Stephanie: the Fourth Session

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But only the second of the ‘Stephanie’ stories.


The skirt was shorter today, Dr. Alison Bridgford noted, not without interest. A lot shorter–almost up to her bottom, this time. She had to admit–although she was no lesbian–that as she followed Stephanie into the therapy room the sight of her full, wiggling rear in the tiny skirt did seem rather irresistible…a bricklayer would have no choice but to give it a squeeze, involuntarily. The thighs, bare, pink and round, were similarly full and healthy looking. Strokeably smooth.

There was no envy, of course–Alison herself was similarly satisfied about her own voluptuous physique. They could have been sisters, facial differences aside. Her own face was more oval, less triangular, than her fulsome client’s. Alison’s black hair was worn short, Stephanie’s was collar length and blonde, a hank of it hanging over her eye that often she had to flick aside, with a beguiling neck mannerism.

Nice shoes too, Alison thought, closing the door. The woman’s high heeled court shoes were a perfect match for the ensemble. If her therapist had been male, he would no doubt have had trouble concealing a lump.

“Take a seat,” she said, settling in for the hour herself. “How have things been lately?” she asked, as Stephanie crossed her legs, depositing her bag on the floor. She was again braless, her heavy breasts straining the material of her orange satin blouse as she leaned over. Nipples, as per usual, were plainly present and correct. “Things have been…interesting,” she said. “Quite interesting.”

“Oh? Pray tell.” Alison grinned.

“That’s why I’ve come,” her client conceded, teeth gleaming.



“Obviously,” Stephanie continued, “I can’t get all of something that big in my mouth–nobody can. Unless, of course, you try it when it’s limp! Aha! Still a good four, thick inches mind, even flaccid. I can just get it all in, with my chin nudging his scrote. I like to just…harbour it, in my mouth like that–it’s nice. Is that weird?”

Alison pulled her reassuring ‘not really’ face. “Presumably,” she countered, “this is not long after he’s ejaculated? So he’s unable to…stiffen up, as it were?”

“Not necessarily. I can do it when he’s asleep–if he’s lying right. I like it. Go to sleep sometimes, sucking it like that. Comforter.”

“Like a child’s dummy.”

“I suppose so.” She blinked innocently.

Alison tried a change of tack. “What about hygiene? Does he wash himself, after he’s been–you know…”

“Up my behind.”

“Thank you–yes.”

“If it was ever necessary, he would. It isn’t. Always comes out clean. Just a littly tangy, that’s all. I don’t mind–it’s an honour. An honour to have him up my bum and in my mouth–even when he’s asleep.”

“Does he know you do that? Or it a secret…ah, vampire visitation?”

Stephanie chuckled. “Oh, he knows. He’s woken up a couple of times–caught me at it…”

“And?” This client, she realised, was rapidly becoming her favourite.

“He just smiled, like you’d imagine a dad would, at his cheeky daughter. ‘Course, his cock starts to rise again–obviously–so I have to pop it out of my mouth, before I choke on it.” She grinned at Alison.

“I’d imagine so!” Alison replied, suppressing her own grin.

“Too right.” She asserted. “There’s only one thing to do when he does wake up–if he wants to get some sleep, that is, and I can suck it again…” She waited.

“Which is?”

“To unload. He tosses off into my mouth–a night feed! Then it subsides while he nods off; I can stuff my mouth again, and go to sleep like that. It’s really nice–have you tried it? Feel so…protected, somehow. Like a contented child at a breast, I suppose…that’s it! Not a dummy–a nipple. A big, squidgy nipple. My big squidgy nipple.”

“All yours. And all is well with the world,” Alison offered, realising that she was getting somewhat hot and gooey down below. She was beginning to regret having had that mad idea, just before Stephanie arrived…Very unprofessional, indeed. And mad…

There was a momentary silence. Stephanie was studying her unplanted foot, wagging it gently. She seemed to be waiting for something, Alison felt. An opening, possibly…she made her one.

“Do you want to tell me about the…shenanigan in the mall, now?” she asked, tentatively. She immediately sensed a resistance, put up her hand. “It’s OK if not…”

Her client flushed a little, then nodded. “The spunklolly…”

“Sorry–the what?” Alison was craning forward.

“The spunklolly! Oh, God…” She covered her face with her hands, causing Alison to smirk.

“Stop grinning.” She had suddenly peeked from behind her fingers. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry,” Alison said. “It’s just…embarrassment is so…endearing, don’t you think?” Still the smirk, canlı bahis muted now.

“Is it really,” Stephanie droned, tight-lipped. Then she seemed to ready herself.

“It was a month back…yes,” she went on. “I’d been wondering why he’d been…” She looked at Alison, as if needing a signal to continue.

“Why he’d been…?” she coaxed.

“Collecting it.” She gulped, involuntarily.

“Collecting…?” Pretence of cluelessness. Interesting!

“You know what,” she snapped, transfixing her interrogator.

“Collecting his semen,” Alison conceded. Stephanie was definitely her favourite client, she had decided. Proceed.

“Yes. He’d–” She took a deep breath. “He’d been pulling out of me, for a week–pulling it out of my…rump, I mean, before he came, and…shooting it into a paper cup. Cups, plural.” She looked wide-eyed at Alison, hardly believing that she could tell another person this, in the wide world, ever.

“This is at home, presumably?” Alison asked, gently.

“Yes, yes. At his house. He shot it into a cup, and disappeared with it into the kitchen or somewhere–he kept doing that, all week–a dozen times, must’ve been. Leaving me spread out or bent over each time, reamed, and…empty. Like–I wasn’t even a vessel any more, just a…ring of muscle, to get him off.” She looked up from her reverie, an opportunity for Alison to ask:

“You must’ve asked him why–did you ask him why?”

She grunted. “Same thing, every time I asked: Surprise. Once, he got snippy–about the fifth or sixth time he was heading off with it–he said How is a bloke supposed to surprise his girl when she keeps asking him what the surprise is? Mmm? Condescending bastard. Ooh, he’s such a bastard.”

Alison snorted a grin. “You must have had some ideas yourself…what did you suppose he was doing with it?”

“Ideas!” she retorted. “I couldn’t think straight, for all that week! Even worse than usual. Every time I tried to do my job–pay attention to it, I mean–I’m in the legal profession, as I said–ideas of what he was going to do, with all that…spunk, kept poking into my head–no warning, no defence–“

“Like his penis penetrates your behind,” Alison offered. “Out of your control.” Fuck. She hadn’t meant to say that.

“Yes. It must be his way of fucking me when he’s not even there.” She blew her hair out of her eyes. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind…oh, I’m going to get the sack, I kept thinking, I’m going to get the sack. I still may, yet,” she added. A loud groan. “How does a girl hold a job down, when she’s forever trying to anticipate what her pet pervert is going to do to her next? With his giant nob, and truly fucked up ideas?” She looked a little lost.

“Difficult, isn’t it,” Alison quipped, somewhat unhelpfully. Never mind that–she wanted more about the cup thing. “Tell me about the…cup thing.”

Stephanie nodded, with a moue. “I assumed he was freezing it,” she continued. “Turns out, he was–but I thought he wanted to make me a Spunk Sundae, or something, and watch me eat it–in a pub beer garden, of course. Or maybe whip me up a Toss Trifle–“

Alison threw her head back with a laugh. “Nice alliteration!”

“Like it, do you?” she rejoined, not altogether similarly amused. “Can I continue, can I?” Droll.

“I insist.”

“Thank you. So, Saturday comes around. By now he’s collected–and fridged, presumably–something approaching…what, half a pint?–of his fresh best, when he decides, that afternoon, that we’re going into town. We’re going shopping. Let’s go shopping! he says. While I’m doing my face to perfection he goes off a minute to fetch something, comes back with–what?–a Thermos flask–yep–a Thermos: won’t answer any questions about it, either. Oh, my God–what’s in that. It won’t be coffee, will it.” She shot a slit-eyed look at Alison, who said nothing.

“Something’s going to happen,” she went on, “in town, involving him, me, and a vacuum flask. Or its contents. And it’s going to be…perverted.”

“Stands to reason,” Alison said, keenly. She felt as if she were melting into her chair. She crossed her legs, precisely.

“I knew it must be time for my surprise,” Stephanie intoned, pinning Alison with her gaze. “Well, I thought,” she said, “as we went out to the car, the missing jizz, Dr.Watson, is in that flask.”

Alison couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Elementary.”

“Very,” Stephanie continued. “And it seemed that the collect it routine was done with, because he’d just come up my arse–a quickie, on our way out of the door. Arm bent behind, the usual. Ninety seconds! Took a minute of that to get all of his nob in–he’s huge, remember. Oh, don’t, I said, please don’t…Stop it! Stop! I want to go home! Ow! OW! Etcetera etcetera. Academy Award? I’m getting to be something of an actress, you know. Anway–when I felt him coming up my colon, I knew, bahis siteleri then. Ooh, I said. A load. I’m honoured. He said–know what he said?–Shut up, he said. You’re not supposed to get anything out of that, you slut. Then he kissed me on the cheek.” She shook her head, incredulous; answered by another half grin from Alison.

“So,” she resumed, “whatever the ‘surprise’ is he’s been saving it for, he thinks he’s got enough. Enough…goo, for the job. Oh, lucky, lucky me…” She crossed her legs again, Alison finding herself–disconcertingly–unable to not watch as she did so. The thighs were full and pink, the skirt tiny. The twin expanses of smooth, soft skin presented a powerful attraction. Almost irresistible…

She wondered if she had on any panties…Would it occur to her, to attend a talking therapy session such as this, without them? Alison’s attention was vacillating, she couldn’t stop it. Why she herself, as a man’s woman, would suddenly be driven to ponder these things, she was uncertain. She may have to finish the session early, she thought–surely, she’d have to…

“So anyway,” Stephanie was saying, seemingly unaware of her confidante’s difficulty, “we’re off to town, apparently–that’s where whatever it is is going to happen. Shops–shoppers. Great.

“As we walk to the motor I can feel that familiar slippery, slidey feeling between my bumcheeks, as the stuff leaks out–like it does. It’s a good case for knickers you’d have thought, but as usual I haven’t got any. They’re illegal–particularly if I’ve just been bummed–“

“Sorry–‘bund’, did you say?” Alison blinked.

“Bummed. Buggered,” Stephanie assisted.

“Oh–bummed. Sorry. Go on…”

“Prefer ‘bummed’. Less…pervy sounding.” She followed her own digression. “Pants are outlawed by decree, in the event of my having just been reamed. Likes to show off his stuff glistening down the back of my legs, you see–I swear, Doctor Bridgford, he uses the expressions on peoples’ faces as some kind of sustenance. He…feeds off it. Does that make sense to you?”

Alison was yanked out of a reverie somewhat. “Yes. Yes, it does,” she replied, a little croakily. She wanted to open a window, or turn off the heating. She had her own slidey feeling, and she wished–oh, how she wished!–that she hadn’t taken her own pants off for the session; that she hadn’t succumbed to one mad impulse before Stephanie had arrived. She just knew that the seat of her skirt was a soggy, aromatic mess, and it would be impossible for her to stand up with Stephanie still in the room. Not without her seeing, that was. And smelling her discomfiture. If she couldn’t already…

“Thanks,” Stephanie was saying, with a hint of sarcasm. “Anyway, we’re off to town–I’ve got my plug in, obviously–got to watch the car seat–“

“Sorry–plug?” Alison interrupted. “What do you mean?–oh…” She had realised, before Stephanie answered. The realisation made her wetter.

“Sorry–thought I’d mentioned it before. He plugs me, before we get in the car,” she said. “Buttplug. Stops the stuff leaking into the seat. Takes it out when we get there, wherever it is–sometimes. Sometimes he leaves it in–depends what mood he’s in and what the situation is…

“So,” she went on, “we’re on our way there, he’s driving one-handed as usual and me changing gear for him, and–“

“Why’s that?” Alison said, starting to have difficulty in not interrupting. She felt not in control of this, at all.

“Because his left hand lives up my skirt in the car. It’s…policy, you’d call it. Middle finger right up my babyhole. He says,” she was straight faced, “it’s safer for me, if there’s a crash. Extra impact protection for my pelvis, apparently. Isn’t he thoughtful? Hey–” Her face lit up. “I’m getting to be a pretty good right hand gear changer, you know? Do it without the crunching, now.” She smiled a disarming smile. “Aren’t I clever?”

“Mmm,” Alison managed. Her face felt red, she hoped not noticeably. “So…what happened at the, er, shopping centre?” She hadn’t realised she had skipped a part.

“Nothing, because we hadn’t got there, yet.” She was studying Alison, a faint bemusement on her face.

Her therapist was crimson, and had a little difficulty in breathing. “Sorry,” she said again. “Go on–please, Stephanie. Bit hot in here.”

“Is it,” said Stephanie, looking at Alison’s flushed face and thighs, beginning to realise, at last. Oh my God, she thought. I’m getting you all creamed up, aren’t I? Bit gooey? Now isn’t that interesting… She gave the impression of giving her the benefit of a doubt, and resumed.

“So anyway–we got there. It took an hour’s drive–Leyton. Nobody I might know there to bump into, while being a public…spunkbitch. It was the mall there–he’d just said ‘shopping’, not the mall. So, not tens or hundreds, but thousands of Saturday afternoon shoppers. bahis şirketleri And moochers, and layabouts–yobs, tarts and drunks. It was the big stage!” She stared wide-eyed at Alison, wondering if she–anyone– could possibly anticipate what he made her do, there.

“You’ll have to say it, Stephanie,” Alison managed weakly. “Say what happened.”

“Yes,” she replied. “He parked us up, had me clean his hand in the usual fashion…”

“With your tongue.” She knew.

“Yes. I did that, then he told me to take off my blouse–fuck, I thought he was going to have me parading around in there topless, I didn’t know what to think, and he wouldn’t tell me. He slapped my hands away when I tried to cover up my bare tits, to stop a couple loading groceries seeing. Their eyes were out on stalks, and I was bright red. He told me to keep my hands on the back of my head, while he fished something out of a bag on the back seat. It was the Thermos, and a t-shirt–something written on it, couldn’t make it out–too…folded. Three inch letters, I could see that much.

“What does it say? I said–bit scared, you know. Fuck My Butt–could be anything, with this cove. Find out later, he said…and he refused to tell me. Told me to look away as he pulled it over my arms, put it on me. It was on the back–couldn’t see what it was…Tell me what it says! I told him. Find out later–now quit fussing, he said. My head was pounding like a…pounded head–then he picked up the flask, unscrewed it, and tipped it out into my lap.” She was staring at her enrapt therapist.

“The spunklolly,” Alison breathed, at last.

“Yes. It slid out and fell in my thigh cleavage. I picked it up, awed at it. Pure spunk. Solid frozen cylinder, ten inches long, two inches thick–rough copy of his…prick, with a proper iced lolly stick. No orange or anything in it, mind–unadulterated. It was exactly what it looked like–half a pint or so, of neat, frozen spunk, on a stick. I could smell it, as it started to melt a bit in my hand. Take a lick, he said. It’s yours–I made it myself.

“I gawped at him, I was starting to…cry a bit. Have I got to walk about in the mall…with…this? I said. Afraid so, he said. It’s essential. But first… He unzipped himself and got his cock out–it was solid to bursting, and dripping–it was a slippery mess. He had a polythene bag in there, so no slime would…soak away. He…” She looked to Alison, tears ready to fall any second.

“Say it,” Alison breathed, her own blood hammering at her temples.

“He rolled the spunklolly in the slime–the precum–“

“The glycerin,” Alison remembered.

“Yes–he rolled it over and around in it, and over his slimy cock, coating it–glazing it with it. It was fucking coated with it–dripping off that lolly, in great, glistening, strings. Then…he handed it to me, licking his fingers, with a paternal smile. Try that, he said. He fished a pair of Jack Nicholson shades from the glovebox, and put them on me–something he’d never done before–as I took a lick of it. Instant stringing, Doctor Bridgford! From something that could possibly be mistaken for a plain iced lolly, he’d made it into an unmistakeable…”

“Sex act on a stick.”

“Yes! Perverted sex while strolling, fully dressed! And, you know what–I only went and did it!”

“I believe you did,” Alison replied. “You’re very brave.” She had to masturbate, very soon.

“I am aren’t I. I was crimson throughout of course–can’t stop that–but I did do it. There were gasps and insults–even a threat or two. Lot of lads making rude gestures, like. Lot of swearing. Offers of marriage! No trouble, though. One bloke–tosser–said I was a fucking dirty cunt, said it straight out. I said How do you know? and walked on. Last we heard of him…Took twenty minutes to finish that lolly, you know! All those people, all those…reactions! You know, I felt…bigger than them, afterwards–can you understand that?” She was wide open.

“Yes,” said Alison. “You just did what almost none of them can, once they’ve had their inhibitions…hammered into them. Almost nobody. I should imagine…” she felt her therapist head screwing back onto her shoulders, thank goodness, “that the only way to retrieve that…freedom, is to be retaught. I think–“

“That’s what he’s doing to me. Reteaching me.”

“Yes. Reteaching you. There are some far worse crimes than licking a slimy lolly, surely. Why, then, the intense negative reaction, from all those people, like…sheep? Get into trouble if you don’t catcall.” She looked up from her knees. “What about the, er, plug? Did he take it out this time, or leave it in? Did you get wet legs, too?” She smiled broadly.

“The plug? Left it in–felt quite nice, actually. Feel it moving around inside you, you know?…Mmmm. Nice in Tesco’s–try it. Besides, it would’ve been a distraction from the back view, all that wet down the back of my legs. That’s what he said. Distract from the message.”


“On the t-shirt.” She was grinning.

“Oh! That t-shirt message–What did it say?”

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