A Troubled Mind Ch. 03

This morning I congratulated myself on my ability to weather the storm of abuse and torment I have been forced to suffer. True, I had launched into a tirade the other day, an outburst, venting my spleen at Pastor Michael, condemning him for the selfish and evil way he has handled my dilemma. No more will I succumb to his unsavoury influences. Wanting to be rid of me now (does he feel guilt or fright that I might tell the world that he misused his power to try and seduce me, to satisfy his sexual perversions?) he has referred me to a respectable and specialist group of church folk who have vowed to help me.

The problem though seemed to be far worse than I thought as yesterday when I visited the doctor he insisted on changing my medication. Now I am stronger though and was quick to notice his lewd expression as he stared at my cleavage. I'm sure I saw him lick his lips and I knew very well why he needed to shuffle around in his seat.

The men in the shop have tried to confuse me by being polite and gentle, constantly enquiring as to my welfare and helpfully offering help, even bringing me cups of tea. I have obeyed the requests of the bearded one and to avoid his anger and violence have begun to wear stockings and, craftily on my part, reasoned that if I show him and his buddies sexually alluring underwear then their dreadful sexual appetite will be sated all the more quickly; get it over with I say!

Not seeing him I was compelled to ask the other men, "Where is the big man with the beard?"

They tried to make believe I had imagined him; they pretended to look perplexed. "No one in our gang wears a beard," they said.

One brought a chair and I accepted the advice that I should sit down for a while. They looked at me pitifully, showing sympathy but I realised it was a ploy. They knew how my very short tight skirt would ride up displaying stocking tops and naked flesh. I tested them by letting my knees part and opening my thighs meant that they would see my bright pink dainty panties. Yes, I saw evidence that they were aroused and harboured unclean thoughts!

Alone that afternoon in the small room upstairs I toiled away at my work knowing full well that any minute I would hear footsteps on the worn creaky staircase, then the door would swing open and in would walk men, maybe two, perhaps three – and they would take me – make me perform on them all manner of dirty sexual acts.

Of course it did happen – I said it would! I can still taste the slimy salty sperm that shot down the back of my throat and remember how it felt when my tongue licked over the seeping hole to prevent more of the dirty stuff being swallowed and instead pressed the globules against my palate. I had been compelled, forced, at the very same time, to make vulgar movements with my hips, thrusting them back and forth against the face of another man who knelt between my outstretched legs sucking and licking juices from my vagina.

My breasts hung out over the top of my bra so hands could play. They wobbled as, perched on the edge of a wooden chair rocking my pelvic bone against the man I imitated the actions of riding a gently trotting pony, balanced by each hand gripping a hard penis like they were handles, taking one, then the other, between my lips.

(I could not help but note that the men treated me much more gently than the bearded one, even allowing me to set my own pace.)

Perching wide legged on the edge of a hard chair can be very uncomfortable so I welcomed the suggestion I should stand and bend over. Grateful for the change in position I stood and removed my knickers then bent forward offering my bottom up to whichever man still retained stiffness. Co-operate and get it over with! That was my motto.

At my first meeting with the group from the church I sat with two men and a lady, all counsellors, very understanding, and comfortingly, I felt they believed my problem was real. They told me it was common for women, who like myself suffered continual sexual assault and abuse to surrender up their morals and principles, and for ease, even begin to enjoy and actively participate. They were concerned only with my moral welfare and spirit, advising that it was up to me whether or not I ought to report certain matters to the authorities. You see, that was the part the group were sceptical about – my insistence that this was a conspiracy involving many men – even my doctor may be involved.

"Your feelings of guilt is causing your mind to invent a story, so you can absolve yourself of any responsibility for your actions. You know, because of your upbringing and teachings of our church, that you should be punished for your sin of indulging in illicit sex. When you receive that punishment then you will feel you are making amends then you can begin to get back to normal. Are you really being forced into having sex with several men against your will or is that a fabrication and do you have a lover?

Our method will work whatever the truth. You see the devil likes to see you tormented. We have a very unorthodox but very effective method of defeating him. The devil will see no point in pursuing his evil deeds if you make him believe you don't care – pretend to enjoy your sins – then he will think he has won the war for your soul.

Meanwhile, from another angle we encourage you to come here to us and tell us, in detail, about your sinning. Indulge in your sins then as you recall and retell to us how you wallow in the depraved pleasure you have enjoyed we will punish you so your troubled mind associates bad things happening when you sin. Think of it as aversion therapy – you will be allowed to indulge and enjoy – but then suffer for your sins."

It will be embarrassing for me I know; telling tales of sucking and fucking, with men whose names I won't even know. But I think I will be able to fool the devil as the group suggests by pretending to enjoy the filthy acts I am forced to endure.

So this morning I went off with renewed vigour, not letting the devil see how I felt shamed and humiliated by knowing that before the day was done my body would be sexually violated. This morning I smiled at the men on my arrival and didn't wait to be persuaded to join them for an early hot drink before we all started work, instead, I happily wandered amidst them and peeled off my coat almost seductively (though I'm not sure how that is done by genuinely wanton women).

"We are glad to see you are feeling better this morning," they said.

They grin and I know they are admiring me, the short leather skirt and fishnet stockings. They know I wear stockings, don't they! Their cocks will already be awakening, like snakes unravelling from their coiled up sleep. My thin top is far too tight and clings to my breasts like a second skin, my nipples prominent – asking to be sucked.

(Why are the men pretending to be more interested in reading their morning newspapers?)

I'm ready now to do battle with Satan – let him see how pointless it is, futile to expect me to weep and lament at the loss of my decency.

"See Satan!" I will cry, "See how I enjoy the pleasures of the flesh – you are doing me a favour. I am not weak and will not beg for mercy – instead I will relish and savour the wickedness you impose on me. I will not be frightened of the many men you send who want to molest my body – I will delight in their touch – I will welcome their cocks in any orifice they choose to invade."

For now I will leave the men and I wonder if Satan has already given up.

It's not long to go before the owner of the shop is due to return and today as the construction men begin to finalise their work additional men in white overalls arrive to paint and decorate the walls. They are cheerful and like my smile but as I'm wiser now I see the lust in their eyes as they study my body. I think of how much more excited they would be if they knew what was under my short skirt – and what thoughts I had in my head. How eager I am to test the theory of my counsellors! Are these reinforcements sent by the devil?

That night, as I attended my first therapy session I related my history to the same three people, the two men and the woman, who had undertaken to be my 'guides'. We sat comfortably in an office of the large building that served as a headquarters. While every detail of past sins was coaxed from me there was no pressure or mental discomfort felt.

"Let's stop for a break now," suggested the woman. "How about if we take a stroll; we'll show you around the building?"

We all went together, though I had to hide the fact that my interest was somewhat limited. Passing through several rooms I was informed of its use by one of the group. Eventually we descended a staircase but by this time I was anxious and annoyed because this was nothing at all to do with the purpose of my visit.

"This is where we hold many of our events and also where we teach and practice many of our lessons."

I saw that on my right was an open door and inside the dimly lit room I spied a bed, a large bed judging by the dimensions of the little of it I was able to see. What events and lessons were learnt here; why place a bed down here? When the woman asked if I had taken my medication that day I became agitated at the question, wondering how she knew of my prescribed tablets.

"You have told us that you did imagine what might it be like to have those new, those different men touch you, feel inside your clothes, undress you," the woman said sternly.

I became upset. "Why do you say it in those tones – like I have done wrong – that's what you told me to be like, fool the devil, be evil and wicked in my thoughts!"

They pushed me into a room, next to the one with bed, and my goodness I didn't expect to see the shackles and harness's hanging from the ceiling and walls – the manacles and various benches and seats, the restraints. This was going to be my punishment room – I didn't want this!

Frozen with fright I stood whimpering and sobbing, hands were busy, fingers undoing buttons, unfastening zips, and undressing me!

"What are you doing?" I screamed.

"Scream as loud as you wish," a man told me, "No one will hear you down here – other than any of our own people who no doubt will delight in coming down to join in."

"Did you think it would be so very easy?" said the other man sniggering.

"Pleasure comes before pain," said the woman, "Swallow this pill for me."

I refused and spat but they forced me, holding my jaw, pinching my nose, a glass of liquid making me gulp involuntarily.

"No – you can't do that!" I screeched as the woman and one man who stood in full view began to undress too.

The other man behind was busy tethering my wrists together and running his hands over my nylon clad behind. Why was it that by leaving me in pantyhose and bra it caused me to feel more humiliated than if I had been stripped naked?

"What's the matter," asked the woman mockingly, "If your tales are true then you should not be shocked by the sight of a hard penis or ashamed to be undressed – or have you been telling lots of lies?"

No, of course I hadn't – surely they must believe me?

"You told us that you were ready to show Satan just how defiant you could be – enjoy your depravity."

Now the man was holding his erect penis and I just didn't know where to look – but I was commanded to watch as the woman closed her hands around the shaft and began to masturbate him. A whip was brought across my bottom stinging and burning. It seemed best to obey my tormentors.

"Watch while we fuck," said the woman, "See how his swollen cock slides in and out of my wet pussy – giving me pleasure. Do you feel that powerful pleasure when a cock slides in your cunt? Tell me the truth – do you feel pleasure, it is simply an act, a lie, when you say you fell horror, feel violated?"

Through my tears I watched astounded as the man rammed into the woman, seeing the look of sheer bliss on her face. The crack of the whip prompted me to answer the question.

"I feel frightened, and ashamed that I am made to do things, dirty things, while men snigger and touch me – then it changes – only at first does it horrify me – then, oh my god! Then I feel excitement and arousal at being forced into performing filthy acts! Please, let me go now – I've changed my mind about doing this!"

"Watch me being fucked!" said the woman. "Watch!"

I cried but obeyed as she made the man shuffle her forward, closer, in reach of me. What was I to do when she held out a hand and stroked my vagina over the nylon of my pantyhose? What could I do when as the man supported her she leaned forward and kissed my lips?

"Does this not excite you too?" she purred. She asked for my tongue; on her command we licked each other's.

Something was happening inside my head – the pills she had given me were taking effect. I wanted the other man who stood behind me with the whip – wanted him to fuck me – I wanted cock too! It was not forthcoming – not yet.

"Have you ever licked a cunt?" asked the woman, then without waiting for an answer said, "Of course you haven't. Get down on your knees!"

The man behind encouraged me with a slap and a lash. Why did I experience such a feeling of exhilaration? The dirty rampant cock of the man in front slipped out from the woman's wet hole and fell against my face – it seemed a reflex action and the natural thing to do to open my mouth and suck it in hard. That was what the men at the shop always made me do.

"Good to see you are enjoying our game!" said the woman, "But no, I want you to lick my cunt!"

How humiliating, how mortifyingly shaming. It was one thing submitting to evil forceful men but surely a woman should not demand that from someone of her own gender! I could taste her – and the man too. She held me, held my face against her quim, like she was having sex with my head, exciting herself by the stimulation of my tongue and even my nose.

"Lick my arse!" she demanded of me, straddling over my head and widening her thighs.

I did my best, pushing out my tongue, but my efforts didn't please her. They decided that I needed the whip and was made to raise my backside as the woman turned and bent over a bench. Another bench was placed under my body then I was placed so my weight was forward and my face became buried in the woman's crack, between her vagina and her anus; she stretched out her legs sideways preventing me from failing again as my tongue and lips were encouraged to lick and kiss both her holes.

The woman shuddered then shouted to the men. "Whip her – then fuck her!"

Curiosity probably got the better of her – or perhaps she got a thrill from seeing me suffer. There was the sound of nylon being ripped apart; I felt hands on my naked skin, then fingers opening up my vagina – getting it ready for penetration. The woman turned and watched the men take turns with me, holding my head against her wet cunt.

"We want you to explore your fantasy," she said speaking softly but with a tone of command. "We want you to come back here and tell us how bad you have been."

I didn't, and couldn't reply as my head was grabbed, turning me away while a man squirted his filthy sperm into my mouth. The drug was now wearing off and I felt panic return with the full effect of humiliation. Every single second of the last hour was vivid in my mind and I felt disgusted at my behaviour because even though I had no choice or influence over what I had been made to do I had experienced a depraved pleasure and sexual joy, and would have been happy to do more.

If I go back without completing my 'mission' they will be annoyed; I would have failed and they probably will punish me anyhow. The woman has given me a pill, which she says will help me and make me feel relaxed. There is not much time left. I have had a letter and a phone call, all arrangements have been made without my knowledge for the shop to reopen; there will be a small party to mark the occasion. I feel I have been treated badly, overlooked, not given credit for all the work I have done.

The decorating is going well; I compliment the men, or rather one man, as the other two who are now at work in the shop are merely boys hardly passed their twentieth birthday. I find myself left alone with the youngest, forever smiling lad and think that if I had a son I would like him to be like this boy. But I can't think of him a son; that would be wrong because of what I'm about to do.

"You've done a good job," I say.

"Yeah? Thanks," he says, "Better if we'd have had more time, we didn't get much notice."

He stares at me as though I am mad and being direct he asks me, "Are you okay – why are you looking at me in a funny way."

That's how my test began. I stood swaying gently, looking straight back at him, yes, with perhaps a silly grin on my face, but inside I felt anguish and fear – did I dare, for the first in my life, against all my principles and moral beliefs seduce, invite sex, from a stranger?

He looked through the door, along the corridor, to see I think if his friends were coming or were within earshot so he could beckon them to witness my odd behaviour. He glanced back at me, perplexed and amused then before he could call out or turn away I gave the first signal; unfastened one little button.

"What the fuck...!" he swore, not sure what to do next.

How ridiculing it would be if he left the room. I undid another button and cupped a breast, managing to maintain my stare.

"Are you sure.... erm?" I saw him begin to realise just what I was putting on offer. "I don't think.... shit.... you're old enough to be my mother!"

I was trembling, I am not a seductress; I am not confident, not glamorous. He looked around, looked again down the corridor – no one was there. I saw his expression change, knew his lust was rising. He looked at me more steadily now, looked at my breasts. He cleared his throat and quietly closed the door – then he approached me – his arousal was showing at the front of his workman's overalls. I took a deep breath when I saw him start to undo the buttons of his fly.

"I didn't have you down as the sort of woman who...you know...a sexy bitch! You fancy a bit of cock do you?"

I would have taken fright, backed out, if he had not then placed his arm around me and roughly pulled open the rest of my blouse.

"Nice tits!" he said, "Do you like to have them sucked?"

He was staring into my face as though I was supposed to answer!

"I don't know!"

"Well that's a silly answer!" he was mocking me; I was making a strange moaning noise. "Shit, you're gagging for it, aren't you?"

My hand was taken and I felt his hot penis; he closed my fingers around it and made me play with it whilst he fumbled with me and hitched my skirt up to my belly.

"Back up and lean against the wall," he ordered.

He told me that I looked sexy in my stockings and suspenders. He said how much easier it was to get inside my knickers. I felt him tug on the gusset to gain some slack then pull it to one side. He bent his knees, touching my pussy with the tip of his cock.

"Put it in for me!" he whispered.

I was mentally incapable and sobbed as, still playing with his dick as ordered I jerked it against my vaginal opening hoping that it would go in by itself and save me the shame. The forbidden feelings washed over me, the cock touched the place that creates and induces the depraved pleasure. This though was the whole purpose of the exercise, to show the Devil he was wasting his time and I could simply go along with it all and take it with a pinch of salt.

When the boy straightened his knees he was deep inside me almost lifting me off the floor. He was fucking me hard! But it was okay as the boy was helping me. Give me more – yes – squeeze my tits. I laughed now and kissed him, encouraged him, enjoyed seeing the depraved look on his face. "Yes, go on – harder!" I grinned back at him so he could know I liked what he was doing. Yes, shoot that sperm inside me! I was sad when it was over, when he had finished and put away his dick.