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Teaser: He was not ugly, not handsome either, just an average middle-aged man with a thin, hard face and specks of white in his short beard. Only his eyes looked hideous, and sometimes his smile.
“Suck me.”
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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. It depicts nonconsensual sexual acts between adults. It is in no way meant to be understood as an endorsement of nonconsensual sex in real life. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: Sad Author: Add author of the story here
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A story about a woman addicted to a man's semen, and how he takes full advantage of it. My last repost from the old board.
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Sad Semen Addiction
1.The Restroom
Once he ordered her to stand in the handicapped restroom at work, to strip and stand on display and close her pretty blue eyes. He would come later.
The handicapped restroom was wide enough to accommodate a wheelchair user. There was a low sink under a mirror, and a toilet in the corner with a handrail on the wall. She closed the door as silently as she could, absurdly afraid that someone would hear. Her coat, her shirt, her long pleated skirt, she removed it all, folded them neatly and laid them on top of the toilet tank. Then she took off her shoes, which she put neatly against the wall, out the way. Her fingers struggled unordinarily with the clasp of her bra, and she realized she breathed so heavily that it moved. When finally she took it off she felt her small breasts sag just a little, without its support. Let him like them, she hoped, and give me what I want. The thought alone of it made her breathless. She was a junkie, she thought. The pull was so much stronger than the cigarettes she had given up for him, because he did not like the smell on her mouth and on her flesh.
Her fingers were in the band of her panties when she thought she heard a noise outside that rattled her heart. Would the door open? Was it him or someone else? Her mind raced, grasped for a terrorized explanation, that she had forgotten to lock the door, and she had taken the handicapped restroom because the other was full, and she had been undressing because…
She shook her head, forced herself to move on before he arrived. She stepped out of her underwear, stumbling a little, and put it ruffled on top of her clothes pile. Now she was naked, as ordered. She stood with her back straight, legs slightly apart, and made sure to pull all her hair behind her shoulders before placing her hands behind her head.
Then she closed her eyes and waited fervently, on display. The door opened, someone went in, and it took so much effort not to open her eyes she felt a jolt of absurd pride through all the fear and hope. She deserved it as much as she needed it. And the man came closer.
By now she was sure it was him, surely some surprised stranger would not cup her breast in his thin hand and fondle it. His fingers pressed it painfully hard. Then one went down, caressing her skin, her navel, the little strip of pubes she had kept on his orders, and then entered her slit, roughly. He moved closer and kissed her. His breath was warm, perfumed yet subtly dirty, like bathwater. His lips grabbed hers, played with them. She took no pleasure except in anticipation.
“Open your eyes,” he ordered. He was not ugly, not handsome either, just an average middle-aged man with a thin, hard face and specks of white in his short beard. Only his eyes looked hideous, and sometimes his smile.
“Suck me.”
She fell to her knees, eager. She opened the fly of his trouser, hooked one of her fingers in his black briefs and pulled them down, fished for his half-hard penis. It weighed on her hand, heavy and warm, the foreskin barely retracted over the paler glans. She uncovered it all, ran her tongue over it, then engulfed it in the pleasure pit of her mouth, careful not to graze it with her teeth, which would make him angry. A drop of preseminal fluid prickled her battered tongue, exacerbating her need for the gush to come. She worked his penis avidly, impatiently, consumed with the need for his semen. His shaft was wholly in her mouth, rigid, wide, throbbing with the first signs of his imminent ejaculation. She closed her eyes, and he withdrew, to her surprise and horror. He had thought of something more to torment her.
When she opened her eyes he was cupping his hand in front of the glans, holding the shaft in front of her mouth.
“Finish me with your tongue.” His voice was a little hoarse. “Hurry.”
She took her tongue out and licked it, trying to get to the opening, as if he would not have noticed. He flicked his fingers at her tongue as soon as it reached the rim of his glans. So she licked his shaft in despair.
She had practice now, yet it would have felt better for him in his mouth. That demon, that awful man, took more pleasure from her torment than her body. And finally it came, his wonderful, terrible semen gushed out and filled his palm, oozed a little between his fingers. There was nothing more she would have wanted on earth than that, and he took it away from her.
“Stay where you are. Open wide.”
He dipped the index finger of his other hand into it, lightly, and when he pulled it away a drop of semen hung from it, white and round like a cloudy pearl. He put it in her mouth, deposited the drop on her tongue. The very instant it touched her flesh she almost fainted with relish and pleasure. For a fleeting moment of bliss, all her pain and shame, her ruined life, all she had to do for this one taste of the thing, no longer mattered. Desire blinked. Inexplicable rapture overwhelmed her in rapid waves, all from that single drop of his semen.
But it was so little she immediately craved it again.
It never failed to surprise her, when the pleasure receded, how detached it had momentarily made her from the world. It was almost like losing consciousness, although she had remained in her position, kneeling, mouth agape. Her naked knees hurt from the hard tiled floor, and drool streaked the side of her chin. Clearly she had been out of sorts for a while.
He was standing at the sink, washing his hands thoroughly, cruelly. She imagined the white object of he craving swirling down the drain, down the sewers, away, wasted.
“Wait ten minutes like this and then dress up and go back to your office,” he ordered. And away he went.
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Last edited by Quinotaurus on Thu Jun 05, 2025 5:32 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Once he came with her in a glass-walled meeting room and made her pull the blinds down, which no one ever did in that workplace. He let her take her coat and skirt off, then tore off the rest of her clothes, and then took her on the table, violently, grunting. His hands pressed her roughly, his member stabbed her unprepared, while she bit her lips to stifle the sounds she might have made. Then his semen was in her, washing pain and sense away, and she nearly fainted. He left and she gathered her torn clothes, huddled them under her skirt and coat, and walked away awkwardly, under real and imagined stares.
Once he came with her in a glass-walled meeting room and left the blinds up, so she had to discreetly masturbate him under the table, while they sat side by side with a few documents in front of them. She tried, as much as possible, to move her wrist and not her shoulder. He lasted a long time. Sometimes he allowed her to look around, to see if anyone was looking at them, and sometimes he forbade it and made her look at the papers. Either way her heart raced with fright, even more so when he caressed her pale hair, not very discretely, and he studied her emotions on her face, his own very close. When he ejaculated in her hand the mere contact of his semen on her skin made her gasp. He let her lick it as discretely as she could, but only with her eyes closed. When she was done she was breathless, and certain someone had seen them. This time she had to leave before him, striding as assuredly as she dared, wondering how flushed her face was, the weight of his gaze on her slender buttocks.
Once he made her come so early she had to spin a tale to security, much before dawn, before the lights turned on automatically, and she thought eagerly that he would take her in the dark. Instead he took her to the copy room, had her undress and lay on the platen glass of a copier. He tinkered with the settings and printed her on a very large A1 sheet. It showed her lithe, pale body, her dainty navel with the distinctive mole right over it; it showed her small breasts pressed against the glass, round and pale, with precise pink areolas and minute nipples, mere dots on the paper; it showed her exposed vulva, ajar under her blonde bush, the red inner lips protruding slightly between the outer ones; it did not show her face. He printed several versions and picked the one he preferred, after showing them all to her. That time he did not take her at all, and she went without even the relief of his semen for all his cruelty. It was just part of the price she had to pay, generally, for remaining in his thrall, for the occasional chance at his substance, without guarantee it would happen any particular day. The sheet he taped in the men’s room, and there was some conjecture to which management put a swift end. There weren’t that many women at all on the floor, let alone women with that body type… But it remained, for now, conjecture.
Once he made her stay very late, until only the only light left was the one at her desk, and a few safety lights in the corridors. She did not know where he hid, maybe in the restroom. Every half-hour a bored security guard traipsed by her office. He came between two of his rounds, and not right after the first one either. He undressed and told her to do the same and she knew she had to hurry. He sat in her chair, erect, and she obeyed him and sat on him, facing him, his member inside her, her small pale breasts resting on his chest. He thrusted in her a little, unhurried, then stopped and made her kiss him again and again, never quite satisfied. She kissed him slowly and fast, put her tongue wherever she could think of, pressed her lips against his at a hundred different angles.
“You have to kiss me just right,” he said, without explicit instructions as to what he wanted, and she felt sure the security guard was jut about to pass by and surprise them. They would be fired, which he did not mind, and then her career was over. He ejaculated into her as they at last heard the guard’s step for real, pushed her off him and ducked behind the desk. She sat back, hunched, still naked. Her heart pounded in her ears with fear and excitement, and her vagina felt blissfully afire with the semen now seeping out of it. Her blonde hair falling before her gave some cover to her face, smudged with lipstick, and to her little breasts that hung to the desk. But any serious observer would see her naked back, her hurried breathing. The guard passed her without so much as look toward her, and so her fucker left. Once he was gone she licked the chair.
Once at the vending machine he bought a candy bar, unwrapped it and handed it to her. “Shove it in you,” he ordered softly, then he sat in one of the chairs by the window, looking disinterested, pretending to read something on his phone. There were two other HR women talking animatedly at a standing table, and one woman she did not know waiting for his coffee. She knew what he meant, of course; she had to do it here. With the bar hidden in her hand she bunched up her long skirt and put the hand in it, without looking, as if she was absent-mindedly adjusting her panties. One of the women looked at her in surprise and she pretended not to notice, looking nowhere. She tucked the bar along her thigh, through the leg hole of her panties, and shoved it her vagina at an angle. It did not go inside easily, maybe only an inch in before it hurt too much and the woman at the coffee machine turned back, cup in hand. Then she let go, clenched her thighs, let the skirt fall. The woman with the coffee did not catch even a glimpse of her white slender thigh, but he did see her skirt fall, and her hand moving away hurriedly, and went away with a small smirk on her lips. Now the bar was an inch or so between her lips, smearing already, and the rest out, against her thigh, held in place by her panties and her clenched thighs. She took a few short careful steps, afraid it would fall, as he pretended not to watch. She was facing away from the women now, in front of a potted plant. They would still see it, but she could pretend not to see them, block away the shame to a meager extent. She slipped her hand down her skirt, as if she was scratching her crotch, and jabbed it all the way in, progressively. The stares pounded on her back like the heartbeat in her throat. When she walked away she could feel the bar inside her, swaying, foreign, moving not quite in accordance with her body. He would not bother to check; he knew she had done it.
Once he had her take a whole week off and came at her place to beat her up, with fists and feet, so hard he actually bruised his own hand: mostly he was unaccustomed to violence, which was why he felt a prurient curiosity for it, like a virgin’s obsession with the forms and details of the female body. That time he broke her nose and covered her in bruises, which he came back to her place the following days to inspect them over the various stages of their healing.
He had wanted to know how it felt but as it turned out he did not really like that. “Although if I did,” he said, “I would do it to you every day.”
He did find it funny, however, to ejaculate on her bruises and make her rub his semen on them as if it was a salve, and in some way it felt that way to her, a soothing relief that entered through her injured skin, not as intently as it would through her mucous membranes, but still marvelous and arresting. At the height of this feeling she almost wished he would do it everyday indeed.
But once, some time later, he enjoyed hurting her more, maybe because this time he did it in a more sophisticated way. It was at her place. Earlier in the week, on his order, she had ordered a piercing kit on Amazon. Earlier that night he had sodomized her with a condom then emptied it a small tumbler glass. The white liquid came about halfway to the rim, and he left it ostensibly on the bedside table. She lay on the bed, her legs spread, her fingers pulling away the hood of her clitoris, and looked at the glass avidly, hoping his fun would be fast and not hurt her that much. Meanwhile he took some time reading the instructions, sitting on the bed, his still dirty penis lolling on the sheets.
“I hope I do it right,” he said. “If I butcher your body and don’t like it anymore, I’ll have to abandon you and find some other woman. Neither of us wants that. Well, here goes nothing.”
It would hurt her, she knew. But all she could think about was his semen, somewhere in her. It filled her vision, the small glass like a vertiginous ocean. Had she been allowed, she might have stretched her arm, and grabbed it without rising.
The tool to pierce her flesh consisted of two parts that slid apart and together on plastic rails. In a rather tawdry metaphor, one sported a wide, pointy, cruel-looking needle, and the other a hole to receive it. He snapped them together and apart several times, to make sure he got it right. Then he poured rubbing alcohol on two cotton pieces. With the smaller one he wiped the tool; with the larger, her hole vulva. The liquid on her intimate flesh felt cold and burnt slightly. A little of it trickled down to her anus, which ached faintly. He washed his hands with some more alcohol and, after some consideration, pulled on the left wing of her short inner lips and slid it, as much as he could, between the two pieces of the tool.
“Remember you can say no,” he said playfully. “Say no, and I won’t be mad. I’ll just leave with my semen you like so much, maybe forever.”
She did not truly like it, she reflected. It felt more like an absolute craving, an unforgiving need.
“Or ask me to pierce you, nicely, and I’ll let you have the glass later.”
“Please, sir, pierce my pussy.” She could tell he knew how much she resented him; no one who did not know that would enjoy making her play nice that much.
“Fine.” And he pierced her.
It hurt more than the blows, more than the first time ever he had sodomized her, roughly. The pain tore and radiated through her, as if he had ripped away her whole crotch. It subsided a little, then exploded anew when he forced the stud into the wound. Halfway through it jammed, poked her raw flesh so hard she bucked. He pulled it back a little, then forward again and, once the tip appeared on the other side, turned it around like an awl, and capped it with a small metal ball at each end.
“I like the way it looks,” he decided. “I do good work, don’t I?” He let go of the tool to caress her tear-streaked cheeks. “Don’t I?”
“Yes, thank you sir.”
He kissed her, just a peck on her lips, then looked at her crotch again.
“I told you to uncover your clitoris.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her fingers struggled to find the hood again as her whole crotch was numb and warm, still aching. When one of them bumped into the stud he had nailed into her she yapped in pain. Finally she unhooded again her little pink bud; tears welled at the corner of her eyes when she thought of what was coming for it too.
He rubbed it insistently, until it hardened, and then pierced it suddenly. It hurt even more than the first one, and did not stop hurting for long time. Her whole clitoris felt ravaged, irremediably lost to pleasure, a pit of suffering. Through the hole he had fit a horseshoe-shaped stud that prevented the hood and, as she would later find out, her lips from closing, and left her martyred organ exposed. He flicked it a little, exacerbating her pain, then cleaned the tool again. He was not done.
“Stand up.”
He pierced her nipples too, both of them, and put big studs through them while she wept. The first one hardly hurt, maybe because she was overwhelmed already; but after piercing the other one, he somehow jammed the stud again and make her jump and shriek, before succeeding on the second try.
“Well,” he said, “You deserve it.” And he handed her the glass.
She forced back the tears and gulped the white liquid ravenously. Her mouth, she knew, was where it felt the best, even better than in her vagina. In her anus it always felt too immense, too violent a sensation, like a heartbeat skipped. Elsewhere on her body the pleasure was not as strong, although still immeasurably superior to any other kind. But in her mouth taste and touch and smell combined in many delightful notes, separate threads of soothing pleasure that traversed her, ravished her body and mind, filled her with impossible relief. He let her enjoy it, he truly did. It was only once her bliss receded that he ordered: “Pull your tongue out.”
Once he took two weeks off, emptied her accounts, and went on a vacation, not telling her where. She absorbed herself in her work, went to sleep upset every night after smelling the sheets where he had taken her. The need for his semen inched up and up in her, crawled under her skin, shook her. She counted days and then she counted hours. Probably he would come back the day before he was actually to resume work, and maybe he would come for her that evening, who knew at what hour. But she spent the evening alone, sitting on a chair, too upset and distracted to even watch television.
He did not show up at work the day after, and there was no explanation. She had to cover up his unauthorized absence, which was not even that hard for someone in Human Resources. Anguished days dragged on. She hoped he would come back the following weekend; he did not.
Once, early on, when his demands had been too cruel and her longing too torturous, she had supposed or hoped she was addicted to semen in general, not just his. With her need so urgent, there had been no time for subtle seductions. She had gone to a bar on the other side of town, and picked up the most ragged man she saw, a washed-up, surprisingly young loner in a bad suit, not too deep in his drinks yet. Him she could control, to an extent, she had hoped. “Do you want to come home with me?” she had asked, and he had suspected some sort of trap or a joke. She had to insist, to convince that gross, wretched dork to not turn away a woman he could never have ordinarily had. “It’s my thing,” she had whispered, writhing with hidden disgust, “I fuck strangers I meet in bars.” Dirty words in her clean, lipsticked mouth excited men, she knew. She dirtied herself as they would dirty her with their sweat and drool. At her apartment she had had to insist once again, he really, infuriatingly wanted to put on a condom. He was afraid of catching AIDS from a stranger or even to put a child in her. She had thought of going with it and then fishing the condom out of the garbage, but her need was too pressing, and in the end she said, “let me put in on”, and instead put that stranger’s penis in her mouth and started fellating it. He barely protested once her tongue was rubbing his nasty wretched shaft.
When he had come, she had immediately known this was not it. The bitter liquid dribbled in her mouth and she felt nothing. Now he looked more wretched than ever, almost knocked out. He was naked and skinnyfat; a little of his semen matted his black pubes, and she felt only repugnance for it. He had seemed a little upset but not really surprised that penetration was not after all in the cards, but he had insisted on a brief shower. The whole situation had been as pathetic as it was laughable. Finally, when she managed to get him out, He, the other man, had been there outside her door, smirking, victorious. She was his and knew it, and he left without a word, rubbing shoulders with the stranger in the hallway.
And so now she just counted the days, since nothing else would do. The need, the longing gutted her. Sometimes it felt like she was going deaf, incapable of hearing anything, of focusing on anything but of her pangs of sad lust. When eventually he reappeared at her door, after four weeks, she was so tormented, so upset, so starved for his addictive semen that despite her standing orders, she threw herself at him as if to ravish his long-absent body. She pressed her small breasts against his chest, hammered his face with desperate kisses, offered herself all, exalted and swooning.
Once she was taking the subway home, it was crowded, not to the point that made movement difficult, but she could not find a place and had to stand, holding onto a subway handle, when he stood right behind her and started fondling her buttocks.
She knew it was him, from his smell and the assured way he stood close to her. He pushed his hand through the fabric of her skirt, bunching it into a sort of glove, feeling up between her legs. His skirt-wrapped fingers pushed the crotch of her panties aside, penetrated her. Behind her she could feel his breath in her hair, his hard shaft pressing against her rear. She feared and hoped he would take her right here, or in a subway corridor, pull her skirt up, shove his penis in her and ejaculate profusely. It did not, at this moment, matter to her that the people saw them, or the consequences. She only cared for the contact of his semen on her starved, upset flesh. She could feel his engorged member behind her, ready.
When he pulled away, she gasped. At the next station he was gone. Such ordeals were the price she sometimes had to pay for belonging to him.
Once, at her place, he took photographs of her, with her own cell phone, making her turn and change poses, sometimes capturing her whole body and sometimes approaching the camera and even using the zoom function to catch a closeup of some part of her. She posed obediently, spreading her legs, bending her back, smiling. He took maybe a hundred photographs. Then he sat on the bed. The exercise had made him hard and she fellated him while he browsed the pictures. He enjoyed it, but his mind was not wholly on the act and therefore he did not come. When he stopped her it was getting late. He showed her that he had selected five photographs, and sent the others to his own phone.
The first of the five photographs was a full length portrait of her in front of a window, naked and smiling, looking right at the camera, with her arms behind her head exposing her shaved armpits. This raised her small breasts a little, drawing attention to the halter piercings in her small nipples. Her slit, always slightly ajar now, was barely visible under her beautiful pale bush. The portrait emphasized her slender legs and belly; on a closer look, one could notice her blonde straight hair, untied, flowing down almost all the way to her hips.
The second photograph was a closeup of her right areola, small and pink and dainty on her soft breast. The piercing had been removed from her limp nipple, although the picture was so close you could see the hole it went through, and count the little bumps on the circumference of the areola.
The third one was a profile shot of her chest and head. Her back was arched, her hands behind her back, pushing forward her breasts. Her eyes were closed, her hair hung behind her shoulder in a single braid. She wore darker lipstick than usual, and her mouth was open wide, revealing pearly teeth and her red, pierced, outstretched tongue. The tip of it was pressed against a peeled banana which he held off frame, and which she licked with an obvious erotic intent.
The next one showed her from behind, resting on her knees and elbows on a bed unmade. Her long blonde hair covered her shoulders, and her small, soft, but perfectly round buttocks were high in the air. Her legs were widely splayed, displaying her anus and spread vulva. The picture was taken at a rather low angle, to display both the buttocks and the vulva under them, and slightly to the side, to show the back of her head on the mattress. Inner lips hung from her opened slit, studded each with a gleaming piercing. Between them, the ring though her clitoris was just about visible, and behind it one could guess at her blonde mound. From previous manipulations the lips and clitoris appeared dewy and glistening.
The last photograph was almost identical but taken from a somewhat higher angle, revealing the dimples above her buttocks. Two other things changed: first, she had put a hand between her legs and had shoved her medium all the way into her vagina, most of which was therefore hidden; second, she turned her head to look over her shoulder, making her face visible and recognizable.
“I’ll leave it to you, he said. Choose one of these pictures and post it on reddit, in this subreddit. Add a caption that you hope many will masturbate to it.”
She hesitated too long and he added: “You probably don’t want me to put all five on it and more.”
Her heart leapt in her chest, but her thoughts were strangely sluggish. Obviously she could not put one with her face, so that left only two of them, the one of her anus and vulva and the one of her nipple… For each one she thought of thousand men leering at it, old men, gross men like Patrick Chen, teenagers afraid their moms would surprise them. All she could choose was the one with the nipple. Even that made her sick.
“What do I type?” she asked after uploading the photograph, but before posting it. It would be on the internet forever.
“Something dirty about how you hope they enjoy it.”
I hope you guys enjoy this picture, she typed.
“No, more dirty,” he said. He had pulled her on his lap and she could feel his hard member throbbing under her thigh.
I hope you jack off to this, she typed.
“Make an effort.” His hand was on her breast, playing with her piercing. Danger.
I hope you all jack off to my little titty. It makes me wet to think of it.
“Just add that you might post more later and it will do.”
She did and posted it and he checked it to make sure it was done right. The upvotes started almost immediately.
“Good start,” he said, terrifyingly. “Now the next one. Of the four you have not chosen yet, choose one and send it by SMS to your manager. Then we will wait ten minutes, and you may send him a text that you are terribly sorry and it was meant for someone else.”
It was a nightmare; Eric was cordial enough but a stern man, with no patience for any foolishness. What’s more, she saw him every day. Trolls on reddit did not matter, it was awful to think of them ogling her nipple but they did not know her, there was nothing to link her account and her real identity. Eric would keep on meeting her; even after his first reaction, every time he saw her he would think of what he had seen, underneath her clothes. Eric was also always on his cell phone, even late at night, and so she knew he would immediately see the picture. And yet another thought gripped her: her master was not done, she would have to send all the photographs, and for each one he would ask something harder. How would he escalate next? Her profile picture on Facebook, her neighbor? Maybe she ought to pick the dirtier pictures first.
“Have you chosen?”
With her heart inking she chose the portrait of her in full, which displayed her breasts and armpits and blonde bush, but also did not show her doing anything, just standing. And it was the one which showed her face the most, which did not matter since he would already know it was her. She was sure that Eric would not share the picture.
“I chose this one,” she said, hoping he would press send himself.
“Send it then. Good. Now let’s wait ten minutes. Tell me about your day.”
“There was a meeting early with Eric and a new branch director…”
As she went on he asked for more and more details; his member was still erect under her thigh, his left hand still on her breast. Once her cell phone vibrated. He looked at it but made no comment. Finally she got to when she had left for home and made herself ready for him.
“OK. You may send your apology text now.”
Sorry, it was a mistake, she typed with trembling fingers. Can you please please delete this picture and forget about it? I’m so sorry.
“Ok, third picture,” he said without missing a beat. “Pick one of the three pictures left and send it to your father. No explanation this time, just pretend like you’re both too embarrassed to comment.”
Her heart raced and sank. She scrolled through the last damn three pictures, as though they well not already seared in her memory. There was the one where licked a banana with her breasts out, the one where she exposed her anus and pierced vagina and the one where she fingered herself. Any of those would make her dad sad, as he always thought of her as a little girl, and was fairly conservative overall. She remembered the looks when she wore anything sexy as a teenager, the pained disappointment on his face, not that she ever wore really sexy clothes, she was a prude at school. And now, what would he see… He would not even mind seeing her body, it was like bumping into each other in the bathroom. What would hurt him was the thought of his daughter sending naughty pictures to others by phone, which strangely compounded it; her dad did not like technology much either.
“Well?”
She could not bear to have him see her in a sex act, so she decided to send the one with her holes exposed. She was not doing anything in it, after all. Just posing. She chose the picture, transferred it to her dad, pressed send. It was only when he licked one of her tears that she noticed them.
“You’re doing very well,” he said. “It’s almost over. Now choose one of the last two pictures and send it to Patrick Chen.” Oh no.
Chen was a creep around the office, a fat, slovenly nerd who was not even the useful kind of nerd; he had some poorly defined administrative role. People barely tolerated him, especially women. He’d leer at them and say stupid jokes too loud. Of course he leered at her too. She could only imagine how he’d react to the picture.
She turned to the side, to face the man whose semen she craved so much, even as he tormented her, it seemed she could feel it pulsing in the hard member under her.
“Please, just not him. Anyone. The whole world. Not Patrick.” It was an absurd thing to say, since the whole world included Patrick (he was probably on reddit, too), but the mere thought of sending him a dirty picture made her lash out in horror.
He kissed her. His way of saying no; of saying obey; of saying or else.
She reasoned that while both photographs showed her face, the one where she fingered herself only showed a small part of it, over the shoulder. In truth it was enough to recognize her, but she kept a bit of deniability. Who knew whom that gross creep would share the picture with?
“I’ll send this one.”
“OK. Type a message with it, are you ready?: you’ll never have sex with me but I want you to see what you miss.”
She looked again at her little soft buttocks all pale and offered to the camera, at her slender naked thigh, at the hand between them and the finger in her. Could she really send that? As she was about to do it, she received a text from Eric. “OK,” it just read. She sent the picture to Patrick.
“Last one,” he announced. The last one was the one where she fellated a banana. “Send it to Richard.” Even from him the cruelty staggered her. He had learned of Richard one their first evenings, when he went over her social media and past, looking for wounds to poke. Richard was her first teenage love, a discreet boy with confused dreams and a shy smile. Their romance had been arthurianly chaste, two years of respite before the storms of adulthood. Since then they had reconnected online, he was a father of two, married to a woman more successful than him, a potluck cook and a meticulous gardener. Not once had he suggested he wanted more than friendship and memories.
“Send him the picture with the same message as Patrick: you’ll never have sex with me but I want you to see what you miss.”
She did.
Afterwards she felt dirty and guilty, increasingly aware that her addiction to his semen, and her submission to his whims, were now the whole of her life. This pleased him, as he liked seeing her sad as much as he liked seeing her in pain. Still hard, he took her vaginally, and ejaculated fast in her. The liquid bathed her inside, electrified her flesh, but she was so afflicted with what she had done, so worried with the consequences.
As he left he took her cell phone with him. “You can see the answers tomorrow at work when I give it back to you. Sleep tight.”
Once she had an intern named Leila; her parents were acquaintances of one of her bosses, rich Tunisians who lived here year-round. They had put her in a very prestigious college, but Leila barely coasted through it; she was lazy and careless, though with flashes of true intelligence when she bothered to apply it. It was obvious the Tunisian girl did not care for that internship, and she had to point out to her the same mistakes several times. Leila barely listened, her attitude verged on insolence. She fumed at having to put up with her.
He started coming in her office to be around Leila. He just stayed there, on the flimsiest of pretexts, sniffing the smell of her young brown skin, darting quick looks at her heavy breast and legs, at her lips, the sort of quick dirty glances men think women don’t notice. Leila did not understand what his job was, as it had nothing to do with HR, and she was too incurious to figure it out, but she picked up on her supervisor’s deference to him, and showed him rather less insolence than to her. He asked the intern questions about her studies, and what she wanted to do later, where she lived, et cetera. She looked at them with some horror, thinking he might enthrall Leila as he had her, and she might have to share his semen with the intern, or lose him altogether. This caused her to become curter and more critical toward Leila, which caused some resentment in the younger woman and amused him greatly.
Things came to a head at a party their firm threw for the retirement of an executive. It took place on the cafeteria floor, after hours; the catering was good and there was alcohol, they played music on a laptop with some speakers Patrick Chen had brought from home. The retiring executive gave a small speech, received a gift card for exercise equipment, and then left early, but the party went on. Everyone seemed in a good mood, talking and gossiping. He spent most of the time talking with Leila, sometimes loudly, sometimes more discreetly, at the edge of the party; Leila listened to him with interested eyes, and occasional bursts of annoying laughter.
Finally he walked up to her, while her intern looked at them and giggled.
“We’re going at Leila’s,” he said. She understood the ‘we’ with a shudder.
In the metro she leant against the door on the side where they don’t open, and he caressed her little breasts, while Leila sat and looked at them, a little mockingly, talking with him about the usual metro line she took to college, and how slow and crowded it was.
“Sometimes perverts stare at my breasts,” Leila said, a bit loud, while she gazed merrily at his hands squeezing her manager’s smaller chest. She said nothing, but she was not allowed to look down; she could see other passengers watching them. Some watched her body and some her face, and she tried not to give them too much of a show.
“Sometimes they try to catch a glimpse up my skirt,” Leila said, with perverse cruelty, knowing fully well what she suggested.
“Like that?”
He ignored her pleading eyes, bent and grabbed the hem of her skit and lifted it all the way up, showing her long thin pale legs and all of her white panties. Many others were looking at them; a group of tourists were actually staring, mouths agape; three loud, brutish-looking youths had stopped talking to enjoy the show.
“No fur for them to see,” Leila said.
“Oh, do they see fur under you skirt?” he asked.
“Maybe.” Leila’s face was flushed with alcohol, laughter, and a little embarrassment. Did that girl truly realize ho far this might go?
He lifted her skirt again, way above her panties. and this time Leila actually leaned forward to look. Above the white cotton there was a narrow strip of blonde pubes.
Leila burst out laughing. One of the youths rose…
“Oh, that’s my station!” Leila exclaimed. They rushed out of the subway train.
------------------------------------------------------------- 9.The Party at the Intern's
Once they were at Leila’s apartment she could feel things would take a nastier turn. The place was small but new and clean, much better than her own room in college. There was little furniture besides the bed, a few chairs, a table and a very large TV mounted on the wall. A few textbooks were strewn on the ground; a floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the city. Leila removed her coat and heels and fell giggling on her bed, with a heavy white comforter and no headboard. He sat on a chair by the table, which was covered in dirty tableware, empty bottles, some mail. She stood by the TV.
“Undress,” he told her.
She unbuttoned her shirt and removed it. For an absurd moment, standing there in her skirt and bra with her shirt in her hand, she wondered where to put it down. The table was covered in junk, and there was nothing lese beside her except the television… Finally she bent and placed it on the ground, carefully. Then she removed her bra, as she had many times before, not as shamed as the first times, but a little upset that a girl now was leering at her. When she bent again to deposit it over the shirt, her small pale breasts hung under her chest, and she could feel Leila’s eyes on their pink points. At first her intern had been giggling to see her humiliated, but now she had grown silent, attentive.
She staggered a little and put her hand on the wall to keep her balance while she raised her foot.
“No,” he ordered, “keep your shoes.”
She unbuttoned her skirt and let it fall to the ground, stepped out of it. All that was left was her panties. She put her thumbs in the waistband, pulled down. She stepped out of them and stood, forcing herself to look in front of her, as he liked. Leila rose hesitantly and glanced at him.
“Go ahead,” he said. “She’ll obey you like she obeys me.”
Leila walked to her, hesitated a while, and then slapped her and watched her reaction, afraid despite his reassurances. She straightened up and tasted blood in her mouth and did nothing else, and then Leila giggled happily and kissed her, several times, little pecks at first then longer, more intense smouches full of spirit. Leila stopped, and looked surprised at her own daring, then she caught the small, pale breasts in front of her, and handled them with naïve roughness, squashing the soft flesh, pinching and twisting the nipples.
Finally Leila stepped back and bent forward to examine her crotch, giggling again at the silver loop in her clitoris that kept her slit always ajar, under the blonde flame of her trimmed pubes. She did not look down, but felt her breathless intern grab each lip between two fingers and spread them apart breathlessly, carefully, as if the female thing at her disposal disgusted and intimated her a little. She had learned to obey even wordless orders; she spread her legs outward to facilitate the inspection, while keeping her torso upright. She expected a nailed finger inside, merciless and clumsy, but Leila just stared at her pink, wet flesh, flicked the obscene jewels nailed through her, moved to watched her exposed clitoris so close that she could feel the warm breath over it.
“Hard to think this is how mine look.”
“Is it?” he asked.
“It looks different, seen up close. I’m not sure I want to go with it.”
“That’s your choice to make. Of course, if you don’t do it now, when it’s the safest, well, when will you?”
“Yes. You’re right.”
Leila stepped away to her bed and undressed, without sensuality, tossing her clothes to the floor, turning her back to him while he was openly ogling her. Her breasts were massive, tipped with wide brown areolas. Her buttocks were big too, already strewn with stretch marks, and her belly was little flabby. When the girl hopped on the bed, he could see her crotch was fully shaven.
“Comme and… be nice to me, with your mouth,” Leila told her, weirdly reluctant to use the word. She approached, knelt at the foot of the bed, bent between the spread legs; he was standing behind her, observing. Leila’s naked pubis was plump like too, the brown thick lips opened around a pink, odorous hole. The very sight revulsed her. Still, she had to obey. She pulled her tongue out, closed her eyes, then remembered to keep them open. With a small shudder she licked the intern’s moist lips; they tasted like game stew she had tasted as a child, at a country cousin’s. The intern’s vaginal opening heaved and gaped; she was not even sure was a hymen looked like, but it seemed it was gone.
“Not so bossy now, boss,” Leila said. “Take care of my clit.”
It was like his penis, she thought. She did it for him, even if she did not enjoy it; and eventually he would get his semen in her, just enough to both whet and soothe her lust for it. She took the big, fleshy lump between her lips, and ran her tongue carefully over it, again and again, until the muscles at its back actually hurt. Drool seeped from her numb mouth, and Leila’s clitoris hardened and grew a little.
“Sixty-nine,” the intern commanded. She rose on her hands and knees, pivoted and presented her abused crotch to the cruel young girl. Fingers entered her, scrapping careless nails on her vulnerable inside. A few times she felt a tongue passing briefly on her, so light she could not even tell where exactly. Mostly Leila kept touching and prodding the different parts of her vulva, with childish nastiness. When she felt something enter her anus, she tensed.
“Keep licking,” Leila ordered. “And relax. It will happen anyway. This way you’ll smell better.”
She kept licking, and by some association she wondered how it would go from then on, working with the girl who had raped her with his permission and even his encouragement. She knew Leila would remember, and remind her with a smirk of the time she shoved something in her rear, and used her to pleasure herself, like an object. But then the pain overwhelmed her, and she could think of nothing else. The thing in her was much bigger and more rigid than a finger, and cold too. It hurt; she was raw. And although he had deformed her there over many demanding nights, and although she tried, desperately, to open herself, the hurt tore through her gut mercilessly. She wept over the pink lips she was licking, without stopping, knowing how worse it could get ; the hips under her drool-covered chin rocked with the pleasure of making her suffer.
Finally, it stopped, and Leila pushed her away. The thing in her felt like a second spine, and she could not curl in pain and shame as she wanted too. Instead she rolled against the wall, and looked at her tormentors with bleary eyes. Leila had stood, and no longer looked so amused, in fact he bit her nail pensively.
“Well, it’s not for me, I think,” she concluded.
“Maybe not.”
“It a just something I wanted to try, you know. I wanted to know how exactly it looks and fell. I’m glad I did not do it with a real lesbian; It’s so weird, I’m glad I got to try it with someone who had to obey me. Someone I did not have to consider, you know, I could just think about what I was experiencing. Maybe that’s why men do their first time with a whore so often. And I wanted to hurt that bitch, too. But you know, I also wanted to know how a woman’s body, not mine, how it goes. You ever feel that about other men’s dicks?”
“No. It’s not for me. Do you?”
Suddenly she remembered she was naked and covered her crotch with her hand. Her heavy, brown-tipped breasts she apparently did not mind showing.
“You’re not putting it in my little pussy,” she said, in the tone of someone absolutely sure to have a say in the matter. “You’re too old. But I would really like to watch you do her.”
He had already taken off his tie and unbuttoned his sleeves while watching them. Now he removed his shirt and stepped out of his worked trousers, then took off his briefs in a smooth, hurried motion. His penis, predictably, was already hard and he presented it to the girl, who was giggling again. Then he rolled her on her back, which was enough already to make the thing inside her hurt more, he spread her legs, and he entered her roughly. Each of his thrusts pinched her flesh between the hard thing in her rear and his warmer, throbbing shaft. She could feel in the rhythm of his hips that he was close to ejaculation; obviously the sights and games of this evening had inflamed him. Still he held his weight up on his arms, rather than crushing her under him as he often did, and made wide move with his hips, pulling his shaft out before slamming it in again, which allowed Leila, at least intermittently, a view of his turgid member invading her dainty pale slit, splitting apart her lips that went up around his shaft like bow waves before a ship. The intern had bent forward again, and watched that unaccustomed show with giggling attention, stopping only to look at the pain on her reddened face. That night he lasted less long than usual. His semen, which she so humiliatingly cherished, burst into her savagely, and she spread her leg to take it all in, as if there was a risk it could miss her tender cup. For a moment, as it soothed her battered flesh, there was no pain, no fear, no shame, just the fleeting bliss of its moist contact. She gasped beatifically and twitched, more taken by the object of her addiction than by an actual orgasm.
Leila was laughing the whole time.
“How did you do it? Did you hypnotize her?”
“No. That’s not how it works.”
“But you control who feels it, right? You did it to other women.”
“Many. I could do it to you, too, without any difficulty.”
She laughed.
“But you won’t; I can tell. You prefer me a willing accomplice, because it’s more fun that way, more degrading to her. You don’t want me for a slave.”
“Not tonight.”
For an instant it seemed like Leila would dare him to do it on her, and in this way take the “little pussy” she had not offered him. But she didn’t. Through the haze of lust, alcohol and laughter, a flicker of fear, maybe, appeared in her eyes. Maybe she realized that semen addiction was not something her parents could help with, and that, for the first time in her life, she was in sweet danger.
“You can remove the thing in your ass,” she said. It was a small can of air freshener. This explained her earlier joke, why it would make her smell better. They dressed up in silence, all three of them. Then he and she left.
More than once he made her send an email that reversed their roles, something like “Get now into the conference room 607 and wait for me there. By the time I arrive, have your dick out and hard and at my disposal. Be sure to perform better than last time if you want to keep your job.”
As she was in HR, and at a higher rank than him, it might seem a plausible threat, especially as any talk of semen addiction would just seem silly to ordinary people. Moreover, he took so few precautions, sometimes taking her in a rarely traveled staircase or corridor, that it seemed only a matter of time before they were caught. And then her emails would accuse her and exculpate him. She thought of it in the moments when her obsession with his substance did not overwhelm her, with increasing resignation.
When she got to room 607 he slapped her. “Do you think your can order me around?” he mocked. “Well, what do you think of it?” His member was out indeed, through the fly of his trousers, and hard. What did he want her to say? In truth she found it ugly, repulsive, with its large head and the wormlike vein on its side. And yet it felt like she could smell that enthralling semen all the way through the urethra.
“I want it in me.”
He smirked.
“I showed you mine….” He nodded toward the table at the center of the conference room. “Show me yours.”
She sat on the edge of the table, grabbed the hem of her long skirt and reclined back, pulling it up. She did wear white panties; it wasn’t one of the days when he had ordered her to go without them. He bent forward, leering, pulled the lacy fabric to the side. She looked at the ceiling and he looked at her, on display. Since he had so painfully pierced her, the curved, torque-shaped stud in her clitoris prevented her lips from fully closing. They remained ajar, like the door of an unsecured house; there was no closure between the world and her mot sensitive flesh. He opened her vulva fully, studying her pink fold as a proprietor, and the narrow flame of blonde hair above her opened slit.
He entered her roughly and bent forward, one hand on the table and one on her small breast, kneading it through the shirt. She had not had time to remove her suit, and it felt tight around her shoulder, and it bunched up between the table and her back. He had pulled even her inner lips far apart, by the rings that traversed them, and the teeth of his zipper rasped painfully against her sensitive vulva. The metal glider, cold, bumped against the brim of her vagina, right under his invading shaft. She squirmed, and even twisted a little, but after only a few strokes he ejaculated, and it was all she could do not to scream. Someday, she briefly thought, they would be caught. But then his semen touched her, caressed her from within, and she gave herself up to the moment.
Once he told her, “You’re not unique. What you feel I can make other women feel. Do you know how we will end? We will go on a vacation, a luxurious one, in one of those Third World countries where there’re luxury hotels right next to crime and misery. To pay for it you’ll empty your accounts and take a credit. We will travel separately so I don’t come under suspicion. Once there we’ll laze on the beach a little, splurge on good buffet food, visit whatever there is to visit there. I will order you to tease the local policemen, not enough to really get in trouble, just to scare you. I will fuck local prostitutes and make you lick my semen off them.
Then one day you’ll rent a car, we will drive to the heart of darkness, some random place in the wilderness. I will tie you there and take you one last time. I’ll clean myself with your mouth, which will give you one last bit of pleasure. And then I’ll abandon you to your fate, whatever it is.
I’ll go back to the hotel and destroy your papers and flight ticket back. I’ll fly home alone and find some other woman to replace you, or maybe I’ll just take a break because I’ll be bored of sex, I’ll visit museums or take up a hobby before looking for your replacement.
Anyway, the thing is that at no point will I, technically, force you. Right until I make you put the ropes in the trunk of the location car, right until I actually physically tie you up, you will be free to leave, take the plane back, live a life without me and my semen, until you die at ninety in a retirement home. But if you don’t you will have that last sex with me, that last moment of solace. And for that, I’m sure of it, you will obey.”
Some time later he announced to her they were going on a vacation. She was to empty her accounts and take a credit to pay for it.
She obeyed.
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That's all ! Thanks for reading.