the beginning.
At least that's what Dr. Rogers told me on that fateful day--April 19, 1988. "Janice," he said with his normal monotone delivery, "you have a disassociative personality."
'Oh no! I'm going to die!' I thought to myself. "Look, Doctor, if you're telling me that I'm crazy then send me to the mental ward."
Dr. Rogers smiled. "Don't be silly. In layman's terms, Janice, you have a "dual" personality. It's as simple as that. In fact, the both of you are quite normal in most every respect. Neither of you can be classified as having any significant mental abnormalities."
Now this was getting really wacky! "Wait just a minute. How about the one of me that has two fucking personalities!!!" I blushed profusely. Janice usually didn't use bad words.
"Easy now. That's what I'm trying to explain to you. There isn't just one of you, Janice. There's you," he paused interminably, before clearing his throat, "and there's Susan."
"You mean I'm two different people?"
"Well, I guess you could put it like that. I have identified two distinct personalities. It is not uncommon in cases such as yours to find that the personalities are diametrically opposed, completely opposite. And what I say to one has absolutely no affect on the other. You are, at times, a person who is happily married, fun-loving, gregarious--whom you know as Janice. She is the person I am speaking to now, who has sought help for her problems. The other person inside you is Susan. Susan is... well, I guess the best way to put it, a slave to sex."
My heart was beating a mile a minute. This was as deep as it gets. "So I'm one person with two minds?"
"I wish it were that simple, Janice. You both share the same body, but that's where the similarity ends. In reality, for all intents and purposes, you are two completely different people. For instance, Susan masturbates frequently. She is involved in what you would term 'kinky' or way-out sex, but feels no remorse for her actions. Just the thought of masturbation or kinkiness is as foreign to you, Janice, as a quiet, romantic night by the fireplace is to her."
"But I remember what I do when I do those crazy things. How come I remember, doctor? Like last week, when Gregory tied me up and spanked me, I remember all that."
He paused for a moment, pondering his answer to my dilemma. "Janice, you think you remember because Susan tells you everything that she does. You are, I guess, her confession booth, if you want to consider a religious analogy to your condition."
"I'm more confused that I ever was," I blurted, then started crying uncontrollably. It was a full 15 minutes before he could calm me down. I went home that night knowing that I was blessed with a curse for which there was no known cure. As the doctor went on to explain, I had no way of knowing when I would become Susan. It would just happen. One minute I might be happily married Janice, struggling to balance a check book or run an errand for Tony, my devoted husband; the next minute I might be the wild-assed Susan, bound to a whipping post, yearning for the sting of a strap or even a whip on my naked butt.
And when I got home, I would tell Janice all about my adventures. She would listen to me, sometimes shaking her head in disbelief, but never, not once, did she ever scold me for what I did. Maybe that's the hardest part to understand. She would only listen, and never talk back. She was understanding, so much so, in fact, that I am sure Susan considered her to be just like a sister. There were only some basic certainties--Janice would always be Janice while in the presence of Tony, my husband, or Julie and Samantha, our two daughters. They were the links with the "normal" world that kept me alive and going. Once I became Susan, which might only be 10% of the time, I would be her until I was sexually fulfilled. As I think back now on my high school years, I can recall living some of my life, especially the purely sexual part, as if I were on the outside looking in. I didn't know, until that fateful day years later, that it was Janice watching, as if there were a one-way mirror in my mind.
There were times when I wouldn't undress in front of Tony fearing he might discover the streaks across my ass, or my swollen, painful nipples only recently unclamped. Our sexual life was good--not great--but it was nice in many respects. When we made love, maybe twice a week, my orgasm was really intense. I would go down on him and he would pleasure me likewise. He never suspected, not in the slightest, that I would step out on him. In reality, Janice never would. She was too deeply committed to her marriage vows and to holding the family together. Adultery, you see, was a sin. Anyone could tell you that...except Susan.
Needless to say, my fear of becoming Susan permeated every moment of my life. I clung to Tony and Julie and Samantha like a baby with a teddy bear, afraid to lose hold. The clinging was what brought me to Dr. Rogers. Tony thought I was too clinging, to the point of being afraid to let go. There were days when I begged him not to go work. Often, I feigned illness to keep him by my side at home. When he was there, I was safe. When he was gone, I felt so vulnerable.
Sometimes, I wish I had never gone to Dr. Rogers. I held a secret inside of me that only he and I could discuss openly, and that secret would have to last a lifetime. Tony would never understand. If he were to have even an inkling of my dual roles in life, our family would be ruined. I trusted the doctor. I told him everything that Susan told me. It was under hypnosis that he brought Susan out. As matters turned out, I wish that he could have somehow locked her inside of me forever.
On the night of April 19, 1988, Tony held me in his arms as we lay in bed and listened to me cry. When he asked me why, knowing I had seen a psychiatrist that afternoon, I told him that I had clung so hard to him because I was afraid of losing the only thing I loved. He said he understood, then held me close to him and kissed my forehead. I turned my body to him, pressing my chest into his.
"I need you so much, Tony," I whispered softly.
"Janice, I need you, too."
"Make love to me, hon."
He lifted the top of my see-through nightie over my back and head as I raised my body off of him, leaving me naked but warm in his arms. He was wearing a pair of boxer shorts. As I moved my chest once more upon, crushing my breasts upon him, I moved my right leg across his thighs and pressed my blond-haired pubis against his naked leg.
When I moved my hand to the outside of his shorts, I found him unerect, but stirring. Stroking the area gently, touching his manhood, I felt him begin to harden. When I lowered the material and exposed him, he gasped softly as I held his slowly awakening member. Kissing him gently on the lips, I masturbated the shaft into almost full erection.
Breaking the kiss, I whispered, "I want to make you feel good first."
I lowered my head and kissed a trail from his hairy chest to his abdomen. Opening my eyes, I looked at the gorgeous cockhead lovingly before taking it ever so slowly, inch by precious inch, into in my hungry mouth, sucking gently all the time. Ever so gently, I suckled him into hardness, then moved my head up and down on the shaft, laving him with swirls of my tongue, listening to his breathing quicken. Having completed my mission, and needing no foreplay myself, I lifted my body up and knelt next to him, looking down at his sweet manhood. Moving slowly, I straddled his hips with my legs, sensing the presence of him between my opened legs. As I lowered my head to kiss him, I moved my sex over his manhood, then took him into me, pressing my loins over his. Ten minutes later, his gasp of breath confirmed what the inside of my vagina was feeling--the spilling of his seed into me in spurt after spurt of delightful come. I didn't desire fulfillment myself that night. His happiness was my joy. I slept peacefully in his arms, secure in the knowledge that he loved me, and all was well.
Chapter 2 Susan Visits Gregory
On the afternoon of April 20, 1990, at 2:45 p.m., Susan visited the home of Gregory Eugene Watson, a 29 year-old steel yard worker. Outside the home, before entering, she noticed a man staring at her through the opened window of a late-model, light-blue station wagon.
"Are you Phyllis?" asked the man in the station wagon.
Susan was taken aback by the question. For a brief almost inexplicable moment, she thought was going to say "yes," but for some inexplicable reason she imagine why.
"No," she replied curtly as she turned and moved toward the house. As she turned her head, she watched the car drive off. She didn't know why, but she felt a strange premonition about that stranger, and the feeling lingered with her long into the day.
There were other things on her mind, however. She felt sexy. She wore a black miniskirt and a white cotton blouse, half-unbuttoned; a tiny, white garter belt and light-brown, seamless stockings with a band of darker nylon mesh at the top. Her bikini-styled panties were silky white, her bra was thin and embroidered heavily with lace that exposed much of the creamy-smooth breasts and the coral-tipped nipples beneath. When she held Gregory in her arms, she felt his cock rise up to meet her, and she pressed her pubis against him in anticipation.
"I missed you so much," she whispered sexily, probing his mouth with her tongue.
Gregory grabbed her ass with his huge hands and pressed her abdomen harder against his erection. The stirring in her loins was only the beginning. "Don't stay away so long, honey. I can't get enough of you."
They settled on his sofa, he sitting on the far end, she laying her head in his lap, her body stretched out, perpendicular to his, her feet dangling over the far edge. "You know you're beautiful and sexy, Susan."
She smiled. "I'll bet you say that to everyone you'd like to fuck. Is that part of your foreplay?"
Gregory laughed. "Hey, it was a compliment, okay?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that like it sounded."
She turned her head slightly, feeling his hardness against the side of her head. The anticipation inside her was tremendous. She bent her right leg, leaving her left one straight, forcing her skirt to rise almost to the top of her stockings. Gregory loved her legs almost as much as he loved her ass. Nonchalantly, he placed his right hand on the inside of her bent leg, stroking the softness of the nylon mesh with his fingertips.
He took a whiff of the air surrounding them. "Is that Shalimar?" he asked.
"Maybe," she replied with a sexy smile.
"Did you take a bath in it?"
"If you don't like it, I won't use it any more...." she husked, turning her face against his manhood, locating the cockhead with her mouth through his trousers, and playfully biting it with her teeth.
"OUCH!" he cried. "It's the only one I've got!"
"It belongs to me," she whispered, turning her whole body to the side, capturing his hand between her now closed legs.
She continued mouthing his manhood through the corduroy fabric for several minutes, listening to his moans, feeling his hand ride slowly higher toward her loins, feeling the heat building in her vulva like a boiling volcano. When he touched her sex, over the top of her silky panties, she raised her body high enough to give her access to his belt and zipper. His cock sprang to life as she opened the trousers, the huge bulge in his underpants drawing her undivided attention even as his fingers pressed her panty crotch into the hungry slit.
It was his turn to rise up, lifting his buttocks, feeling his pants being lowered down his legs, followed by his underwear. Hardly had he lowered himself back down when she grasped the base of the thick, red pole in her hand and brought her mouth down, slowly enveloping the head, sucking the stick greedily, all the way down to its base. As her head bobbed up and down, he pressed his cock upward, to meet her thrusts, and groaned in his pleasure. Where had she learned the deep throat technique he loved so much? It didn't matter. The important thing was the feeling of the tip of his cock pressing against her tonsils. The air was soon filled with sexual electricity that permeated his every breath.
"Let's go to the bedroom," he husked.
Susan arose from the sofa, red-faced, her lipstick smeared, her blond hair disheveled. She looked down at his erection, peering upward between his shirt tails, thought for a moment about grasping it in her hand, but changed her mind. "Hurry up," she pleaded, holding her hand out to help him rise.
There was a ritual in the bedroom they had to follow. First, she stripped him of his shirt and socks, then stood several feet away, gazing at his nakedness. Then he moved to the bed and said, firmly, "Bend over." He watched the lovely Susan close her eyes and lean over at the waist, offering him a view down her blouse. Half of her alabaster breasts hung out of the lacy, white bra. He licked his lips, anticipating.
When she straightened up, she looked deeply into his hungry eyes. "What do you want me to do, Master?"
"Are you wearing my favorite garter belt?"
"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes briefly.
He gulped. "Show me."
Susan would do anything her Master asked. Anything and everything. All he had to do was ask. She put her hands on her hips, over her black cotton skirt, and drew the material up slowly and sexily, using only her fingers. Since it was a miniskirt, the route was short, but the effect was electric. Gregory stared at the scene before him, the black skirt raised over the top of her silky white panties, the straps of the garter belt fastened to the dark brown circle of mesh at the top of her light-brown stockings, the lily-white flesh of her inner thighs between stocking tops and panties.
He licked his lips. "Turn around!" he ordered.
Still holding her skirt at her waist, Susan turned, exposing the tightness of the panties over her voluptuous ass. She turned her head over her shoulder, looking back at him, smiling. "Do you like my ass?"
"Yes, you know I do," he replied thickly.
"You can do anything you want with it," she whispered.
Gregory lifted his naked body off the bed and approached this sex-hungry woman who had entered his life like a dream come true. "Don't move," he said, placing his hand on the back of the silky undies, feeling their exquisite softness. She moaned as he squeezed the flesh beneath the silk.
"Have you been a bad girl?" he asked, his voice thick with sex.
"Yes, Master," she whimpered, feeling at once frail, small and utterly defenseless.
"You will have to be punished...." he whispered.
"I know," she replied. The anticipation inside her was incredible.
He walked to his closet, then returned, holding a black-handled whip with half a dozen eight- inch long strands of braided leather, the kind that bites and stings.
"Bend over again," he ordered.
Bending at the waist, she offered him her panty-clad buns. Gregory wrapped his huge hands once more over her proffered ass, the ass he loved so much, kneading the firm muscles beneath the soft silk. She moaned softly at the touch. Suddenly, he brought his right hand back, aimed carefully, and took a good, hard swipe with his palm across the split pumpkin.
"AHH!" she cried in pain, the blow causing her to move forward slightly from her bent-over position.
"What do you say, Susan?" asked Gregory in a booming voice.
"Thank you, Master," she grimaced.
"What do you want, Susan?"
"I want to be whipped, Master," she replied, with an obvious plea in her voice.
He reached back again, and soon the silence in the room was filled with the crack of his hand upon her panty-clad buns. This time her cry was more of a high-pitched squeal, as the intensity of the second stroke made her lurch forward, toward the wall. "Thank you, Master," she cried as he stepped forward to follow her.
Several more hard spanks over her tightly clinging undies left Susan's butt tingling with a warm glow. It had only begun, and already she needed more. In her mind's eye she pictured this naked man behind her, his cock upright, about to loose pain upon her tender ass.
She felt him fumbling with the button at the side of her skirt, then pulling the zipper down. She moved her hand out of his way, then waited as he unbuckled the belt in front. It was all part of the ritual she loved so much. "Straighten up!" he ordered, then pulled the skirt downward, letting it fall in a circle around her stockinged feet. The bottom of her blouse covered some, but not all of her sexy buns.
"Put your hands on the wall," he commanded.
Stepping out of the circle of her skirt, she moved forward and placed her palms flat against the cold wallboard, her arms high over her head and stretched in a wide 'V'. It was one of her favorite positions to receive the lash, one she had taught him, in fact. Without being asked, she spread her legs.
Gregory reached into the drawer of a night stand the black leather, velvet-lined ankle and wrist cuffs. Susan closed her eyes, waiting.... Gregory knelt on one knee and drew the ankle cuff around each of her ankles, buckling it tightly, then pulled the chrome chain affixed to the cuff into the eye-bolt fastened to the floor, about 20 inches back from the wall, forcing her legs even further apart. The wrist cuffs were next, and they, too, were fastened to bolts attached to the wallboard. She felt so helpless, so vulnerable. Just like she wanted.
The position left Susan bent slightly at the waist, offering her backside once more as a willing target of Gregory's whims. He arose from his knee and stepped beside her. She turned to face him and he kissed her hard, on the lips, pressing his teeth into hers. She whimpered beneath his kiss even as he moved his hand along the front her partially clad body, beneath her cotton blouse, until he reached a bra-encased tit. He cupped the breast in the palm of his hand, gently at first, but increasing the pressure until he squeezed the cloth-covered flesh to the point of pain. She gasped in pain into his mouth.
Using his thumb and forefinger, he quickly located the now turgid nipple beneath the veil of lace. She cried out, loudly, as the sharp pinch of his fingers over the nubbin sent bolts of electric through her breast. Still, the kiss went on, burning with lust and desire. His free hand moved between her well spread legs, all the way to the front of her pubis. He felt the soft hairs of her golden bush beneath the front of her silky panties, then brought his hand back, pressing into the crotch, evoking a low, animal-like moan. The panty crotch was soaked with her flowing juices. He kept his hand there, squeezing her sex in unison with her breast... kissing, feeling, holding, touching. Finally, he broke the kiss. "What do you want from me, slut?"