Strange Therapy Proposal

[SoftGameHunter]

Teaser: He's a perv and she's asexual, but they're in love and in therapy. One day, a new idea works its way into their session guaranteed to make them both ecstatic, just not at the same time.
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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. All sexual acts depicted in this story take place between consenting adults. Any similarities of the characters in the story to real people are purely coincidental.
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Title: Strange Therapy Proposal
Author: SoftGameHunter

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Bonnie sat in one seat, Eric in the other. Doctor Sherri Weisman sat across from both but no one had spoken for a minute. “Bonnie, I think it’s clear something is on your mind,” Weisman said.

“Yes. I guess. I had an idea, I guess. I want to suggest something.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“I love Eric,” she began. She glanced at him. “I want to marry him. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want him to run away from me because I can’t provide what he wants.”

“This isn’t really new, is it, Bonnie?” Weisman replied. “We can recap if you want, but maybe tell us why?”

“Because I want us all clear. You diagnosed me yourself, doc. Completely asexual. Not aromantic, but just can’t stand sex. That’s why I was a virgin until I was forty-two and let Eric take it, but I just can’t enjoy it. At all. That’s me. But it’s not him.”

“I haven’t been making a big deal of this lately,” Eric said. “I don’t think I have. Have I? What’s going on? What are you suggesting?”

“A middle ground, I guess. We can both get what we really want part of the time.”

“We do that already,” Eric said.

“No, we don’t, not really. Do we?” she said.

“What are you saying, Bonnie?” Weisman asked. “You consent as often as you feel able, and Eric is understandably frustrated. It sounds like you are already compromising.”

“No. Because he’s not getting what he really wants.” She looked at him, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “I did a bad thing. I’m sorry, but I did it and it’s done. I looked at your porn collection. All of it. The stuff hidden in Backup slash old college slash undergraduate slash calculus three.”

“I see,” he said.

“I’m afraid I’m still partially in the dark,” Weisman said. “So, Eric, I am guessing you have some preferences Bonnie doesn’t, didn’t, know about?”

“Oh yeah. And I was never, never going to try to push them on you,” he said to Bonnie.

“So, does one of you want to share? What are we talking about here?”

“It’s all done legally with willing performers. It just looks like underground stuff. Violence. Rape fantasy. Sexual torture.”

“I know the term. BDSM.”

“It’s heavier than that. It’s non-consensual role play. Extreme non-consent. The women are hurting, in real life.”

“So what sort of proposal are you making?” Weisman asked.

“I’ll agree to sex once a week,” Bonnie said. “That’s not a hard number, just what I’m thinking of. But once a week, Eric, you can have me the way you really want. Like those women in your collection. I’m not going to enjoy it anyway. I’ve tried, but I just can’t. But now I realize you like it better when the woman hates it. When she’s hurting. When she’s degraded and humiliated. I, um, feel that way anyway. I don’t think I can role play any kind of scenario. I can’t do escaped convict and warden’s wife. But if you want to ‘find me’ and attack me and hurt me, within reasonable medical limits, yeah. You may as well. The other six days of the week I get what I want and I get it knowing I won’t have to say no or fend you off and hurt you like I do. So we get what we really want, just not all the time. Because we just can’t.”

“Oh,” Eric said.

“I’m thinking of several problems with this,” Weisman said. She shifted nervously in her chair. “We’ve been trying very hard to work towards a solution that is agreeable to both of you all the time. There’s a difference. And we’ve been having trouble, but that’s been our goal.”

“We said we’d follow your advice, doc,” Bonnie said. “Are you advising against it?”

“Eric, what’s your reaction to this. Beyond ‘oh’?”

“I, wow. It sounds, interesting. But it means never doing it lovingly.”

“How you spend your allowed once a week is entirely up to you,” Bonnie said.

“But you wouldn’t reciprocate.”

“I can’t. I mean, I can fake it for a little while, but I’m no actor. I can’t ham it up. I don’t tell jokes. I don’t liven up a room. I’m just me. I don’t even know why you love me, but you do and I’m so lucky for that I could die. But I can’t fake passion. So, since you seem to like a different response…” She didn’t finish her thought.

“Well, nothing is permanent. We could give it a try. I never really thought about hurting you, though.”

“I can role play one thing, I think,” she said. “If it makes it easier, I can just pretend not to know you. You can do all that stuff to me and pretend it’s not me. Whatever you say, it’s not at me.”

“Doc, what do you think?” Eric asked.

“Do you have any real-life experience in domming women?” Weisman asked.

“Yeah, some. I’m hardly a master at it, but I’ve done it before. I won’t cause her any real injury.”

“And do you both know about safe words?”

“Sure,” Eric said.

“What’s that?” Bonnie asked.

“It’s a word you use when role playing that means no for real. Since you’re pretending, you can’t say stop and expect him to stop. So you use a word that wouldn’t come up. Red is common because it’s like a traffic light. Red means stop, and you can pare it with yellow for slow down. But it can be anything. Banana. Artichoke. If there are gags in place, a firm ‘uh-uh!’ does the trick.”

“You know a lot about this, huh?” Bonnie asked.

“I am a couple’s counselor,” Weisman said.

“Well, no safe word then. If I’m injured, he can stop.”

“I don’t recommend that. You’ve never done this, ever. Working without a safe word is dangerous.”

“But he can see if I’m injured, or I’ll just say ‘I’m injured.’ I’m already going to hate it. There won’t be a single thing that I actually want. If I use this safe word when things get bad, I won’t last a minute.”

“Doc’s right. We’ll have a safe word,” Eric said. “I insist.”

“Bonnie?” Weisman asked.

“I guess I’m leaving it up to you, so sure,” she said.

“Well, then I think for a trial period, maybe a month, you should try this. Bonnie suggested once a week. That seems reasonable. Eric, I suspect you’ll find it hard to immediately use a full intensity with Bonnie, so I encourage you to discuss it after, maybe the next day, and verify you are both still okay.”

“Whether I’m okay,” Bonnie said. “He’ll be fine, obviously.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Weisman said. “He’ll be hurting someone he loves. Non-consensual violence as a fantasy is not always the same as the reality. So talk about it after.”

“So, you are giving us your therapist stamp of approval,” Eric asked.

“Yes. Within the limits we just discussed. I think you should try this out with a clear head and open mind. Be prepared for it to not work. And be prepared for it to work out very well. Just keep an open mind.”

The drive home was quiet until they were almost there. They still had their separate homes, but were going to Eric’s house. “So, we should pick a time,” she finally said. “Tonight?”

“I’d rather have a bit longer if that’s alright. It’s Friday, we’re tired, and we just had our session.”

“Tomorrow if you want it,” Bonnie said. “I guess I could go into the afternoon too. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?”

“Yeah. Alright. Now, about the safe word,” Eric said as he parked the car. “I didn’t want to share this with the doc, but I have a way we can have a safe word you won’t use.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Let’s go inside first.” When they got in, Eric took a pad from the counter and wrote something down. He handed it to Bonnie.

‘Vergewaltigensunfallverischerungsgesetz’

“What the hell?” she asked, laughing.

“Say it,” he said. “As an insurance.”

“Okay. Verg, verg walt ig, or igens, unfall, veris cherungs gesetz,” she stumbled out.

“Okay, you know the safe word,” he said, snatching the paper away. “We can tell the doc we had a safe word that won’t come up and is a clear indicator you want to stop.”

“I want to stop seeing that word! I think it burned my retinas!” she said. “I know it’s German. What does it mean?”

“I kind of made it up. Roughly, it would mean rape insurance, if it was a word at all.”

“Rape insurance. Wow. This is why I really do love you. Okay. That’s the safe word. Probably show me one more time tomorrow before we start. We can say we reviewed it.”

“Yes, good thinking. Okay, that’s for tomorrow. For tonight, with no expectation that I’m going to put the moves on you, what shall we do for supper?”

They enjoyed a tension-free evening. Before leaving in the morning, Bonnie read the joke word aloud one final time. They agreed that Eric would go to her apartment sometime between four and five. She would be home. He had a key but they wouldn’t mention it aloud. She would pretend he was a stranger for their dialogue if she wished, but could switch to real-world without stopping anything. Otherwise, there was no set scene. Eric would do whatever he wanted to her body. Bonnie would just have to take it. She wouldn’t like it and he wouldn’t even try to get her to. It would end when he said it ended sometime before Sunday morning. In deference to the neighbors and their option to call the cops, she wouldn’t scream too loud but otherwise she would just be allowed to act naturally. The walls were thick anyway. She promised him and herself that it would be little worse than normal sex for her.

“Next time you see me,” she said with a slight kiss, “Really, just pretend you don’t know me. Pretend you hate me. Just, do it all to me. Beat me. Don’t half-ass it. I want this to work for you! I trust you.”

That was that. She could call him and stop it. And really, she suspected if she truly begged him to stop in the middle he probably would. There was no way she could remember that safe word, but she didn’t want to have to use it. Still, there was the possibility she would regret it. Some of those things on his computer. She winced. Never mind that they were sexual and revolting anyway. Some of that shit had to hurt! What would he really do to her body? How hard would it be to forgive him?

Guaranteed, she vowed. At least once, even if it got way out of hand and they never repeated it again, she would forgive everything. There was no way it would work otherwise. She got out her phone and texted Eric as well as Sherri Weisman. ‘I am still committed to the sex experiment. I want to say, with a witness and in writing, that I consent to everything and I forgive, if there’s anything that needs forgiveness, everything.’

She spent the day cleaning up a bit, removing breakables from easy reach. She bathed and cleaned herself up. At least she could be presentable. She considered some wine but decided no. She could be clear-headed when it happened to her. She would be able to show her legit distress. He deserved a sober, lucid victim anyway. Noon passed and the hours counted down. She tried to watch TV. Anything to take her mind off it. Every channel seemed to pick that afternoon for an abused woman theme, from domestic dramas of abused wives to action thrillers about human traffickers. She went to streaming services and selected something Disney, realizing how little she’d noticed that every single Disney princess got herself abducted or manipulated at some point.

Four o’clock approached. Eric was a punctual guy. He wouldn’t be early, and would never be late unless something came up. She had a one-hour window. At five minutes to four she could still sit and breathe easy. She just sat on her sofa, ticking off the minutes. Her mind wandered about. Four minutes. Three minutes. Three minutes of enjoying life left to her before it all unleashed on her. Two minutes. One. Would she see it coming? Would he speak first or just attack her? How long would he wait inside that hour? He would want to surprise her. It wouldn’t be at four fifty-nine. She burst out a little chuckle. Maybe he wouldn’t do it at all, caught in his own logic trap!

The clock on the screen told her it was past four now. She shivered, sitting there in dead silence. The movie was paused. She should just watch it, act normal. Let what happened happen. But she sat there like a cow to slaughter, only she knew what her fate was. Or at least she knew it was there, looming, starting within the hour. And lasting… She couldn’t know. They’d been vague about what morning meant. Ending by midnight? Or ending by noon on Sunday? It was up to him, and she’d seen his selections, including the stories. He like women held captive for the duration.

“Waiting for something, bitch?”

She squealed as her heart exploded. He was right behind her! How? She jumped up. It was a valid move. She hadn’t thought at all how she would react to him. Struggle? Flee? Submit in terror? But she hadn’t counted on him getting in and behind her in absolute silence in the first few seconds! So she jumped up and turned.

He didn’t wear a mask or anything. He had no real-world worry about her knowing who he was. It was him, Eric, the man she loved more than anything. But, was it really him? The eyes. His hard face. His stance. Was it even really him? Or a monster wearing his skin until it wasn’t needed anymore?

“H-” she gasped. How did he get in? Who is he? Help! She couldn’t finish even one word. He dropped a hiking pack to the floor. He’d brought gear!

“You want to do this the hard way or the other hard way?” he sneered, walking slowly around the couch to her. She stumbled back.

“I, what? What’s the difference?” she whimpered. “What do you want? What are you going to do to me?”

“Oh, the difference? Well, one way is you try to get away and I catch you. You struggle and I beat you down like a dog. I enjoy your body while you scream, and put you in therapy for the rest of your fucking life. That’s one hard way.”

He paused, still advancing slowly on her, toying with her. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Eric. She’d never been afraid of Eric, never feared him. He didn’t even get mad very much. This man, this monster wearing his skin, she was afraid of him. Absolutely terrified. “What’s the other way?” she whimpered as she circled back around the couch. She should have run for the door. Just fled. Explain it to Eric, the real Eric, later. Figure something out.

“The other way is you don’t run or fight, and I still beat you down like a fucking dog and rape your soft girl body half to death and back, and you still go into therapy for the rest of your fucking life, but with less busted furniture!”

“P-please, just, I’ll give in! Just, don’t hurt me, okay? I’ll just give in and you can do what you want. No argument. I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just, please, get it over with!”

She had already told Eric he should do anything he wanted. But that was Eric, not this man. Short of hurling herself out the window, she had no way to stop him. But, negotiation. She was submitting! She wasn’t fighting! He had no reason to hurt her.

“So, option two then,” he sneered. “You care about the furniture that much.”

“Fuck the furniture!” she cried. “Please, just, no!”

“Oh, you stupid, stupid old cunt. I just told you. I’m going to hurt you, bad. Think about that, bitch. Think about what I’m going to do to that body of yours!”

“Please you’re scaring me!” she cried, now inching back to the door. It wasn’t Eric. Not really. He wasn’t cruel. Sure, he got his jolly’s watching some tied up women, whatever. But this, this predation? It wasn’t really him. Something happened to him. Something terrible.

“Good. If you’re scared, you’re not as stupid as I thought. You should be scared. They all were. They all had reason to be!”

“They? All?” she felt her heart skipping beats again. “They, who?”

He grinned. “There’s that look. That confusion. That ‘oh no what did I do?’ revelation that gets my cock so fucking hard!”

“I, I…” she stammered. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out before turning to run away. To the front door. But it was locked with the chain. She hadn’t put the chain on! She needed several seconds to work the locks. He was a half second behind her, and when his arm wrapped around her neck and yanked her back, she felt all of her life slipping away from her.

“No! No! No!” she bleated. He pulled her back to the living room and body slammed her down to the couch then onto the floor. He landed on top of her, knocking the air from her lungs. But then she felt him yanking at her shirt. “No!” she continued as the fabric dug into her skin and tore, exposing her.

How she hated being naked. She could tolerate it. She had to shower, and compared to sex, she could at least show it to Eric, the real Eric, and make him happy without pain. He like to watch her change clothes. The real Eric did. This one just wanted her out of them. Her shirt was ruined. He was going to ruin her clothes tearing them off her.

“Stop it!” she screamed. He had her face down on the carpet.

“Shut up!” he roared. And then the pain in her back hit her. He hit her! He’d punched her right on her back, hard. A real punch. No one had punched her since the playground in elementary school but he did. “I said shut the fuck up you cunt!” Her nose exploded as he slammed his palm into her head, smashing her face to the rug below.

“No! Stop that!”

“Never say no to me you piece of cunt shit!” he roared. He got off her but the cold hard steel on her wrists didn’t register at first. Only when she tried to move her arms did it sink in. She was handcuffed. But he rolled her onto her back so she was staring up at him from the floor, chest exposed to this rampaging doppelganger of her boyfriend. “You ever say no, you pay!” he snarled as he grabbed at her nipple. It was her left, as he led with his dominant right. And then he squeezed. Not gently. Not rough. Bad, with all his obvious strength, crushing her flesh with his thumb and index finger, digging his fingernail in. And then he turned, twisting.

The screaming was her own. The pain was her own. She clutched her eyes shut but the tears still gushed out with her agony. She didn’t even see or feel his other hand on her other breast crushing her other nipple until the hot agony shot out of her breast and through her body. She bucked underneath him, but with her hands in chains behind her and his greater size she didn’t have a chance. She couldn’t pull away. She couldn’t yank her own tits from his grip. She could only lie there and suffer as he mauled her as only a woman can be mauled.

He did let go. She didn’t realize it right away. But his hands were off her breasts. He leaned down, close, and licked her face, making her open her eyes to him. “That was without tools!” he whispered. It was a loud, hissing whisper, but still a whisper. “You won’t stop me. So never say no to me you filthy piece of girl meat! You got that? You fucking got that!”

“Yes, yes,” she sobbed, wincing under his angry shouts. She turned her head aside and wept as he yanked at her pants, pulling them off with her undies. She laid there, sobbing, stark naked and handcuffed for this angry stranger. This monster pretending to be her boyfriend. Something had gone so wrong. Something horrible!

“Now, you don’t need these,” he said, putting his foot through one leg hole in her panties on the floor and yanking up on them, ripping them apart. Then he grabbed her pants.

“No! Why are you doing that?” she sobbed, but he did the same. It was harder, but he made the satisfying tearing sound as they gave out at the crotch and ripped down one leg. Her whole outfit was ruined now. It wasn’t expensive, but it was trashed.

“Oh, did you need those? Do you need clothes?” he asked. “Do you?”

“Uh huh,” she whimpered. He gathered her recently removed clothes and tossed them into her fireplace. She rarely used it, but it was a real log fireplace. Now he went to the kitchen and came back with a lighter. They were already ruined and she had a closet full of more, but watching him burn her clothes was a step beyond, and she cried tears anew.

“Okay, you flabby slut. Do you need clothing?”

“Yes! But you burned it!” she cried.

He just walked away, into her bedroom. She had a flash of horror as she imagined what was happening. He wouldn’t! But he came back with an armful of clothes from the hangers in her closet. He threw them to the floor and picked up a blouse at random. He made sure she was watching as he pulled it off the hanger.

“Please, don’t!” she cried.

He tossed it onto the burning pile in the fireplace already. It caught quickly. “Do you need clothing?” he asked again.

“I need something!” she screamed.

“Uh huh. He picked out another blouse and took it from the hanger.

“No! No, stop. I get it. I don’t need clothing! I don’t need any please don’t burn that!”

Onto the fire it went, ruined and lost in an instant. “Do you need clothing?” he asked her.

“No! I don’t need clothing!” she wept. What an admission! Would he use that as an excuse to burn more? Eric would never have done this.

“Do you deserve clothing?” he asked. “Do you, bitch?”

“No!”

“Say it in a complete sentence!”

“I don’t deserve clothing,” she sobbed. What was he going to do now? But he got up and kicked the rest of the pile away, only to walk over to her. “Please please please!” she burst out as he reached down at her. With each hand he grabbed a handful of her ample breasts, getting a solid grip on each. He straightened up, lifting her torso and head up, and began to drag her away, down the hallway to her bedroom. He was dragging her naked by her own breasts!

She could have twisted and broken free. He had a grip on her mammaries, but it couldn’t be a great one. She could break free. But then what? Escape and be happy? He’d just beat her up. Because he wasn’t really Eric. He was the monster. She whimpered and let him drag her. Up onto the bed he pulled her where she lay sobbing and watching him undress.

It seemed like Eric’s body, not that she looked much. The pit in her gut that told her sex was coming became a sinkhole for her despair. She expected not to like it. Even to hate it. But now she trembled in abject terror at it. Fucking. How disgusting. He was going to rape her with that thing. That body. It was as twisted now as former Eric’s soul seemed to be. For a moment she wondered if she was just imagining it. It was not Eric. Literally not him. He was delayed, and this random rapist monster broke in at the same time. She was imagining Eric’s face and not the actual squat, pug-nosed, missing teeth, mongoloidal man that was about to destroy her!

But his cock was hard and raging to go at her. In her. She laid her head back, her body now wracked with sobs, resigned to her fate. The sex was going to be ugly, shaming, painful. There would be no love, no attempt, even, at gentleness. No concern for her comfort. He wasn’t going to even try at her pleasure, not that it ever worked.

She realized too late, lying there, that she was very wrong. The timing. He would fuck her, rape her really, but not just yet. She burst out in a scream as the deep, digging agony of the belt hitting her chest hit her. She had looked away and now saw that he was belting her, hard.

“Fucking cunt! Worthless, stinking, flabby-ass bitch!” he roared. Bonnie cried out, trying to scramble away, still with her hands cuffed behind her. “Get over here, slut! Get the fuck over here now!” He grabbed her hair and pulled, rotating her over his way as her legs flailed about, seeking purchase. She couldn’t even right herself. But now he had her head by him and her body laid out in front of him. She didn’t realize until it happened how well she was lined up.

He swung the belt again. It was almost like slow motion, she was so hyper fixated on the fake man who she thought loved her as he hurt her. He hurt her on so many levels, and now as his arm and the belt of death swung high and wide, she knew only too late that it was aimed at her splayed-out vagina where it would come at her sex from below, prime angled for maximal impact. Maybe he swung extra wide so she could see it coming. So she could know what was about to happen. Her struggles as he yanked her around by her hair had left her legs momentarily spread out wide, shaking in the air trying to regain her balance on her back, resting on her useless, cuffed hands. With a grunt, he finished the fast, high, arcing motion and the belt smashed into her exposed, soft flesh. His aim was true, half of the belt smacking evenly on each of her labia, blasting them apart for a brief second, impacting all the most sensitive of her body’s nerve endings below and inside with the abrasive impacting pain that followed. Her scream burst out from her throat, already forming as she saw it happening in better than real-time. She could do nothing. She perceived it all, and the agony of that one cunt-whip sent millions of little pain signals along every nerve, all ratchetted up beyond the red line. He had actually done that to her!

“Here’s what that cunt on you is good for you bitch!” he shouted, striking her vagina again and again as she tried to close her legs and roll away, howling in shocked anguish. “You don’t give it out! You make your man beg for it!” Oh god, he meant Eric! How did he even know?

“St… Stop it!” she shrieked. If he was going to whip her more, it would be later, because now he tossed the belt aside and crawled onto the bed with her. Her crotch was inflamed and red and radiating pure pain into her body, up into her mind. No matter, though. He shoved her legs apart, his thick penis poised to go into her. She blurted out sounds that should have been words, should have been her begging for mercy. All she could do was gurgle and squeal as he shoved it into her swollen opening, ripping more pain into her. Sweat was her only lube at first, and even he had to grunt in awkward discomfort until he forced it in and all the way up her. He spat down onto their mixed genitals to make the disgusting union slicker. And it began. She laid there, whimpering and howling as her energy allowed as he completed the act, each thrust killing her a little more. She couldn’t tell at all when he was approaching his climax. When he would just squirt that disgusting crud into her and be done already. Him, the beast hiding in Eric’s body, taking his form. A slight warmth within, like she’d peed herself on the inside, along with his stopping movement, told her he was done. For now.

But not done overall. She wasn’t so naïve. All this for just one carnal ritual? Not a chance, and she knew it. She laid there, on her side, curled up, wailing in shame. It was the worst sex act ever in a lifetime of bad ones. Or a couple years, anyway. But at least those had been with a man she loved. Not a monster!

Even with her eyes open the tears were too thick for her to see. She didn’t see if he was there, but he had to have left the room to get his backpack. His rape kit. Because now he was shoving her onto her back and chaining her legs to the footboards on her bed. Her new bed. She’d bought a queen-sized when Eric entered her life. She’d tried so hard to accommodate him! But he didn’t want her love, only her body. And now he was gone and this abomination was torturing her! He chained her legs, wide. And then he took the horrible cuffs off her wrists, only to put new manacles on her wrist and lock her spread-eagled to the bed. All the pillows were under her head, making sure she could see everything!

“No no,” she whimpered, her first words in a while, as he put the thick, padded gag into her mouth and locked it to her head. Muzzling her. He didn’t want her being too loud.

“You’re a lousy lay, you goddammed cunt!” he snarled. “Maybe you’re a good screamer.” He emptied one compartment onto the bed between her legs. She had to scream now. Needles. Pliers. More whips. Clamps of all sizes. Electrical stuff she couldn’t make her brain comprehend! Knives! And it was a knife that he picked up first. He looked at it, at her, at it again, at her yet again. At her vagina, so recently beaten and penetrated. He was gripping the big knife and staring at her spread sex with deadly lust.

She shrieked for all she was worth as he pressed it to her sore gash. She tried to thrash, to remove the target, to squirm so much he couldn’t get it in. But she was way too tightly restrained. “This is going to hurt you bad,” he snarled. “And that’s soooo good!”

She wailed as he easily lined it up and began slowly sliding it into her. She tensed up, clenching. She could tell she shouldn’t. She tried to relax her vaginal muscles, to make herself as loose as she could. The knife, it was sharp, and he angled it so the bladed side slid right along her clit. It never gave her pleasure but it was still packed with nerve endings and now they all erupted at once as the knife edge slid where it shouldn’t slid, against flesh without even the protection of real skin. It wasn’t like his cock. He didn’t ram it into her. But he slid it in so slowly, relishing her cries and tears over several minutes until only the handle of the kitchen knife was sticking obscenely from her opening.

He was hard again! It was faster than it should have been, but he was hard again. Now he slid up and sat down on her chest, with his swollen, hot man thing hovering over her face. She was gagged, what was fake Eric even going to do? But he fiddled with her gag and she realized it was fancier than just a padded lump in her mouth. He turned and the padded middle slid out, with only a wide ring still set in her mouth, holding her jaw open, wide enough for his cock to slide through.

She’d never given head, ever. She could consent to normal sex when she had to, but not to putting it elsewhere. Not in her mouth. Not in her ass. Eric, the real one, had asked. She’d said no. But he wasn’t asking.

“Oooooo!” she cried. She couldn’t form the word ‘no.’ She could only howl as he lifted himself up to his knees, swatting over her face. The underside of his penis hovered over her, and his sack of sweaty testicles dangled down, swaying over her eyes, touching on her nose, before he positioned himself lower and angled his dick into her mouth. He clutched her head with his hands, holding her still as she cried out and tried to turn away.

“Hold still and take it, bitch! I’m not asking your fucking permission!” It in went, rubbing over her tongue, pressing to the back of her throat. She gagged, gurgling out cries of distress around his cock as he began to fuck her. He fucked her mouth! She tasted it. Sweat. Musk. And it had to be her own ‘flavor’ too, from earlier. It was a concoction of revulsion as he went on and on. He’d gotten off earlier. She knew he would be in her mouth for some time. She could hardly breathe!

And after a few minutes, he turned himself around, pulling out only briefly. It was difficult, with the bed against the wall, but fake Eric was as limber as the real one for a man his age. He bent his legs so he could kneel by her head, shove his cock in her mouth, now with his balls resting on her nose and eyes, and he could lean over and play with her pussy, with the knife still embedded in her.

“Work your tongue over me, whore,” he said. “Come on, show some fucking initiative. Don’t make me mistake you for a blow-up doll. I want to feel that tongue. Worship that cock in your mouth. Suck my juices out! Or else, I could always…” He left it unsaid, but he was fingering her vagina, and now pushed on the knife a little, wiggling it ever so slightly inside her. She cried out but began poking her tongue at his intruding cock. Her world was reduced to that grotesque penis in her mouth, that ball sack resting on her face and soaking up her tears, and his tingling, cringing fiddling of fingers around her knife-impaled genitals.

He clawed at her clit, pinching it with his fingernails and pressing the flesh to the sharp blade edge. But still she wept and sucked as he slid his crotch up and down, making her gag, cutting off her air. She desperately tried to work the tip, to make him finish, even knowing it meant a mouthful of that stuff. There was again no warning. But suddenly warm, gooey salt flooded her mouth. She coughed and sputtered. She couldn’t swallow with her jaw pried open. She’d been drooling, her saliva spilling out over her cheeks in spurts with his thrusting, and now wads of semen were mixed in.

But he pulled out and crawled off her. She screamed up to the ceiling, thrashing anew in her chains. She blinked enough tears away to see him pointing his cell phone at her. He was taking pictures! Was he going to post them online? Email them to everyone?

“Smile bitch! We’ve barely gotten started!”

It was too much. She wailed the lament of the dying. She felt the warm wetness before she recognized it. She was peeing on her bed. There was just no end. Oh how she wept! Lying there, no hope, no joy, no nothing. It wasn’t even dark out yet! This could go on all night! And then what? She drained her bladder, but not before turning her head and throwing up. There wasn’t much, but now a pool of unswallowed jizz pooled on the pillow be her face. Her whole body heaved with wracking sobs. He put the phone down and stood over her, just watching. Staring at her in her agonized, despairing distress. He was blurred by her tears, but just stood there, arms crossed, leering down at her. Judging her. Deciding she was unfit for human compassion. He’d judged her a female body to abuse and use up, and there wasn’t a goddamned thing she could do about it. The monster imitating the man she loved could just go on hurting her throughout the night.

“Okay, you know what?” he said. “Vergewaltigensunfallverischerungsgesetz. I’m done. That’s it.”

“Whad?” she whimpered, not quite able to form the word. But he sat down and pressed the knife’s dull side hard to her pussy walls as he slid it out of her. She laid there as he began unfastening her.

“It’s a safe word. I’m quitting, now. We’re done with this.”

“I, what?” she asked when he pulled the gag off. Was it a trick?

“It is over,” he said.

***

“I had to make time to see you on a Monday,” Weisman said. “Should I assume this is about your sexual experimentation?

“Yeah, that’s it,” Bonnie said. Eric nodded.

“What happened? Was it too much?”

“I safe worded it,” Eric said. Weisman sat there, unspeaking for a moment.

“So, you were subbing?” she asked.

“No, Bonnie was. Want to see some video of it?”

Again, Weisman didn’t answer right away. Her changing facial expressions showed her attempts to process what she was hearing. “For safety and medical reasons, okay,” she said. Eric handed her the phone, set to play. She watched the forty-five seconds of Bonnie lying on the bed, naked, bound, ejecting all over the bed as she wept out of control. It ended.

“Okay. I see some welts. Is that a knife handle? There’s no blood.”

“I was careful.”

“Alright, I think I’m getting the picture. Eric, what were you feeling? How long after this video clip do you end it?”

“Right then. I turned it off and finished. And, she was hurting. It got me hard. I could have gone on and done so much more. But…”

“Bonnie, what did you think and feel when he stopped?”

“I, it was so bad, but… I felt, um. It was sort of…”

“Bonnie.”

“Like a failure! Like I’d guilted him into not getting what he wants. Again!”

“Okay. How was the experience for you?”

“Awful. But I knew it would be. I agreed to it.”

“Eric, were you less turned on than you thought you would be?”

“No. I was more! A lot more. Her tears, and her cries, I could have kept it up all night! But, she was so unhappy.”

“I see. So you stopped because, guilt?”

“Fear, really. And guilt. She couldn’t stop. Not really. Not with that unpronounceable safe word.”

“Okay. But I’m going to suggest something. Tell me if you agree. If she had said ‘Eric, this scene is getting bad, please stop,’ or something like that, would you have stopped anyway? Even without the safe word?”

“Yeah. I think so. When it was getting harsh, sure.”

“Then I don’t think that’s a problem here. Bonnie, I’m hearing that you wanted to give him guilt-free sex the way he enjoys it and didn’t try to hide your distress like you probably have been doing all along.”

“I usually want to die when he’s doing it to me.”

“And Eric, you were probably scared of how strongly you reacted and didn’t want to lose control of yourself?”

“That sounds about right.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“We came to you for that,” Bonnie said.

“Apparently, but I don’t have that answer for you. Both of you, you’ve shown tremendous self-awareness of your feelings throughout this experiment. Eric, you’ve shown genuine caution and restraint and if, if, you do this again, you can probably trust yourself a lot more. Bonnie, you’ve been clear to everyone about your feelings and you’ve shown absolute willingness to trust someone else and to give something very difficult for you to give and you’ve done it out of love. So, I’m not answering this question for you. If you both walk out of here wanting to try again, I’ll give you my blessing. If you want to quit because it was too much, I’ll endorse your choice to stop this. It is not a question here, today, of if you should continue or not. It is a question of what you both wish to try to improve your relationship.

“So, Eric, you first. Does the thought of another scene like that with Bonnie appeal to you? You, specifically.”

“Oh, yes. Okay, yes. But…”

“No buts. That’s your answer. Bonnie, tougher question, but knowing now what might happen, would you be happier letting Eric treat you that way once a week because it gives him sexual pleasure, or would stopping make you happier?”

“I want to make him happy. Even doing that stuff.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I guess we could try again. Next Saturday?” Eric suggested.

“Yes.”

“Alright. I think you have a resolution,” Weisman said.

In the car, Eric spoke first. “It might get more intense,” he said. “I’m still worried how you would take that.”

Bonnie didn’t answer right away, but she finally spoke up. “I looked at your porn collection again. A lot. While you were mowing the lawn.”

“I see.”

“In our scene, you pulled my clothes off, handcuffed me, whipped me for like two minutes, had sex, gagged me and tied me to the bed. The edge play was the only unusual thing in there. You didn’t cut me. And it was all done in under an hour. That was basically a mild session! My reaction was extreme. The worst thing you did was burn my clothes. And, no! Hard limit! Leave my wardrobe alone. What I’m wearing when we start is expendable. Nothing else!”

“Agreed.”

“You didn’t do that much to me. I could tell after watching some of those vids. So, I get it.”

“So, you know the next one is going to be a lot harder. A lot longer. I got squeamish. It won’t happen again. You can take it?”

“I can’t take it. But I will,” she said, taking a deep breath and shuddering hard at the memory. At least Saturday was five days away. “Love. Do your worst.”

[skuttrusk]

Interesting to discover this very different take on the therapy theme right after I posted my own psychotherapist story. This is very well written with credible characters and an interesting set-up!