Challenges of Marrying a Sex Addict

Challenges of Marrying a Sex Addict

Snark

Chapter 1

       She fucks like the Energizer Bunny.  On speed.  That's not being derogatory, just descriptive.  If she were to read this (which is unlikely) she would likely agree.  She's every man's wet dream, including mine.  The problem is that you wake up in a nightmare.

       Looong legs, trim ankles, tight calves, granite thighs joining at paradise on both sides.  On the front is a cleft with petite lips and an exaggerated clit.  It's abso-fucking-lutely delicious.  Her clit hood slides back when she is excited and the little bud peeks out.  It's usually dripping.  On the reverse is an ass that you can bounce a quarter off of (I did it once just to see.)  Her pucker winks at you.  Abs like corrugated metal.  Boobs that I actually saw make a baby start drooling.  I also saw a guy turn to stare at them as he walked into a utility pole.  (A large splinter went through his earlobe; I don't think he realized it until later.)  High cheek bones in perfect symmetry, emerald eyes that you can fall into; eyes that radiate “Come fuck me. NOW!”  Strawberry blonde hair that glows like a crown; dropping in waves from the top of her head to just above her shoulder blades.  She stands 5'8”, but in the 3” heels she usually wears she looks like she could play as an NBA forward.  The heels enhance her legs, of course.  That's why she wears them.  That and the fact that the added height will guarantee every man around will see her.  And drool like a baby.  Women, on the other hand, tend to wear a different expression.  Most have a squinty eyed glare.  The rest of the women drool like the men. 

       Did I mention that she's gorgeous?

        I walked into a local attorney's office in Buckhead while the receptionist was taking a break.  I do investigative work, attorneys are my bread and butter.  So when Alyson (my soon to be wife, unknown to me at the time) stepped out to see who was in the lobby I got my first glimpse of her.  I think my heart actually stopped for a few seconds – all my blood drained into my crotch.

       “Hello.” she said. “May I help you?” And she smiled. 'Yes, yes you can,' I thought. I thought of maybe a dozen or three ways that she could help me.

       “I'm Mark Stevens. I do investigative work for the firm. I dropped by to see if Jerry is available.” I answered, wiping off a drop or two of drool. I suddenly noticed how hot it was in the office. Slightly warmer than the surface of the sun.

       “I'm Alyson Darling, Mr. Stevens. It's nice to meet you.” She replied. Her Southern lilt was delightful; for that matter she was delightful all over more than any place else. At first I thought that maybe she had used the southern familiarity. Some women call men “darling” without even meaning to flirt.

       “You can just call me Mark,” I said, “Hopefully you will call me darlin' later. Some people call me Stevens, some even just Steve. Just don't call me too late for dinner.” She giggled at that.

       “NO, no, it's my last name.  I'm a Darling.” She giggled.

       “You certainly are.” I smiled.

       “You can call me Alyson; though I'll answer to Alice or even Ally.” She said laughing.

       “Actually, I'd just as soon call you 'Darlin'” I quipped. “Can I call you for dinner?”  I was really thinking 'can I call you dinner? Lunch? How about my morning snatch? I mean snack. Breakfast in bed is a wonderful way to start the day...' I had to stop thinking. She blushed. 

       “Weell...I have been called that, too.” She laughed and blushed again.  This brought a rose to her cheeks. And brought a greater rise in me.

        I stumbled over to shake her hand; something had suddenly interfered with my left knee. She smiled again; I almost wet my pants. Not with pee. Her hand was both soft and firm; warm, inviting. Her handshake has an amazing property; her squeeze pulses slightly. The first instinct is to immediately move it to your crotch. My next instinct was to grab her and hustle her off to a private spot for an hour or 20. It only took me a few minutes to ascertain that not only was she heart breakingly beautiful; she's mind blowingly intelligent. Believe me when I say that such a package can be incredibly interesting. Believe me when I say that when you marry such a package that it becomes an incredible challenge. 

       She led me into the offices; I limped along with her, my left pants leg was still too tight to allow proper movement (yes, I'm right handed.)  I think she may have noticed, but she already knew she had that effect on men, not to mention a few women.  She certainly had that effect on me.  We had dinner together that night.

Chapter 2

       We had a whirlwind romance, a storybook wedding in a tropical setting and a honeymoon like a tornado.  Maybe a blender.  It was perhaps 9 months later that I found out “The Rest Of The Story”.

       She is what I grew up calling a nymphomaniac; the more accepted term today is that she has an addiction. A sex addiction.  She had been in counseling for several years; apparently it had worked, kind of.  Almost.  One of the recommendations is to focus on something else when an urge strikes.  An alcoholic might be able manage that. But a 26 year old female body pumps out these chemicals called hormones that physically drive the mind to think about procreation; a preservation of the species thing.  The problem is that she considers it to be recreation; procreation has never been a concern.  An alcoholic can call a friend or sponsor.  She's more likely to call a 900 number.  Come to think of it, she could answer 900 number calls.  (Note to self: it's safer than renting her ass by the hour. Maybe a web cam site would be even better.)  She had managed to “dry out” so to speak, when her therapist deemed her ready to begin dating again.  After being celibate for 18 months, dutifully taking her meds, re-focusing her thoughts on non-libidinous things; when she could watch the volleyball game  in “Top Gun” without her panties becoming soaked (don't laugh, that's just one of the tests her therapist devised) she was ready to be unleashed upon the world.  Just in time to meet – me.        

       Being with her, lust is just a part of the universe; like oxygen or cosmic rays.  It just is.  It permeates the air around her; around us when we're together.  We didn't have sex before we were married.  I still can't believe it. To her credit, she resisted having sex at the instruction of her therapist.  I guess I was too much in awe of her beauty.  That, and the fact that she was just so much fun to be with and talk to that I forgot about it.  Okay, she did mention on the second date that if I tried to get into her pants she had no other choice but to drop me, right then, that second and go home alone. Doctor's orders.  Thanks, Doc.  Bite me.

       I had no illusions that she was a virgin on our wedding night.  But she was so tight that she could easily pass for one.  An hour of Pilates, yoga and kegel exercise a day will do that for you.  Her other aerobic workouts serve to enhance the rest of her body and limbs.  I try to stay in shape, but after we married I discovered that just fucking her is the equivalent of a half marathon.  How can any man be so...lucky?  Being in rather fit physical condition myself (I mistakenly thought) was all that saved me from an early death from cardiac arrest - between multiple daily sexual bouts and an elevated aerobics regimen (sleep?  Who needs sleep when you're fucking Aphrodite?) then sandwiching a little work to make the mortgage payment; that took up all of my time - but ultimately saved my life.

       About 9 months into our marriage her addiction reared its' ugly head.  Her appetite requires not just quantity but also variety.  It seems I'm not enough variety by myself.  Come to think of it, no one is.  She began to get a little bit bored with just me, though heaven knows I tried to invigorate our love life with as much imagination as possible.  Tie her up and tease her?  You bet!   Handcuff her hands behind her, strap a vibrator on low in her pussy, put a butt plug in the back, place her on her knees and let her suck the old sausage for an entire NFL Sunday marathon – sure.  Be damn sure there is a towel or two under her or you'll be shampooing the carpet. She didn't get bitchy, or complain or pout; she just wanted more sex more often. Cock calluses are not fun.

       An example of a typical evening after 8 months:  She arrives home around 6, if I'm in early and not following some bozo cheating on his old lady with some 19 year old trollop, we're in the sack by 7:30.  We both enjoy doing the mutual munching, she actually adores sucking my (okay, any) cock.  A little grope and tickle to get the motors reving.  Specifically my motor; hers idles at 5000 rpm.  I absolutely looove sucking on those big nipples.  They stay stiff most of the time but I can always get them to stand out a little bit more. I swear I can feel them grow in my mouth.  Tugging on them with my teeth makes her moan.  Me too.  My moaning sends vibrations through her tits; that adds more pressure to the accelerator. I'll lick my way from her magnificent lips down through the valley of depth (between her boobs) to her navel.  A bit of tongue action there translates directly to her pussy.  By this time her pussy has started to swell and open; this releases her dammed up juices and the bed (hell the bedroom, soon the whole house) starts to smell very strongly of her very sweet pussy.  At this point she will roll me over and turn around.  She, well we, prefer the female superior position for 69; I slip a firm pillow under my hips and head and she puts her knees on each side of my chest, legs under my shoulders.  She has no problem getting to all of my 9” and my balls. Her yoga and Pilates gives her great flexibility, she can arch her back down and present her clit to my lips or arch her back up so I can sip from her nectar filled cup, a little more and I can lick her delicious ass hole.  Everything about her is delicious.  I wouldn't be surprised if her shit tastes good.  I haven't actually tried it...yet.  I'm just sayin'.

       She can work on me for literally hours.  The first time she put my cock into her mouth she slid her lips all the way to my abdomen, her eyes on mine the whole time. I should have had a warning when a slight glimmer of what – disappointment? - flickered across her eyes when her lips made contact with my abdomen.  Like, isn't there another inch or six to swallow?  She waited and sucked on it, then sloowly pulled back, her cheeks hollowing from the vacuum.  I thought she was going to suck my cock inside out.  Maybe she was going for more length, like those penis extenders that you see advertised.  I swear that when I put my pants on the next day my legs were shorter.  She did that three more times, her tongue swirling around the whole stroke. I was almost delirious.  It was only later that the thought that maybe she had done this a time or two before she met me came to mind.

       She alternates a quick full stroke bobbing with a slow sucking all the way down, stops then pulls almost off.  She can also suck both balls into her mouth and toss them around like grapes.  The first time she did that I made her hair sticky.  I've gotten used to her talent now; I believe the word is “jaded”. I won't let her near a trailer hitch; the chrome doesn't stand a chance.  I'm tempted to get her to try a golf ball and garden hose, though.

       She is really into delayed gratification.  It's the trip, not the destination. And she is really a trip. After a couple of hours of this – she knows how to tease me then back off just before I blow my load - and the top of my head- off;  she'll finally come and get me off as well.  Then, somehow, she'll get me hard again. Which should be impossible after the workout we just had; then gets me on top to poke her for a while.  By this time my cock is numb, my balls are dry and she's not even winded.  My heart feels like a bass drum in a Marine Corps band. But she can squeeze me with her pussy, pumping me; almost like it's replacing the heart function that by all rights should be in arrhythmia. It only takes me another hour or two to cum again. We'll move from standard missionary to crossing her ankles behind her head (yoga, again) to doggie style to spooning.  All the while she'll be slowly teasing her clit, circling it with her finger or touching a mini vibrator to it, sending a Morse code to my cock.  Dash, dash, dot.  Dot, dot, dash.  I think she's sending “Don't stop, don't stop.”  As if I can. When we do at long last finish I'm comatose until morning; at which time she's ready for a “quickie” which only takes about an hour.  Go to work, come home, repeat in a different position.  Hey, I'm 29, now going on 60.  I'm really in trouble.

Chapter 3

       She took me with her to visit her therapist.  That's when the story really began to unfold.

       “Alyson, it's good to see you again!  How are you? And this is your...husband?”  Her therapist, Dr. Cynthia Meyers, greeted us.  Ally and Cynthia embraced, I shook Cynthia's hand.  She was a petite brunette in her late 30’s or so.  Blue eyes, trim body, nicely put together.

       “Cynthia, this is my husband, Mark.” Ally offered.  “Mark, this is Dr. Cynthia Meyers.”

       “Nice to meet you, Mark.  You have a wonderful wife in Alyson.”  The Doc said. I nodded.

       “Yes...she is quite wonderful.  A true delight.” I answered.

       “Come sit down.” She said as she ushered us into her session room.  We sat and Cynthia picked up a note pad.

       “So tell me, how have been doing?  Your call indicated you wanted some advice?” Cynthia asked.  Ally glanced at me, then to her then back to me.

       “Well...I've told Mark some things about me...about before we got married. We got married in a bit of a rush...”  Cynthia's countenance turned worried as she looked at me.

       “You didn't tell him much, did you?”  Cynthia's tone wasn't quite accusatory, but she wasn't exactly happy, either.  Ally just looked at her shoes and shook her head. “I thought that was something we had discussed at length.  That full – that's f-u-l-l – disclosure was truly necessary with any man you might wish to marry.”  Ally just continued to look down, nodding. Cynthia turned back to me.

       “How much do you know now?”  The doctor asked me.

       “I know that she has a rather...voracious sexual appetite.”  I answered.  Cynthia nodded her head in agreement.

       “That's one way of describing her.  Insatiable is another.  She had a rather extreme sexual addiction before; I take it by your visit today that the old desires have arisen again?” Cynthia asked.  Again, Ally nodded, still not looking at her therapist. Cynthia turned back to me and continued.

       “Her...desires almost got her killed before.  The idiot, excuse me, that's a harsh term but the only one that fits – that she was dating, or should I say fucking, tried asphyxiation as a sexual adventure.  Only his quick release mechanism failed.  Twice.  I have to put some of the responsibility on her for allowing him to even try it again.  I can understand being horny...but really!”  Cynthia watched Ally.  Ally just blushed and shrank into the chair. “That's when she came to me.  We had a firm agreement that she would explain all to any future husband.”  Cynthia said.

       “But..” Ally started.  “I didn't want Mark to misunderstand or be afraid of me.  I really do love him.  I wanted to tell him...but I didn't know how.”  Ally was close to tears, her hands were twisting in her lap.

       “Yes, you did.  You could have brought him with you to see me together as we discussed, before the wedding.  Oh well, too late for that now.”  Cynthia turned to me once more. “I suspect that she has about worn you out?”  I nodded.

       “She's working on it.  The last few weeks she's getting harder and harder to satisfy. I'm only one man, and only human.”  I responded.

       “This probably won't come as any surprise but I suspect that either you're going to have to get some help or figure out some method that can provide both of you some relief.” Cynthia advised.  “There are medications she can take and I heartily recommend them, but I doubt that they will be enough.  At least not for some years until her body quits overproducing the chemical mix that is causing the problem.”  Cynthia looked sympathetically first at Ally and then at me.  “Have you discussed expanding your relationship?”   I had a bad feeling about what she meant.  Ally looked up at me with an almost pleading expression in her eyes. She turned to Cynthia.

       “I...I've though about it but I haven't mentioned it to Mark.  I don't want to cheat.  I don't want to lose him.  I don't want to go completely insane, either.”  Ally said.  I now knew what I had only guessed and it didn't feel good. I had to reply.

       “A three way?  Four way?  Gang bang? With just men? Or men and women?  Or a bunch of both...a regularly scheduled orgy...where?  Our place?” I said, a bit distraught.  The idea of sharing my spectacular wife with anyone had never crossed my mind.  Sure, I had the occasional fantasy of her with another woman...but I couldn't handle Ally by myself.  Two of them? Impossible.  I hadn't considered though, to include another woman who didn't expect me to please her as well but would help me “gang up” on Ally could work.  Ally could see my displeasure; she wasn't comfortable with my reaction.

       “This is what I was afraid of,” Ally started, “you wouldn't like the idea...and I understand that.  It's not what I really want...” her voice trailed off.  It wasn't what she necessarily wanted; it was what she necessarily needed. Great.  Just fucking great.

       “Perhaps a bit more strict relationship could help. She did fairly well before with direction and discipline.”  Cynthia offered.  “I suspect that up until now you've allowed her more aggressive side to rule her part of your relationship?”

       “You could say that.” I replied. “I got an absolutely stunningly beautiful wife that craves sex like a junkie craves a fix and I'm a relatively young man with a healthy testosterone output. I have never considered a situation where I needed to put the brakes on my sex life.  Though now I think that my youth may being running out faster than I had expected.” 

       “Your comparing her to a junkie is absolutely correct.” Cynthia said. “She IS a junkie.  And sex is her fix. Just like a junkie she needs an ever increasing dose to satisfy her.  And like a narcotic addiction, going “cold turkey” isn't going to be the best idea.  For her to go cold means that you do, too.  By now I suspect that you may have a pretty healthy 'jones' as well.”  Cynthia offered. 

       She may be right.  While all the sex was wearing me out, it didn't mean I didn't enjoy it.  I just wanted it a bit more moderately.  Maybe only 2 hours a day, rather than 6.  Okay, maybe 2 hours a day three times a week.  Like I said, I'm only human. There was no way either of us was going to have her go through the celibacy thing again; besides there was no expectation that the end result would be any different from the first time.  What to do?

       “I think that you might consider introducing some stricter guidelines in your relationship. Perhaps by taking control of her in a more explicit form.” The doctor continued.  “By you becoming her master and her your submissive.  That way it takes the controlling aspect away from her.  It means that she may be a bit more frustrated sexually, but maybe you can substitute some other activity that will help to relieve her tensions.”  She looked at Ally.  Ally was now looking up again; she slowly nodded.  So our new relationship began.

       Cynthia had helped her earlier by putting her “on the wagon”, prescribing a medication regimen and a mental distraction practice.

       She fell off the wagon onto me, but only after we got married.  The theory was that the responsibility and dedication of marriage would help to keep her faithful and the poor sap (again, me) whom she married would just have to handle her by himself.  As if.

Chapter 4

       I was no stranger to the whips and chains thing, though I had never had a partner that could really get into it.  A little light bondage fucking, an occasional (very rare) submission weekend, was about all any of my partners would allow.  Ally, however, was fine with being a 24/7 sub, as long as it included the prerequisite sex; that being a minimum of 6 hours a day.  Being in strict bondage and being flogged, flailed, caned, cropped, tickled and stretched counted in the 6 hours.  At least my calluses had a chance to heal.  Only even that wasn't enough.  I had to find some way to wean her back to at least a reasonable amount.

               We set up a “fungeon” (fun dungeon? fucking dungeon?) in a spare bedroom.  We both learned something in the process of getting familiar with each other as Master and submissive and in our “play times.”  Once I started warming her up with a light flogger or whip the endorphins kicked in big time.  This reduced her desire for sex – slightly- but increased her desire for more punishment.  So as an added diversion I made her beg for it.  Humiliation turned her on as well.  Now I'm married to a nymphomaniacal humiliation craving pain slut.  Can life get any better?

       Each day is different now.  She still wakes me with her mouth around my cock.  That is the best alarm clock there is. I get up, drain the snake and return for her to finish what she started.  She has to beg for it.

       “Master, may your slut wife please earn your cum?”  Is a typical morning greeting. “Will you please let her fuck your beautiful cock with her throat?        Her day isn't complete unless she gets her morning cum.”  And so forth.  She has a great imagination.  The begging can get pretty descriptive.  Hearing her own voice say these things clearly and distinctly reinforces the humiliating factor and gets her own juices flowing.  I found that restricting her to a quick and simple masturbation display after she has swallowed my sauce is enough to keep her at least a little sated.  No penetration, however.  Just fingers and an occasional assist, like from a stiff nail brush or kitchen scrubber on her clit.  That seems to provide enough release to get her through part of the day.  I usually lock her into a chastity belt that prevents any serious access.  She can work a finger underneath to scratch at her clit with a fingernail or even a fingernail file, but nothing inserted nor long diddling sessions.  She still has her work to do.  As an attorney (though not a partner) in the firm there is plenty for her to do; the chastity belt removes the temptation of playing with her self. (This had become a bit of an issue in the previous few months.)  The enforced restriction seems to have the effect of both removing her choice and forcing her to ignore that nagging little tickle between her thighs.  She can't really get to it; so she resigns herself to ignoring it. It gave me a bit of relief and allowed me to regain both some strength and control over my life.  It was to be short lived; at least it was a break.

       I had let things get out of control.  But put yourself in my position. I was recently married to an absolutely gorgeous young lady with an extravagant sexual appetite.  She wanted LOTS of sex; I wanted her to be happy; I enjoyed fucking.  What's wrong with this picture?  The problem, as I learned and was validated by Cynthia, was that the more she got, the more she wanted.  There was just no limit to her desires.  The only solution was to force her to withdraw from her desires.  I didn't realize this until it was waaay out of control.  And as long as she was getting all the sex that she wanted, what's her worry?  Having to be forced to restrain her desires wasn't nearly as much fun as caving in to them.  Never is.  Unlikely it ever will be.  So I had to be the one to wrest control of this sexual monster that had been unleashed upon me.  Actually, it sucked. 

       All my life I had wanted a beautiful woman who liked sex.  (What straight man doesn’t?)  All my life I heard about poor married schmucks who had to beg, plead or cajole their cold assed wife into a blow job once or twice a year, had never had anal, thought that getting lucky meant a quick screw with the lights out and “aren't you through, yet?” was pillow talk.  I'm married to the hottest, most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on and was constantly telling her 'NO!”  WTF???

       Every man is probably a little curious about his SO's love life before they met. And most would enjoy listening to their little love bunny reveal one or more of their deepest, kinkiest fantasies.  So before I had an intimate understanding of just much my little Georgia peach gets turned on by humiliation, I sat her down in our den, sitting cross legged on a butt plug with her hands cuffed into a reverse prayer position (Yoga, remember?) to tell me about one of her earlier lovers.

       His name is Gerald, Master. He's a few inches shorter than I am, with dark hair that is kinda unruly.”  She started. I pictured a Johnny Depp type of hair style, but she corrected me.

       “It's more like Lyle Lovett.  He's a little pudgy; he doesn't exercise much; he complains that it makes him all sweaty.” Duh! I thought. “He had acne when he was a teenager and is real self-conscious about it.  The scars, I mean.  But he's a lot of fun to talk to.  He can be funny once you get him to open up.  He really understands how to listen to people.” 

       I expected her to next describe how he's hung like Secretariat; but, no.

       “His cock is smaller than yours, Master.  You're hung, Master.  Your cock is a great size.  Gerald's is quite a bit smaller and thinner.  Maybe that's why I enjoyed anal with him so much.”  She stated simply.  Excuse me.  EX-FUCKING-SCUUUSE ME!  A super hot, horny chick talking about a previous boyfriend with bad hair, bad skin, out of shape and a scrawny dick who taught her ANAL??  Apparently when you see a geeky chump with a beautiful gal on his arm it isn't necessarily because of the size of his cock (though we might like to wish it to be so) but because, well maybe because he had the cojones to simply talk to her and ask her out to fuck. Think about that for a minute. When you've finished puking, you may continue with the story.

       I sat entranced, slightly nauseated, but entranced. I could see her pussy start to swell and open.  It glistened.  It wouldn't be long before it started to drip.

       “He knew how much I liked sex.  He called me his little “sloppy pussy” because I sometimes drip a bit.” Kinda like that drip up in Niagara, NY, I'm thinking. “Anyway we spent a weekend together up in the mountains.  We went to Tallulah Gorge and walked around.  He talked to me and told me all kinds of erotic tales and got me all excited.  He would play with my clit and pussy while I sucked on his cock.  He would play with my little ass hole when he started to get real excited, putting a finger tip inside me.  It excited me, too, but I was afraid that it would hurt.  Doing anal scared me.  But then he would cum and not be able to fuck my pussy.  He would just play with it and tell me that he would get me off the next time.  By Sunday afternoon I was just crazy.  I needed to cum sooo bad!  He finally told me he promised to get me off if I let him put his cock in my ass.  He used lots of lubricant and massaged me with his fingers for such a long time.  He played with my pussy and nipples with his other hand and his tongue, all while he was playing with my ass. At last he said he was going to be very gentle and put it in.  I relaxed as much as I could because he said that it wouldn't hurt if I was relaxed.  He told me to take deep, slow breaths and he would ease it in. I started breathing like that and sure enough, he slipped it about half way in.”  She paused.  I could see what was coming but not really wanting to hear it.  “It started to hurt and he stopped.  He waited until I took another deep breath then just pushed it in.  All of a sudden it hurt a lot, but at the same time my clit throbbed like he had sucked it down his throat.  Then it didn't hurt at all.  It just felt great.  After that about the only way we had sex was with him in my ass.  He could get me off that way just as well as in my pussy.”  She fell silent.  I had to know.  I didn't want to know, but had to.

       “What happened to him?”  I asked. “Why didn't you marry him?”

       “He was majoring in animal husbandry in college.  He got a grant to go to some country in Africa to help the different tribes’ people learn how to better raise goats.  I never saw him after that.”  Was her answer.  I think I need an antacid.  Maybe several.  Schmuck.

Chapter 5

       I was in a quandary.  Describing prior sexual experiences can be embarrassing for some people.  Considering that Ally's history read more like “Fanny Hill” or “Candy”, some of them were embarrassing for me to hear them.  She had no reluctance in telling me her stories.  Some of her experiences were somewhat humiliating.  That just served to turn her on all the more.  Telling me about Gerald while sitting naked with toys inserted was such a turn on that she needed 4 hours of serious fucking just to get her satiated enough to sleep.  No more personal stories. We discovered that the minimum amount of sex that would keep her from going crazy changed from day to day.  Whatever that amount turned out to be kept her from needing an even bigger fix the next day.  We also discovered that the intensity of the experience served a similar purpose; that is the greater the intensity, the less time it took to satisfy her. 

       So what type of activities would be intense enough to satisfy her without taking all night?  I couldn't discuss it with her; the discussions got her excited. Just the time spent fantasizing about all the different options increased the corresponding time required to calm her down. Her sexual condition required careful regulation to keep it under control. She readily agreed to allowing me discuss her situation privately with Cynthia.

       Dr. Meyers is a psychiatrist, rather than a psychologist.  Usually shrinks only personally consult to extreme patients; the more “normal” patients consult with a psychologist while the shrink prescribes any needed medication.  Alyson is a special case.

       “Dr. Meyers, nice to see you again.  I appreciate your helping me with this...challenge.”  I said as I entered her office.

       “Hi, Mark; but please, call me Cynthia.  I prefer this to be more informal.”  She said. “You said during your call that you needed some additional assistance...how can I help?”

       “I know you have a great insight to Ally and her...situation; I need some further advice on how we can keep it under control.  When she talked to you before, did her describing her... activities to you excite her?”

       “Not at all.” She answered. “ Ally is quite a shy thing.  It took a while for me to get her to open up to me and describe what she did.”  I frowned.  “Why, what seems to be the problem?”

       “She may be shy...but it seems that doing or saying things that are embarrassing or even humiliating turn her on.” I replied.  She looked surprised, then concerned.

       “Explain it to me.”  She asked; so I told her about Ally telling me about Gerald.

       “Yes, I remember that fellow.  I thought he was ...” She searched for a word.

       “Stupid?  Dumb as a stump?”  I supplied.  She smiled.

       “That's a bit harsh; but, yes, to leave a young lady as beautiful and...exciting to go to Africa to...what, herd goats or something?” She finished.

       “Freakin' idiot.”  I mumbled.

       “Anyway, go on.”  She encouraged.

       “I wanted to know more about her past...I think.  Maybe.  Actually I'm almost afraid to find out too much about her past; I want to find out about what we can do to provide as intense an experience as we can without over stimulating her addiction.”  I said.

       “Wait, I think you've added something to the mix here.  You want to give her a more intense experience?  I'm not following you.”  She looked puzzled, now.  I explained that if she had a shorter, more intense session that it could allay the continuing desires for a while.

       “Hmm.  Okay, let's look at this one at a time.” She began. “Humiliation is a turn-on and now she enjoys saying or doing things that could cause this.  Correct?”  I nodded.  “She certainly wasn't like that before; I suspect that this is a more recent manifestation.  When did you first notice this.”  I thought for a moment.

       “A few months ago...we had been married for about 6 months.”  I said.

       “Tell me how she acted if she was embarrassed before then.”  She said.

       “If she said something, or did something, or even if she saw an embarrassing scene on a tv sitcom, she would blush and hide her head in my shoulder.” I told her.

       “Most sitcoms seemed designed to embarrass to viewer, why that's popular even I can't comprehend.”  She said. “Tell me how you reacted to her reaction.”  That took another pause for reflection.

       “Usually I would just hold her, stroke her hair or back.  Maybe pat her fanny.” I answered.

       “Hmmm.  Does holding her and touching her have any effect on you?”  I blushed at that.

       “Weeel...Ally is a beautiful, sensual woman.  I love her intensely.  I can't begin to describe how much.”  I paused again. “Just holding her close to me and smelling her hair and feeling her body...the way she breathes...her little sighs...she”. At this point the Doc stopped me.

       “Mark, do you have an erection?”   I looked down.  Now I was the one to be embarrassed.

       “Ahhh....Yeah.  I guess I do.”  I said, grimacing.  “It's Ally.  Just thinking about her; or remembering things about her...she's just...just...” I couldn't finish my thoughts.

       “Do you get an erection when you hold her when she's embarrassed?”  I nodded.

       “Is she aware of this?”

       “Probably.  Occasionally she's noticed it and touched me.” 

       “And what happens next?”  She asked.  I was still blushing.

       “We have sex.”

       “Passionate, furious sex?”  I nodded.

       “So she gets embarrassed, holds you, you get a boner and she gets nailed.  Right?”

       “I...I guess.”  I could see where she was going; I didn't like the direction.         “So my response to her is responsible for her getting turned on to being embarrassed?”

       “Quite possibly.  It probably wouldn't have such an effect on most people, in fact I know it wouldn't.  But Alyson isn't most people.”

       “That's the fucking truth.”  I muttered almost inaudibly.

       “She doesn't require very much stimulation for certain things to register; nor does it take much positive reinforcement for her to associate one emotion with another.  Unfortunately, most reinforcing inputs are directed towards her sexuality.  She's quite a gal.”

       “Yeah.  That's one way of putting it.  But to get back to why I'm here; I'd like to find out how we can make some progress.  I believe that looking at past behavior can give clues to future behavior.  Once someone starts doing something they're more likely to keep doing it unless something makes them change.”  I stated.  “Can you tell me anything about her past?”

       Cynthia looked at me, frowned then looked away.  She seemed somewhat torn in her thoughts.

       “Okay.  Since she signed the Hippa release, I'm going to give you some background. Keep in mind that this information can have broader consequences than just you and her.  Understand?”  She said.  I didn't, but I nodded anyway. She stopped to gather her thoughts.

       “Alyson is like her mother, just more so.”  She began.  The puzzle pieces began to come together.

       “Her mother has a very...healthy...sexual appetite as well.  Not as great as Alyson's, but pretty large, nevertheless.  Her father married her at a fairly early age. He was in love with her, knew that she had been quite active, sexually.  She wasn't known as the school slut or whore, but a lot of the boys knew that if you got her excited you could score with her.  And it didn't take long for the word to get around about how to get her excited.  Her soon to be husband was enthralled with her.  He was, and apparently still is, very protective of her.  Also, he was quite jealous.  He didn't want her fooling around with anyone else.  He's not a very large man; some of the confrontations with other boys ended up with him getting his butt kicked. She fell in love with him; deeply, so I understand, and didn't want to hurt him or him to get hurt. At all, in any way.” 

       “They got married, settled down and intended to live happily ever after.  That was not to be. She got frustrated, he got worn out. She needed more and more sex, he couldn't keep up.”  This seemed like deja vu all over again. “She's not the bitchy sort, but her situation started her into the world of depression. The change in her attitude and mood was very apparent.  He had to confront his own feelings: feelings of inadequacy, feelings of guilt, feelings of rage at her inability to be satisfied with him.  All of these feeling are quite powerful.”  Yeah, tell me about. “They came up with a solution, of sorts.  A rather bizarre solution, I think.”  She paused, deciding how to describe the solution and how much detail to reveal.

       “Doc...I really need to know.”  I said in encouragement.  She sighed.

       “You've met them - her parents; I presume?”  She asked, I nodded.

       “Just a few times.” I responded. “He's kinda mousey, a little guy.  Seems nervous, jumpy.  Always looking around, can't keep still.  I've wondered about ADD.  I haven't noticed any OCD.  She's attractive, very personable.  Not as beautiful as Ally, but I can see where Ally gets her looks.  Her mom always seems to watch me, she likes to stand close to me; she acts almost hungry.  It drives her father crazy.  He acts like he's always fighting to restrain himself.  He doesn't seem to be a happy camper.”

       “I think I can tell you why.  The solution that they came up with is not a good one, but one that seems to work.  You know the town they live in?”  I nodded. It’s a little burg outside of Warner Robins, GA.  “The town is not exactly an area conducive to a swinging lifestyle,” I nodded again, “Though at first that's what they tried to do. Then with a little research he was able to find a discrete little brothel not far from Robins AFB.”

       “A whorehouse near a military base? Who would think of that?”  I was being facetious, but also curious. She laughed.

       “Original, isn't it? Anyway the madam is, or was very gentle, though very much in charge.  She agreed to let Ally's mother work part time.”  I was incredulous.

       “Her mother is a whore?”  I could hardly believe her words.

       “Well, in a way, yes you could say that.  It's only as therapy.  And the operative word now is 'was'.  She doesn't work there any more.  Eventually these hormonal induced urges subside with age.  Menopause has a big impact and she isn't far from it.  It doesn't eliminate them completely, but it seems to help a lot.  She still needs, or I should say 'he' still needs some help.  He's not getting any younger either.” 

       “If her mother is only half as active as Ally I'm surprised he's still alive.  She's probably aged him by 20 years.” I responded. She nodded this time, then continued.

       “All the young airmen from the base kept her satisfied for many years, but her husband was still quite distraught over it.  He found it hard to accept his wife working in a whorehouse. After all, there was always the added possibility that the place could be raided and her mother arrested for prostitution.  Sheriffs have to get re-elected and cracking down on illegal sinful activities is sometimes a popular way of either getting into or staying in office.”  She could see I agreed with her. “I understand that these days he has a select group of male friends that get together every weekend or so and play a few rounds of 'poke her'.”

       “Poker?”  I asked.  “What, they play poker and the winner gets to screw her?  Strip poker or something?”  Obviously I didn't understand.

       “No. 'Poke her'. They draw straws for turns and each guy will quietly go into a spare bedroom with her and try to fuck her lights out.  Excuse me for the language, but that's how it was described to me.  The other guys lend...well not moral, I guess immoral support. They play cards, watch a ball game.  This way no one can use the knowledge of what's going on against anyone else.  It's semi-public knowledge.  Plus if anyone else finds out and threaten to spill the beans they each can support each other. ”  I thought about this. To suggest I was stunned was an understatement. 

       “What about the wives?  I mean the wives have to know.  They can't be stupid.  How does this happen?”  I asked. My brain felt like it was about to explode.

       “Apparently they all either understand or just look the other way. A few forbad it, but he found replacements. There isn't any threat of their husbands running away with her.”  She laughed.  “The other guys wouldn't let that happen.  From what I understand she's rather accomplished.”

       “Practice makes perfect?” I asked. She nodded, giggling.

       “And she's had a LOT of practice.”  She finished, now laughing.  She quieted herself. “I shouldn't laugh; it's not professional of me.  But I can't help it.  Sorry.”  And she began laughing again.  I chuckled along with her.  It was funny, if you think about it.  I thought about it a bit longer.  Then it scared me half to death.  Deja vu all over again?