J. Forte: The Sex Thief

"Oh, God!" Marc heard his mother cry. "Jesus, yes!" she cried again as she was impaled on the two stiff pricks while her son sat shivering only a few feet away his still-stiff young prick clasped tightly in his right hand.

"And then what happened, Marc?"

Marc sat bolt upright on the recliner as Dr. Martaugh's voice brought him out of his stupor. He realized he had told her the entire story-something he had never shared with another human being-and as he gazed at her blankly, he heard her question again. He hung his head and realized he had a gigantic hard-on. Clearing his throat, he lay back and told her, "I… I watched them fucking her… the man on the bottom took hold of her tits and rested his arms on his elbows… it sort of raised her up and the man behind her shoved his prick all the way into her ass-hole… "

"And what did you feel then?" Murtaugh asked softly.

He swallowed drily and shook his head as be replied, "I… I don't know… shock… excitement… fear-all those things."

"What did you do?" she asked.

"I, ah… I got up and went to her-she seemed to be crying out for more-you know, like she was really digging having two pricks in her at the same time…"

"And?"

"I… ah… I began rubbing my prick over her face-she couldn't see, me-she was blindfolded-and all of a sudden, she opened her mouth… she cried 'Baby,' I think… and she began sucking my prick."

"How did that make you feel?"

"How? Jesus! It felt good… " he blurted out.

"What I meant was how did you feel about putting your penis in your mother's mouth, Marc what were your feelings about what was happening?"

He shook his head, "I don't recall… I remember pulling my prick out just as I came and I shot all over her face… "

Dr. Murtaugh had listened intently as her patient recounted the traumatic experience of seeing his mother raped by two forceful Negroes, than told of his own involvement and of the incestuous acts that followed. She glanced at the bulge in his trousers and leaned forward to lay a hand on his arm.

"Are you arouse'd now, Marc?"

He looked up at her in surprise-it was not the sort of question one would expect from one's psychiatrist. He followed her gaze to the crotch of his pants and nodded dumbly, then he said, "It… it always does this to me when I think about it."

She smiled and squeezed his arm as she asked, "And your headache?"

Marc had forgotten it… it was gone, pressure had vanished the moment he became involved in relating the story to her. He shook head, a look of astonishment on his face as he plied, "Gone,… the damn thing's gone!"

"Perhaps it would help if you were to relieve yourself," Dr. Murtaugh told him.

"Re… relieve?"

"Masturbate,… "

"Here-now?" he asked incredulously.

She smiled indulgently and stood up from the oddly shaped chair. As she crossed to the mahogany hutch near her desk, she told him, "Why not-after all, I am your doctor, Marc…"

She returned momentarily and handed him a soft towel. He took it sheepishly and shook his head. "I… I don't think I could…"

"I do believe you'll feel better-you've all that energy built up and-unless you vent it somehow, you may well have another headache."

"I… that is, Jesus… I just-can't take my prick out and whip it in front of you!" he told her and threw the towel to the floor.

Murtaugh smiled and licked her lips. She reached forward, picked up the towel and scooted her funny chair closer to the recliner."Come now, don't be child like… " and before he could reply she reached over and pulled his throbbing prick free from the confines of his clothing.

Marc stared at his psychiatrist in disbelief as she took hold of his throbbing rod and-began stroking it slowly in her soft hand. "Jesus…" he swore, and swallowed drily as he felt the pulsing of the blood in his prick. "Jesus Christ!"

Dr. Murtaugh squeezed her knees together and stroked his prick up and down, and, as his breath came more shallowly, she reached forward to lay the towel over his stomach. Marc closed his eyes as the woman fondled the head of his prick then stroked it more strongly. He knew it was happening, but he still could not quite believe it. And though he was nearly exhausted from his weekend's escapade, he knew his orgasm was but a stroke away as he heard her soft voice and her other hand closed warmly over the swollen head of his prick.

"Come in my hand, Marc… keep your eyes closed and come in my hand… it's your mother's hand and she's jacking you off… the Negroes have left and it's just you and her… she wants your hot come… just you and her… she's naked and you're loving the touch of her hands on your prick… come now… she wants you to… I want you to come, Marc… "

Marc felt his prick swell and as the first contraction hit he drew up his legs and grabbed her hands to hold them tightly about his spurting cock. He sucked his breath as his semen gushed forth to fill her soft hand and to run between her fingers He felt it running down the-sides of his jerking prick as she squeezed him tightly.

He lay there gasping for breath as he felt the soft towel wiping him clean; then his softening prick was tucked inside his pants and he heard her stand up and cross the room. From afar, he heard water running, then a door closed and she spoke to him from behind her desk, "Same time next week, Marc?"

He sat up and found his mind and body totally relaxed. He straightened his tie and picked up his jacket from the back of the recliner. "Next week… he said slowly and tried not to look at her as he walked toward the door. Her voice stopped him as his hand closed around the cool metal knob.

"Marc… do you really blame yourself for what happened to your mother so many years ago-is it your fault your body responded to her body? There was a long pause, then she told him, "Have a nice week, Marc, I'll see you on Monday."

Marc fled the office and avoided looking at the lovely receptionist in the outer office. He found his Porsche and ground the gears as he pondered her parting questions, and he wondered. He saw the sign ahead and he pulled into the parking slot and jammed the brake pedal to the floor as he experienced an overpowering thirst. The sign read: COCKTAILS.

The moment Marc Andrews had left the reception room of Dt Murtaugh's offices, Felicia pressed the button that locked the outer door and stood from behind her desk and straightened her short skirt. She opened the door to find Andrea Murtaugh sitting behind her desk, a satisfied expression on her beautiful face.

"That was some session, Doctor!" Felicia said as she crossed the room to sit on the corner of the desk.

"You really shouldn't be listening, darling-if anyone ever learned… "

"I'm cautious, Andrea you don't have any more appointments this afternoon… " She smiled, "And I kept the door locked."

Andrea smiled indulgently at her pretty receptionist. "Well, did you enjoy it?" she questioned.

The girl laughed lightly, "I doubt that the American Psychiatric Association would approve of your particular brand of Gestalt and Reality Therapy but it's exciting as hell!" And as she spoke, she raised her skirt and spread her legs slightly, "I've been positively gushing, Doctor!"

Andrea looked at the full, smooth thighs, then let her gaze travel to the woman's nest beneath the shadowed hem of her skin. "How can I tell?"

Felicia stood and in one swift movement dropped her skirt and stood gloriously naked from the waist down. She spread her legs obscenely and said, "See for yourself…"

Andrea leaned forward and reached out to rub her hand over the girl's naked hip. As her fingers came in contact with the smooth, warm flesh, she felt a slight chill go through her body and she shivered. "God, but you're beautiful!" Andrea said huskily as she ran her fingers through the dark patch of pubic hair and found the girl's cunt lips parted and moist. "And you are wet, darling…" she added and reached Out to pull Felicia to her.