Psychological Torture

Christina Dupont, PhD, had every reason to be satisfied.  Her job at the state prison allowed her free access to the bodies of young men, the prime target for her sexual obsession.  Today, she was expecting an 18-year old who had been convicted of rape.  She intended to administer her special treatment for rapists, a treatment that left them so sexually traumatized that they could not repeat the offense. 

       She examined herself in her mirror and was pleased with what she saw.  Her thick blond hair was nipple-length and framed her classic, high-boned face with its dark, blazing eyes.  She wore an expensive silk blazer over a thin white tank top that barely concealed her over-sized, jutting breasts.  Her hard nipples, unrestrained by a bra, pressed visibly against the thin material.  She wore a tight leather mini-skirt that was molded to her tiny buttocks and her flat, concave abdomen.  Her long, tanned legs were clad in black high-heeled pumps.  At 5'11", 35-22-34 and 118 lbs, her body was impossibly perfect.

       She turned towards the door as she heard a knock and called out "come in."  The door opened and a well-built boy stood at the entrance.  The well-calculated effect of her body on him was immediate: his eyes widened and the beginnings of an erection were visible in his pants.  She told him to sit down and began to ask him a series of questions, starting with the routine, but quickly moving to the intimate. She referred to this as "taking a sexual history."  "Do you have a girl friend?  Have you had sexual relations with her?  How many times?  Have you had oral sex?  When did you first have sex?  Describe the rape that you were convicted for.  How did it feel?"  As she fired the questions at him in a cool, insistent voice, he became more and more uncomfortable and awkward, stammering his answers. She did not fail to notice his increasing erection. 

       Suddenly, she stopped and said: "You're having trouble answering my questions, aren't you?  Are they making you uncomfortable?"  He nodded as his face reddened.  "Stand up and come over here," she commanded in a soft, dangerous voice.  He awkwardly rose and walked towards her, his hard-on now quite obvious inside his trousers.  "Closer," she beckoned.  When he was next to her, she reached out and ran her long fingernail along the outline of his erection and said: "You seem to be having trouble controlling yourself, aren't you?"  He gasped and said nothing, just staring at her in disbelief.  Using both her hands, she swiftly unbuttoned his pants and pulled down his zipper.  As she pulled his trousers and underpants down over his erection and to his knees, she murmured: "Let's see what you're hiding in there.  It looks like it feels trapped."

       He stared down at his enormous erection, totally petrified from embarrassment.  Smiling to herself sardonically, she stood up and removed her blazer.  With her slender, but firmly muscled tanned arms, beautifully boned shoulders, delicate neck and hard, jutting breasts, she was now transformed from a sexy psychologist into an erotic wetdream.  She picked up a glass from her desk with one hand, while with the other she touched the underside of his cock.  That was all it took. He gave a sharp cry and semen spurted from his penis.  She swiftly caught his load in the glass and then held his cock tightly with her hand and directed it into the glass for the rest.  Within a few seconds, his orgasm subsided and he had deposited a substantial amount of cum in the glass.

       "I didn't think you had much self-control, but this is really serious.  Look at the mess you would have made on my rug if I hadn't had this glass handy.  I'm going to have to give you some very intensive treatment to correct this problem.  We'll start right now with you drinking all of this down."  She raised the glass to the boy's mouth and tilted his head back with her other hand.  When he refused to open his mouth, she pulled tightly on his hair and said: "If you don't drink immediately, I'll make you really suffer."  Thoroughly frightened, he opened his mouth and she poured the thick liquid down his throat.  He gagged as the acidic, warm goop burnt his tongue and settled like a leaden mass in his stomach.  His face turned white as a wave of nausea swept over him.  "That's better," she said, "you'll get used to it after a few more times and it will probably take at least that until you begin to learn some self-control.  Now, let's get on with the second part of your treatment.  I want you to bend over and grab hold of your ankles."  By now totally submissive, he did as he was told.  She stepped over to her closet, took out a three foot bamboo cane and positioned herself behind him.  "A good caning is one of the best ways of training your body to learn sexual control" she stated.  "I'm going to give you ten strokes.  You are to count off each stroke.  If you miss a count or try to move out of the way, I'll repeat the stroke.  Is that understood?"  When he failed to reply, she repeated the question, more sharply this time.  He stammered out a barely audible "yes."

       She raised her slender arm and brought the cane slicing through the air against his butt with incredible force.  It cracked sharply against his flesh and left a deep red mark across both of his cheeks.  "I'm waiting for the count," she snapped, while he tried to overcome the sudden sensations of sharp pain and terror.  "One," he somehow managed to get out.  She administered the next four strokes, leaving enough time between each one to allow him to fully experience the pain.  Each stroke brought a gasp out of him.  After the sixth stroke, he gave a cry and forgot to count.  Reminding him of the rules, she repeated the stroke.  One of the knobs of the bamboo cut his skin and a thin stream of blood trickled down his cheek.  By the tenth stroke, he was sobbing uncontrollably and again failed to count.  She hit him again, making a total of twelve strokes.  He collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain.  His butt was crisscrossed with deep red welts, two of which were oozing blood.  His flesh twitched uncontrollably.  With an amused smile, the blonde psychologist poked him in his lacerated buttocks with the sharp stilleto heel of her shoe and he rolled partly onto his back, revealing that he still had a large erection.

       "We'll have to take care of that, now, won't we?  Stand up," she commanded.  He moaned and rolled away from her.  Without wasting a second, she brought the cane whistling through the air and cracked it across his shoulders.  He let out a scream.  "Stand up right now or I'll cane you until you pass out," she snapped.  He struggled to his feet.  "Put your hands behind your back."  He stared mortified at his erection, his hands clasped behind his back while she grabbed his cock with her left hand.  Grasping the bamboo cane near the middle, she snapped it across the top his erect cock.  He shrieked in agony.  After waiting a second, she repeated the blow.  He screamed again and doubled over in pain.  Then, she dropped the cane and, still holding his organ tightly, she flipped it up against his abdomen and ripped the underside lengthwise with her long, sharp nails, leaving long bloody tracks in his flesh.  He screamed and tried to protect his bleeding cock.

       "Pull up your pants," she commanded, "I don't want any of your blood on my rug."  As he pulled up his underpants over his injured bottom and genitals, she took a Kleenex and carefully wiped the blood from each of her nails.  She then examined each nail and sharpened several places with an emery board.  While she did this, she looked at her calendar and informed him matter-of-factly that his next appointment would be in a week.

       When he got to his room, he removed his blood soaked underpants and tried to bandage his wounds.  The next few days were sheer agony since he could hardly sit down.  His body gradually healed but his mind did not.  He was possessed by fantasies of Dr. Dupont and had difficulty sleeping.  As the next appointment approached, his confusion increased.  Whenever he thought about her, he got an erection but he also felt terror.

       The second session was very different from the first.  He arrived full of fear.  Dr. Dupont was dressed in a long black dressing gown and high-heeled sandals which strapped around her ankles.  Her blond hair was in a long braid and fastened at the end with a silver-studded leather band.  She had a similar band around her neck in the form of a choker.  He sat down apprehensively while she crossed her long legs, revealing a long length of brown thigh.  She began to ask him about his sexual fantasies during the week.  He mumbled responses while she impatiently drummed the arm of her chair with her long nails.  "Did you have any fantasies about me? "she inquired.  He reddened and bit his lip silently.  "Alright," she said, "we'll get back to this later when I've prepared you better to talk." 

       With those ominous words, she suddenly stood up, towering above him with her 5'11" lithe frame which her four inch heels extended to  six feet three inches.  She undid the clasps of her gown and let it fall to the floor.  The effect was immediate and dramatic.  She wore a silver-studded leather bikini that matched her choker.  The top was held by two straps that ran around her neck, while the g-string bottom was cut high on her taut hips.  The thin, patent leather barely covered her pussy lips which had clearly been shaved clean.  Her small, beautifully muscled buttocks were fully visible since the back of the bikini bottom consisted of a thin strap that ran between her crack and connected to the waist band.  Her elegant, smooth legs seemed to go on forever.  Her flat, slightly concave abdomen undulated slightly as she flexed her taut muscles.  The effect was of a powerful but slender feminine machine poised for action.

       She smiled slightly at his astonished reaction.  "Are you surprised at my outfit?"  she asked mockingly. "It's designed to make you stand up and take notice. Now get on your feet."  He stood automatically.  "how do your buttocks feel after what I did to them last week?"  she inquired. "OK," he muttered nervously.  "How long did you have trouble sitting down?" she asked.  "A few days," he replied.  "How does your penis feel?  Is it healed?"  He blushed deeply and nodded silently.  "I need to examine you to make sure you're healing up properly," she said matter-of-factly. "Drop your pants and underwear."  Becoming totally alarmed now, he stuttered, "please don't, everything's fine."  Before he had a chance to react, she slapped him with incredible force across his face, bringing hot tears to his eyes.  "There'll be a lot more where that came from," she snapped. "Last week I gave you ten strokes with a bamboo cane, but if you give me trouble this week, it will be twenty with a bull whip.  And, believe me, it will be a week and not a few days, before you can sit down again."  Now thoroughly terrorized, he lowered his pants to his knees, aware of his erection.

       "I don't recall giving you permission to have an erection, now did I?  We're going to continue your training today until you finally are so traumatized that not only will you have trouble ejaculating, but you probably won't be able to get an erection.  I'm going to use a technique on you I call slow ejaculation."  She clinically examined his cock, noting that there were still fading purple welts where she had caned him on the top of his shaft; underneath it was fresh scar tissue from where her nails had ripped him.  He moaned as her fingers touched his organ lightly.  She reached over to her desk and fit a small circular object around his cock, just under the mushroom head.  It was a metal pipe clamp with small thumb screw which she proceeded to tighten until his cock flesh was sharply compressed.  He felt a sense of discomfort rather than immediate pain from the cock ring as it dug into his flesh.  "That should keep you from having an accident. And to make sure you don't interfere with that, I want you to put your hands behind your back."  He did as he was told.  She took a pair of leather handcuffs out of her desk and, moving around behind him, swiftly cuffed his hands together against the small of his back.

       "Now, just relax and leave the driving to me," she purred as she caressed his tensed buttocks with her long tapered fingers. "Bend over."  He moaned as the erotic sensations traveled from his ass to his genitals.  Her fingers glided lightly over the faint marks that remained from the previous week's whipping.  His hips thrusted rhythmically as his cock sought some relief from the stimulation.  She inserted one of her hands into her bikini bottom and dipped a finger into her soaking cunt.  After giving her clitoris a few loving strokes, she withdrew the finger and used her abundant natural lubricant to grease his anal opening.  He groaned from the overwhelming sensation of her finger tip on his anus.  Suddenly, she shoved her sharp nail hard into his rectum. He screamed like a stuck pig and arched his back in agony.  With her left hand, she circled around his thigh and began to probe sharply at his balls, pinning them one after the other to the base of his cock with her long nails.  She also poked him between his testicles, reaching the outside of his prostate while her nail inside his anus attacked his prostate from the inside.  Totally impaled on her sadistic fingernails, he howled impotently and staggered forward.  It did no good; there was no escape from the pain she so relentlessly and mercilessly inflicting on him.

       After what seemed like an eternity, she let go of his scrotum and dipped her left hand into her cunt.  Now she used her pussy juice to grease his cock.  When it was slick with lubricant, she administered an expert hand job, all the while keeping the long finger from her other hand stuck in his anus.  Despite his state of extreme arousal, it took quite a while for him to come, due to the unremitting pressure of the cock ring.  But after about five minutes, his balls virtually blue, he suddenly gave a cry and his load rumbled up from his balls into the shaft of his cock.  But now he felt the full effect of the cock ring as his cum was stopped dead in its tracks.  Sensing his orgasm, she swiftly shoved her nail once again hard into his prostate and tightened her left hand viciously around his balls.  The effect was devastating.  He had never experienced a more painful orgasm -- or, for that matter, anything as painful -- in his life.  Gagging, he wrenched free of her hands, sank to the floor and his body spasmed uncontrollably as every muscle strove in vain to release the backed-up cum from his balls.  She stood over him with a slight smile on her face as she watched his agony.  Finally, after the waves of orgasm began to subside, she reached down and loosened the thumb-screw on the cock ring just enough to let a small stream of cum dribble out of his cock. As she had the previous week, she slipped a cup under the tip of his penis to catch his ejaculation.  The release gave him little relief; instead, it was like a new form of pain.  For the next five minutes, he slowly spent himself while she milked his aching balls of every last drop of cum. 

       When he had finally finished, totally exhausted, she silently presented him with the cup and, without a word of protest, he drank down the salty liquid.  He fought against the burning in his mouth and the nausea in his stomach while she cleaned the blood off the finger that had been embedded in his anus.  Then, she ordered him to stand up, picked up a razor and shaving cream and shaved off his pubic hair.  With his hands still cuffed behind his back, there was little he could do to resist and, in any case, she warned him that if he moved, she would cut his cock.  When she had finished, she raised his cock up to his belly and examined his now-hairless crotch.  "Now you look as cute as a baby," she murmured sarcastically.  She ran her long forefinger around his painfully sensitive testicles and then, almost as an afterthought, she flicked her nail hard against his scrotum.  He gave a muffled cry as an arrow of unbearable pain shot through his abdomen and he collapsed, writhing, to the floor.  She stood over him, smiling to herself, and, when he had finally recovered enough to stand up, she declared the session over and dismissed him until the next week.