J. Forte: The Sex Thief

Pat felt him coming and she nearly choked as the first glob of sticky come gushed into her throat. She swallowed frantically and felt her throat filled to overruning; then he pulled back and as the successive -spurts burst forth she was able to taste the faintly acrid fluid as it filled her mouth, washed over her tongue and down her throat. She shivered as she felt a final contraction; and as the man pulled his hips back, she felt a great emptiness overcome her as his still-stiff prick was pulled from her mouth.

The man lifted her to her feet and kissed her fully on her wet mouth. His tongue probed the depths where his prick had heated the flesh through friction, and Pat thrilled as their tongue touched intimately and his hands cupped her ass cheeks fully.

Then she was twisted, turned, and she felt herself bent forward over the back of a low chair. A sudden panic came to her, but it too passed, as had her previous panic, and she felt him spread her legs lewdly and press his face between the cheeks of her ass to lick her wetly with his hot tongue.

Kneeling behind her, the man looked at the tightly puckered flesh of her ass-hole. In the dim light it appeared much darker than the surrounding flesh and a light growth of hair grew about the fringes. He kissed her wetly, then dragged his tongue from the bottom of her pussy upwards and forced the tip of his tongue into the tightly clasping orifice. He felt her shudder, and as he leaned back he noticed that she was breathing heavily.

Standing, the man took hold of his prick and milked it once. A drop of semen appeared on the glans and as it threatened to fall, he moved forward and smeared the mucus over her exposed ass-hole.

"Oh…" she gasped as the felt his prick where no other had ever been.

"Oh, yes…" he said huskily, and wormed the head of his prick into her tightly clasping дsshole, "I'm going to hick you there, Pat… I'm going to fuck you in the ass!" and he took hold of her hips firmly and shaved forward.

"Ughhhhn!" she murmured, "God, no! Don't… please-don't… Don't fuck me there!"

He laughed as he felt his prick intrude into her nether hole and her body stiffened under his thrust. Then the second sphincter opened and he shoved forward brutally to bury his prick deeply in her hot ass-hole. As he reached forward to take hold of her heaving tits, he told her, "And this is just the beginning, dear Patricia… we have until Monday morning… and I'm going to do things to you that you have never dreamed of!"

Pat felt her rectum filled and she bit her lip as the pain subsided and he withdrew his prick slightly. His words frightened her at first; then, as he began to stroke her gently again and again, her body began to respond, and she realized that it was not fear she felt-but excitement! His words echoed in her brain… do things to you that you've never dreamed of… and deep inside her helpless body, Pat knew if he were to release her bonds at that very moment, she would welcome the things he was going to do to her welcome them!

Monday dawned and found Marc Andrews in his shower. He scrubbed his body vigorously, then relaxed as the hot water pelted his skin and revived his aching muscles. The weekend had been strenuous and sleep had been an elusive thing-but as strength returned to his aching limbs he smiled at the memories he had collected between Friday eve, fling and early that morning, when he had dressed finally, kissed her softly on her sleeping lips, and heard her call out for him from a half-sleep as he left her house.

"One of the better… " he remarked to his shower as he twisted the handles off and reached for a towel.

Marc whistled lightly as he checked Saturday's mail and found nothing pressing. He poured a cup of steaming coffee and carried it up the loft to dress for work. As he slipped into his shoes, he glanced at the appointment calendar on the wide dresser… Dr. Murtaugh, I pm, was noted, and he wondered idly what this second appointment would be like. The first, the preceding Monday, had been largely unproductive, and he hoped that today would prove to be successful… at least in regards to the headaches he'd been having.

As he prepared to leave the apartment, he rang his answering service, noted two calls that had come the day before, then scribbled a note for the maid service… Monday seems to be the day for everything, he thought as he picked up his light attache case and let himself out into the bright Monday morning sunshine. The Porsche was where he had left it Friday afternoon, and as he climbed in the old feeling of security washed over him. The glove leather seats were almost sensuous in the way they seemed to be molded to his body, and the masculine roar of the engine lifted him as he slipped the clutch and backed from his car port.

The drive-from his beach apartment to the offices of Levi son amp; Breen took less than fifteen minutes, and as he pulled into the wide drive that led to the basement parking area, a sudden depression filled him as the sunlight was left behind and the dull echo of the Porsche's engine bounced from concrete to resound loudly and offensively in his ears.

The express elevator carried him swiftly to the fifth floor suite of offices occupied by the investment counseling firm where he spent a miserable thirty hours a week in an effort to appear productive in a totally negative atmosphere. Nodded good-mornings, the ritual wink and smile, and another cup of the firm's lousy coffee had him seated in his office going Over the Dyke's account. By eleven thirty, he had attended the Monday Carnival-as it was referred to beyond executive hearing-taken his pep talk and returned to spend another hour in Dyke's deficits.

At eleven forty, Marc retrieved his car, sped up the ramp and was again lifted as he sped down Wilshire Boulevard A light buffet at Fancy's, a double vodka martini, a Certs, and he was back m the car, driving a bit more leisurely toward the plush office where he would spend the next hour with the quiet Dr. Murtaugh.

The gold leaf inscription on the inner office door read: A. MURTAUGH, M.D., Ph.D. BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. Inside, Muzak soothed the nerves of the harried receptionist who affected a plastic smile and spoke to Marc by name-seemingly proud of her Berkeley Memory. He sat in one of the womb-like leather chairs and glanced through a copy of Psychology Today, smiling inwardly as he scanned the article on autistic children-smiling because he secretly considered most adults autistics in drag.

"Dr. Murtaugh will see you now, Mister Andrews…"

He lay the magazine aside, nodded to the girl who blessed him with another plastic smile, without being able to hide the question in her eyes I wonder what his kink is?

He was tempted to answer her unasked question with the reply: I'm a financial masochist… paying this shrink fifty bucks an hour to prescribe psychosomatic drugs for a psychosomatic headache I've been having. Instead, he returned her smile and told her, "I'd like to eat your pussy…" and kept walking.

The look on the girl's face did not change-as though his words had not registered. As he took hold of the ornate knob of the door, he heard a tiny gasp come from her lips. He smiled and entered Murtaugh's inner sanctum.

Murtaugh stood as Marc entered and gestured to a low recliner to one side; obediently, he crossed the heavily carpeted room and flopped casually as the Doctor followed him to sit beside the recliner in an equally low chair that appeared to be a cross between milking stool and a barber chair. Marc looked at his psychiatrist-she was lovely-but she was not smiling.

"That was a shitty thing to say to Felicia… " Murtaugh told him.

Marc blushed, then-asked, "You heard?"

"Of course… I keep the intercom on any time there's a patient waiting and I'm free."