I feel almost embarrassed knowing that he's watching me in the most vulnerable of positions, with my legs spread wide open and a vibrator jammed inside my pussy. But I also have to admit that I love the fact that I'm turning him on by being so turned on myself.
“This toy is extremely wet,” Dr. Monroe says, pulling the vibrator out and continuing to speak into the tape. “The more sexually repressed a young woman is, the more she’ll get turned on when she’s finally able to find a release.”
He places the vibrator— definitely dripping wet with my pussy juice— on my clit, almost expertly so. I can’t help but moan as it works on my most sensitive of areas. I raise my hips instinctively, wanting it— or better yet, its real, live counterpart— inside me, but not wanting to seem too slutty by begging for it.
Before I know it, I'm coming all over the vibrator, moaning and shouting as I do.
"Dr. Monroe. I'm coming. I'm coming!"
"Go ahead and keep coming," he says, rubbing the dildo all over my clit.
I feel another orgasm rising within me before the first one is even finished making its way out.
"I'm coming again. Again!"
"I know you are, my slutty little patient. Come for me, over and over."
"Oh, my God, Oh, my God," I moan, panting and moaning.
"Please stop for a second," I call out, trying to sit up and push the vibrator away with my hands.
But my hands are tied up and I can't do anything about the continuing hum of the vibrator attacking my clit.
"It's all right, Elizabeth Jane, my little slutty whore of a patient," Dr. Monroe says, in a near whisper although there's no reason to be quiet since no one else is around. He smiles at me. "Just when you think you can't take it anymore is when you'll have the biggest orgasm yet. And that's when you'll be sufficiently pleasured and primed to take my huge cock inside you."
"Dr. Monroe," I gasp, twisting and writhing on the table. "I can't take it. It's too sensitive. I'm going to explode."
I really do feel like I could die of pleasure. He squeezes my ass and then shoves the vibrator deep into my pussy. Then he slaps my clit over and over with his cock, violently rubbing it and stabbing me with it.
"Oh, my God," I cry out, a powerful orgasm cascading all through my body.
Dr. Monroe was right. This feels amazing.
"I'm coming, I'm coming, I can't stop, please fuck me, I'm coming so much, and it feels so good."
I'm a panting, begging mess, calling out to him to finish me off with his real cock instead of this fake one.
"Please Dr. Monroe, please fuck me. I'm your dirty little whore of a patient and you can do whatever you want to me."
"That's right," Dr. Monroe says. "That's how I knew you would feel. There, there."
He stokes my pussy as I whimper and tremble, utterly spent from the giant orgasm that made its way through my body. My swollen clit pulses and my pussy muscles spasm from the pleasure they've just experienced and from being so sensitive to Dr. Monroe's continued touches.
“Now that your pussy is sufficiently primed by the fake dick— it's wet and aching and swollen and raw for me— I'm going to give you my real one."
Dr. Monroe pushes the head of his cock up against the entrance of my now- throbbing pussy. I immediately clench my pussy around his cock, feeling so grateful to have it inside me at last.
Then he shoves his cock into my pussy, hard and fast.
“Ouch!” I yell, jerking back against the roughness of Dr. Monroe's huge cock. I can't get out of the way though, because he's tied me up. And almost immediately the pleasure outweighs the pain, so I relax.
“There you go, my little naughty nympho," Dr. Monroe coos to me. "You love my big, thick cock inside you, don’t you, my tied-up little whore?”
"Yes," I moan, already about to come again, but this time on his cock.
He keeps a firm finger pressed up against my clit, as if reminding me that he owns it. Then he turns the vibrator back on and rubs it all around my clit as he continues to fuck my pussy hole.
"I'm coming," I whisper, almost wanting to cry from how good it feels. How absolutely powerless and vulnerable he renders me, and how much I love it. "Dr. Monroe, I'm such a slut. I can't stop coming and now I'm coming all over your big cock."
"I'm going to have to punish you for being such a shameless slut," Dr. Monroe says. It's only what your mother would want."
He retrieves something from the drawer beneath the exam table as he continues to ram his cock into my pussy. I see something long and black. Then I feel something hitting my breasts. There are one, two, three quick lashes.
“Ouch! That hurts!” I yell, pain searing my breasts.
But at the same time, I feel as if I’m about to come again from the mixed sensation of the vibrator on my clit, the stinging pain on my breasts and Dr. Monroe's huge cock shoved deep inside my pussy. I feel absolutely humiliated, knowing that he can see me in my most vulnerable of states. But that humiliation also turns me on, and I find myself writhing and nearly shouting out, all of my sounds being captured on his recording device.
“I’m coming! I’m coming!”
“Oh yes, you little slut of mine. Come on my big dick,” says Dr. Monroe, as his cock pulses inside me.
But he doesn’t come. He just keeps pounding my pussy while I come for him.
"You're such a dirty, filthy little whore."
Dr. Monroe whips my breasts with the switch and I moan low and deep, surprising myself with the animal sounds I’m making as I come. It feels so good, and so bad, all at once.
“Yes, I’m a slut, who likes to come on your cock!” I yell, heaving and panting as he fucks my brains out.
I love how his cock feels inside me as he's taking me and making me his own, and even as I’m hit with the whip again and again.
I feel both pain and pleasure, just as Dr. Monroe predicted. Mostly, I feel intense pleasure that goes above and beyond everything I’ve experienced in his office to date. I never knew that would be possible, but there’s no denying that here I am on display for him, being submissive to him, being whipped by him, and loving it.
"Elizabeth Jane, I'm going to come now," Dr. Monroe says, squeezing my nipples where he had just hit me with the whip. His cock bulges and throbs inside me. "I love how you let me fuck you until I come."
"I'm coming too," I tell him. I've lost track of the number of times he'd made me come. He twists my nipple with one hand and rubs my clit with the other while we both come together, him grunting guttural sounds and me moaning and crying out his name.
"Dr. Monroe, I want to be your slutty little patient forever," I tell him, when we're both finished but still feel pleasure coursing through us.
"I think you're going to be more than that," he tells me, with a wink.
And this is why I'll keep accepting appointments to be examined by Dr. Monroe. I never knew that having to go see the doctor could be so amazing.
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Perfect Fit: A Modern Day Dirty Cinderella Fairy Tale with a Fake Royal Marriage Twist
Copyright 2017 by Juliana Conners; All Rights Reserved.
Chapter 1 – Ella
Swish, swish, swish.
Slip, slop, slap.
Sluuuuurp.
Thud, thud, thud.
These are the sounds I hear as I approach my bedroom.
Sex sounds.
These are definitely, and disgustingly, the sounds of sex.
It's like something straight out of a Showtime TV show or an Alexis Angel romance book. Except, unlike in both of those delicious forms of entertainment, I'm not the one enjoying the action that is causing these sounds.
Even though they're coming from my bedroom.
In Showtime shows, it's likely that the guy causing this ruckus is an asshole that we're somehow s
upposed to root for anyway. But those damn romance novels are like fairy tales.
Setting up girls to believe that a former bad boy turned into our own personal Prince Charming will come rescue our asses— before spanking them until we're writhing around on his lap begging him to make us come because our pussies are so dripping wet from how he’s exerting his dominance over us.
But real life is a lot more disappointing than that. At least, mine has definitely been so far. So, it doesn't surprise me that someone is using my bedroom for a hot sex session that doesn't include me.
My life has never been a fucking fairy tale.
That’s probably why I’ve always hated them.
As I get closer to my bedroom door, muffled voices mix in with the sounds that have already been drifting out since I was further away.
"Oh yeah! Give it to me. Yeah, ooooooh."
Well, that sounds like one of my step sisters— Sheila, to be exact— which also isn't surprising. She's been known to fuck anything with half a brain or half a boner.
I'm not even sure if her standards are that high; that's probably giving her too much credit. She'd fuck any guy that shows the least bit of interest in her, although she'd prefer him to be filthy rich and as boringly handsome as a plastic Ken doll.
The question is, though: why is she doing this in my room? The one part of this whole wretched house that is supposed to be mine and mine alone? She has her own bedroom she should be in.
After she moved in, she painted the walls pink and decorated with a lot of silver glitter. Apparently, she still has some princess obsession that she's had since she was a tiny spoiled brat— now she's just an older spoiled brat. Her bedroom, predictably, is much larger and nicer than mine, even though this was my house first.
But who knows what Sheila's up to? I shouldn’t even ask such questions to myself because I know there’s no answer that would make sense to most people.
Sheila and my other step sister Gloria are always trying to find ways to make me miserable, because, other than banging random Ken dolls or spending all the money from my dad’s estate on overpriced clothes, they have nothing better to do.
I don’t know exactly what Sheila is doing. But I'm sure it’s some kind of ridiculous ploy to rub the fact that I’m a virgin in my face.
Chapter 2 – Ella
Yeah, it's ridiculous.
I'm nineteen years old and still a virgin and still living with my mean step mom and two step sisters. It sounds pathetic, but I have my reasons.
When it comes to my living situation, it's complicated, and too painful to think about as I'm listening to sex noises coming from my bedroom. But when it comes to my virginity, well— I just want to make sure the timing is right.
Losing my virginity feels like the one area of my life I can control, and I’m determined to make it feel magical and perfect. I guess maybe I really do still believe in fairy tales, at least a little, even though I’ve always despised them for being unrealistic.
I have a boyfriend named Paul and we've made out but we haven't gone all the way. He's wanted to, of course, but I just want to wait a little longer before we do it. Something just feels a little “off,” and therefore, doesn’t fit into my definition of the “absolutely perfect” circumstances that I want to exist before I do the Big Deed for my very first time.
Paul’s told me he understands and that he’ll be patient. I have a feeling, though, that he's starting to become a tad bit impatient. Or maybe he’s just altogether tired of waiting. He sure hasn't been around as much lately as he used to be.
That's why I'm at home now— which is a place I usually avoid. I can't go hang out with Paul because I don't know where he is. He hasn’t exactly been anxious to see me, like he used to be, back when we first started dating.
That’s fine with me though. I could use a break from him anyway, because it's annoying that he's pressuring me for sex when he knows it doesn't feel right to me yet.
But anyway. Back to the very pressing— and loud— matter at hand.
I'm sure it's just Sheila and some random guy in my bedroom, and that she’s trying to rub certain facts in my face while she rubs her pussy around on said random guy’s cock and picks up an STD or two.
She’s probably looking forward to showing me with my very own eyes that although I've never had sex before, she has sex all the time and is actually having sex on my bed— or probably on my floor or my dresser or something, knowing her.
She’s undoubtedly doing it just to show me that she's better than me, or at least she thinks she is. And that everything here is really hers, rather than mine. She wants me to know that just like her mom took my dad, she can take my formerly relatively happy life, and even take my spot when it comes to where I would naturally be having sex, if I were in fact having it.
I shouldn't go in. Shouldn't give Sheila the satisfaction of knowing I see her doing the thing that she clearly wants me to see her doing.
But by not giving her her way, I'd also be losing, since all I want to do is grab my Kindle that has the Ash Harlow romance book I’m currently reading bookmarked at a really good spot (Crave is my kind of romance book, since it’s definitely not all rainbows and unicorns and fairy tales— more like an addictive nightmare you don’t even want to try to get out of because it’s so damn fascinating), and head to the bathroom for a bubble bath and some me time.
Hey, I said I'd never had sex before— not that I'm some perfect angel. I certainly imagine all the perfect, outstanding, magical sex I'm going to have, when I have it. I just don't act on those urges or fulfill those fantasies in real life.
Yet. Not until everything’s perfect.
I put my hand on the doorknob and decide it's time to take control over my own life. Or at least my own bedroom, for a start. I'll give Sheila a piece of my mind and tell her she can't be giving a piece of her ass to every guy in the world right under my nose, or at least not right in my bedroom.
But as I open the door, prepared to roll my eyes and tell Sheila and Ken Manwhore Doll to get the hell out before I snap pictures of them and post them online— although Sheila would probably like that because she'd think it would make her the next Kim Kardashian or something— I see something I wasn't expecting. Or make that someone I wasn’t expecting.
Sheila's having sex on my bed of course, just as I'd expected. Typical evil Sheila. But I didn't think her evil ways would extend to the point where it would be this person underneath her, currently gritting his teeth during an apparent near orgasm before he turns his shocked face to look at me.
I’m sure you’ve guessed it by now. Because my life is more predictable train wreck than surprise happy ending. Unless you’re talking about the happy ending that my step sister just gave my boyfriend, which certainly came as a surprise to me.
Yep. It’s Paul that Sheila is having sex with.
He's underneath her, his hands around her ass, her tits still swinging, uninterrupted, in his face, as she continues riding him into the ecstasy that I have not yet let him experience with me. And which will never, ever happen now.
Just like that One Direction reunion tour I used to wait around for someone to announce. They’d been my favorites since early high school but since January 2016 they’ve claimed to be still together but on a “hiatus.” At some point, I realized I was waiting in vain for them to do another concert. Or maybe, I just grew up.
Life is full of disappointments, and on a bright note, at least I don’t have to wait around to see how this one turns out. I know right here and now what the future holds when it comes to Paul and me: a big fat nothing. And at least I didn’t let him pop my cherry before he let my step sister motorboat him.
Unfortunately, these small comforts barely make a dent in the huge range of emotions I’m feeling right now. Just what a girl has always wanted to do— walk in on her boyfriend and one of her three least favorite people in the world, getting it on like there’s no tomorrow.
I’m beginning to wish there
really was no tomorrow, no today, no right this minute— so that I wouldn’t have to face this. But here I am, face to face it with none the less, all because I was drawn towards curiosity and my love of books and bubble baths to check out the noises coming from my bedroom.
They say curiosity killed the cat. But unlike some Disney Princess, I don’t have a friggin’ cat. I have me, myself, and I— and definitely not my boyfriend any more— and that’s exactly who is going to have to handle this, one way or another.
Chapter 3 – Ella
Speaking with having to deal with this, I wish I had time to think of a better way to do it. But in the heat of the moment, what I actually do is the first thing that comes to mind, which is to yell out Paul’s name, in case somehow it really isn’t him. Maybe it’s his doppleganger or something. Maybe Sheila found out he had a secret twin and brought him here to prank me instead of further ruin my life.
Yeah, right. When pigs fly.
"Paul?" I exclaim, loudly, vehemently, at the same time he says, "Ella?” in a confused near-whisper, the pussy.
The only good part about me catching them in the act— which was exactly what Sheila had intended, of course— happens right here: when it becomes clear that he’s caught off guard just as much as I am. Sheila was playing us both. That’s why she was flashing me a wicked grin as she continued fucking him when I first walked in.
But the best part of this comedic tragedy is that he starts buttoning his jeans, mid orgasm, which I do hope I interrupted, and says, "Oh shit, I got some on my Armanis!”
That's when I know for sure how much of a douche my boyfriend— make that ex-boyfriend— is. Not just because he just fucked my step sister, and not just because it happened in my bedroom.
It’s not even because he didn't wear a condom, since I figure he'll be justly rewarded in a week or two when he breaks out into a rash and who knows what other symptoms he might have caught from whatever my step sister is bound to have. But he’s the world’s biggest douche because he cares more about his Armani jeans than he cares about any of the stuff listed above.
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