Jenny's Couch, Book 5 Chapter 29

Karen limped naked along the path. Her feet protested at every step onto the sharp gravel but that was trivial compared to the thrumming ache in her clitoris. It wasn't all that painful, even, it's just that it started at the tip and went far back, somewhere deep inside her, into places she hadn't even been aware of until now. It pulsed with every step, like a little pendulum of hurt. Pastor Fustein had one arm over her shoulder and the other hand gripping her around the bicep, supporting her but not letting her lag either. The same three deacons had fallen in ahead and behind them when they left the administration building. They were halfway to the building labeled "Girls" before Karen found her voice. It still came out shaky and weak. "What...what did you do to me?"

"Why, nothing, child, nothing at all. You did it to yourself."

Karen ignored this. "You hurt me! You said you wouldn't punish me, but you did!"

Pastor Fustein stopped and turned Karen towards him. "Dear child, this isn't punishment, this is therapy. You believe you've been doing God's will by prostituting yourself. But I can't help noticing that God's will seems to dovetail with your own will rather nicely, and that always makes me suspicious. In your world it's apparently God's will that you make a lot of money, and apparently God also wills that your physical body is constantly seething with sexual pleasure. Isn't that right?"

Karen was finding it hard to think through the haze of discomfort and the constant small stabs of pain in her soles. Was the pastor right? Had she been deluding herself all these years that God wanted her to be a whore? Was she just a nasty little girl who made it all up because she wanted to fuck, because masturbating made her cunt get so hot that she didn't care about anything else, not her family, not her friends, not her future, not anything but finding the next cock to shove into herself? What must God think of her? He must hate her. She deserved His hate. Her eyes filled up. It couldn't be true. "No," she whispered, as tears overspilled and ran down her cheeks.

The pastor ignored her upset. "Well, you can defile yourself all you want here. The entire staff has been given instructions to encourage it. But no one will pay you. And more importantly, this device will prevent you from drowning your eternal soul in your body's lusts. It's monitoring your pulse and your breathing and...but you don't care about the technical details. The important part is when it detects that you are about to, ah, finish, it delivers the jolt that you felt. The first one is relatively mild but if your state of excitement persists they will be progressively stronger until your perversion is quelled."

"But WHYYYYY?" Karen couldn't understand why he would torture her like this.

"Isn't it obvious? If you persist in this abhorrent behavior despite being deprived of both money and physical satisfaction, well, then perhaps you truly are God's whore. But my guess is you will not. And once the cycle of addiction to the fleshly sins is broken, we can begin the long process of returning you to God's grace. But here we are." They had reached the girls' dorm. It was a brutalist concrete block like the others. The windows were larger than in the isolation block where Karen had started this hellish week, but still heavily barred. As before, the pastor pressed a button next to the scary-looking steel door and after a minute it buzzed and he pulled it open.

Karen stumbled across the threshold and cold, gritty concrete soothed feet stinging from all the sharp stones she had walked across. There was a deacon sitting at a desk just like in the isolation block but instead of a blank corridor behind him, there was a large open space. A television inside a metal cage blared from high on the wall. Four girls were sitting on hard chairs around a table playing cards. Another sat in a chair staring blankly up at the television. And the sixth girl sat on the floor, well away from the others, reading a book. All except for the reader looked older than Karen, high-school age. The reader was hunched over in her baggy gray sweats so it was hard to say her age but she was definitely petite. There were cell doors along two sides of the dayroom, some open, some not. With hard surfaces all around the room was echoey and loud.

Girls can be cruel. Karen certainly knew that from her own school, even though it was a good school and it took bullying seriously. It was a cliche that they could be meaner than the boys, who tended to express their bullying more physically. Which was plenty bad enough, but the girls wielded a razor sharp tongue which could hurt more deeply and for a lot longer than a quick punch in the nose.

The pastor had left her at the door. The deacon had looked up, done a double take, but then with his boss there had been all business. He'd signed Karen in, pointed her at the cell that was going to be hers, and then ignored her. As Karen started to walk towards it she felt nervous and shy. Not because she was naked; after the past two years of her life that felt almost more natural to her than being dressed, even when surrounded by clothed people. Sometimes she worried that one day she would wake up for school and just forget, oh yes, I have to wear clothes while I'm pretending I'm not a whore, and the whore would march right into her school in her birthday suit not even realizing anything was wrong until - oops! - a teacher saw her. But new situations that didn't involve fucking always made her feel uncertain. So when a high voice called out, "Look, it's that girl they told us about!" Karen froze in place for a second. But then she pasted on a smile and turned towards the voice. It belonged to a large teenager with short dark hair and a port wine birthmark across one cheek. She was sitting at the table. Her shoulders were broad and her breasts strained the buttons on the dark blue denim shirt she was wearing.

Karen walked over to the table. "I'm Karen," she said and then before she could stop herself "And I'm a whore," popped out. She swallowed as all heads turned and she became the center of attention. "That's why I'm naked, because whores go naked so we're always ready to fuck, I love fucking, do you?" Karen snapped her mouth shut as she realized she was starting to babble.

Karen always hated having to meet new people but she'd learned how to ingratiate herself. She opened her mouth to ask what game they were playing but the girl with the birthmark beat her to it. "Go fuck somebody who cares," she jeered, and the other girls around the table burst into mocking laughter. Karen's face flamed with humiliation, which made the girls laugh harder. Then the girl closest to her reached out with her middle finger under her thumb. "What's this?" she asked and flicked Karen's clit, hard, hard enough to surprise a little squirt of pee out of her. "Ewwww!" the girl said exaggeratedly as the urine dripped down Karen's leg.

Karen felt about an inch tall and she knew her face was bright red, knew the girls could see they had gotten to her, but she couldn't think what to do but play it out. "That's...that's my whore clittee," she stammered out softly. It only set off a fresh round of jeers and laughter.

"No, dumbass," said the girl, "I mean this," and she reached out and grabbed the little sack now attached to the end of Karen's clitoris, grabbed it and squeezed hard enough that Karen's breath hitched as the compression sent a spike of pleasure through her.

Karen's knees felt weak and her voice trembled as she said, "The pastor...put it on. I'm supposed to keep it on and it'll make me stop being a whore...but it won't work!" she said, with a flash of defiance that evaporated under the girls' mocking expressions. "Well, I'm going in my room," karen said limply. More laughter chased her and she tried not to look like she was fleeing as she retreated towards the cell she had been assigned to.

She stopped in the doorway and peered around. The cell was the same small size as the first one she'd been thrown into, but less barren. There was a narrow iron bedframe with a thin mattress folded in half atop it, plus a single sheet, a flat pillow, and a rough wool blanket with indeterminate stains. There was a wide shelf bolted to the wall to serve as a desk and an iron stool bolted to the floor in front of it. There was a toilet and a sink in a single unit next to the desk and a mirror bolted to the wall above it, all stainless steel. The walls and floor were the same featureless concrete painted a scuffed and chipping gray. The window was barred but the glass was cranked open by a couple of inches behind the bars. The window admitted a slice of late afternoon sun that fell across the bed. She stepped into the cell and pulled the door shut. There was no latch, and there was a tall, narrow window in the door. So this was it. This was where she was going to live, maybe for a long time unless the plan worked.

Fighting back a fear that threatened to overwhelm her, Karen unfolded the mattress and tossed the sheet over it, then lay down and put her arm over her face. She felt the warmth of the sunbeam across her thigh and she shuffled down the bed slightly until she felt the sun warming her crotch. Her free hand automatically started caressing her mound. Karen parted her legs slightly as she gently traced down one side of her vulva and up the other, feeling the supple skin warming beneath her fingertips. She teased herself the way she liked to, brushing her fingers lightly over her slit, barely touching her inner labia. Unconsciously she began making soft grunts and moans deep in her throat as the sensitive lips began to flower open, swelling and heating as they filled with blood. She pressed a finger between them, pulling back each time she felt them begin to open to her, letting the need well slowly up but not satisfying it, feeling the pressure to do more, to touch more, to feel more building up inside her. Her face flushed and she felt the heat there and prickling all over her bare body, felt the scratchy cheap fabric of the sheet everywhere it touched her shoulderblades, her legs, her heels, her butt. Finally she could resist her body's need no longer. "Ahhhhhhh," she sighed as she pressed her finger between her butterfly lips but this time didn't relent and the hot, slick bands of flesh yielded and her finger slid in to heat and moisture. Her abs tensed and she felt her cunt squeezing her finger, felt the flickers and sparks of pure pleasure as the digit rubbed against the nerve-dense mucosa.

Karen felt her clit swelling, felt the tip squeezing itself against the cap fastened around it. She suddenly felt the felt the thick leather collar around her neck, the cool metal studs against her skin and she gulped, remembering the stinging jolt it had delivered. But the pleasure was filling her up and Karen had no ability to resist it. Her entire life since her first orgasm, tied to that silly kiddy chair at age eleven, had been devoted not to resisting her body's need but to surrendering to it, cultivating it, chasing her next orgasm. One time, lying in her bed at home not long after the all-night beach party where she had been so thoroughly and completely debauched, she had tried to see how many climaxes she could have in a row. She had to stop after fifteen, not because she was exhausted or had reached her body's limits, but because the orgasmic waves had blended into one another to become one continuous onslaught of pleasure. Even after she stopped touching herself, the spiral of ecstasy continued, not fading but surging in intensity until she was biting her pillow to keep from screaming aloud and squirting so hard that she wet her toes and the sheet beneath her was completely drenched. Her entire body had become so hypersensitized that every movement she made, every breath of warm air from the heating vent, threatened to overwhelm her. When finally the assault on her senses receded, her legs were still trembling so badly that she couldn't stand, and had to crawl to the linen closet to retrieve a clean sheet to sleep on.

Karen tried her hardest now to prevent the rising pleasure from overwhelming her. Despite the delicious feeling of her pulse beating in her clit as it swelled and erected she resisted the urge to touch it, instead tracing her fingers around and around, pressing in on her vulva and allowing only the slightest indirect contact. Far from slaking the need pulsing in the wrinkled crimson knob, it intensified until her arm was shaking with the effort to resist the urge to seize it between thumb and fingers and tug and squeeze and rub it. She held her penetrating finger as still as possible, just pressing slowly, rhythmically, each time advancing into her channel the smallest distance she could, feeling her heat slowly envelop the second knuckle, tensing and squeezing herself around the digit, feeling her pulse both in the finger and the enclosing hot, wet tissues, continuing to advance until her finger was fully buried inside her cunt and she was barely twitching her fingertip to flick back and forth against the little knot of her cervix. All the while the pleasure was rising, her skin flushing and sweat dappling her face, her breasts with their large swollen nipples, her heaving belly, her arms and legs. Her breath was coming in gasps and she could feel her heart racing, hear the roaring of her blood in her ears. Her scent filled her nostrils, heavy and pungent as cream slicked her labia and ran hot across her palm.

The pleasure was going to consume Karen, she had held it back as long as she could, slowed it as much as she could, her nipples were so stiff they ached, her eyes stung from sweat running into them, she was writhing and moaning on the narrow bed, every muscle was tensed. She let herself go limp as her legs started shaking and her cunt felt heavy and full of hot liquid and she squeezed her eyes tight closed as her vision filled with sparks and then there was a hum and SNAP it felt like her clit was being poked by a hundred needles. "OW!" she cried and tears filled her eyes, tears of pain and not pleasure. The smell of ozone filled her nostrils as the pain shocked her back into herself and she it felt like the orgasm she had almost reached was yanked away and she was left gasping and whimpering, curling her body around the vicious sting in her most sensitive flesh and the ache that spread from the tip of the nub back into her cunt.

After some unmeasured time, Karen's heart had slowed, the sweat had dried on her bare body, and her breath was no longer coming in gulps and gasps. The pain in her clit had receded to a dull ache. She felt a hundred years old as she pushed herself up to a sitting position on the bed. She pushed back until her back was against the cold concrete wall and spread her legs. She looked down at herself. The cap was still snug on the end of her clit, curled under and only half visible, and the ribbon trailing from it disappeared between her legs. She felt the ribbon as a hard little line running up her back to the collar around her neck. Gingerly, fearing another shocking bite, she used one finger to tease her clit, now pale and shrunken, out to its full length. Even quiescent like this it was still shockingly large against her hairless, still maturing vulva. She examined the cap as best she could. Nothing seemed to be holding it onto her except the fine drawstring that threaded around its rim. The pressure it exerted on her pleasure knob was felt but not extreme, certainly not painful. And she could clearly see the little clasp that kept the drawstring snugged up against her. Why, it should be easy. Karen trapped the thin shaft between thumb and the finger holding her clitoris uncurled against the tension of the ridge of scar tissue that ran along its underside. She carefully used thumb and finger on her other hand to grasp the clasp and began to tug it away from the cap...

A piercing siren caused Karen to jump and almost fall off the bed. A bright red flashing light glowed in the mirror above her toilet. Karen leapt to her feet and stared with horror into the scratched square of polished metal, seeing that the light was coming from her collar! Tiny lights heretofore invisible set in the leather blinked in a pattern. The siren was coming from the collar too, she realized. Panic rose in her - what did it mean? She couldn't think. She wanted to run - but where? She hop-stepped around the cell in agitation.

She was facing away when the door banged open behind her. Karen whirled, her stomach clenching in fear. Standing in the doorway was the deacon who had signed her in. He was a big, beefy man with bulging arm muscles and a thick neck. His black hair was in a flat top buzz cut. His ears stuck out from his head, big and fleshy. His nose was flattened and crooked as if it had been broken, maybe more than once. His cheeks were pitted with acne scars. He took just one step into the room and it felt too full. Karen shrank back into the corner beside the desk. Behind the deacon all the girls were crowding into the doorway, jockeying for a view around the deacon's broad back.

"They warned us you might try to take it off," he said and despite the fear that thrilled through her naked body, Karen almost laughed because his voice was ridiculously high and squeaky for a man that large. But then he stepped forward and now he was in easy reach. Karen tried to speak but the fear paralyzed her. She made a terrified squeak as his large hands reached out and took her by the shoulders. Despite his appearance his grip was gentle. His skin was rough and callused against hers, but he used no more strength than was needed to draw Karen out from the niche between the desk and the wall. He stood her in front of the window. "Turn around," he ordered. He didn't sound mean. He didn't sound nice. He sounded bored with it all, like manhandling a naked girl was just part of his not-very-exciting job.

This was maybe worst that anyone had treated her so far. The rape and abuse had been horrible but Karen knew they had seen her. They saw a person - one they could hurt with impunity, but they saw a person. This man could've been talking to the wall behind her, for all the recognition she saw in his eyes. Her legs felt heavy as lead but she managed to shuffle around so that she was looking out the window. She felt the man step close behind her. She felt pressure against the back of her neck as he did something to her collar and the siren and lights cut off. Then he said "Put your wrists behind your back," and her fear was submerged by humiliation because she knew exactly what was coming. Karen closed her eyes and felt tears leak from beneath her lids as, with a zipping sound, a band of plastic was pulled tight around her wrists. And then she felt another band tighten around her forearms, just below her elbows. For a moment she was back in Moira's apartment two years ago, dizzy and giddy from marijuana, drunk on wine coolers, her juvenile cunt burning with need. She was waiting for the click of the leash clipped on to her collar. But the flashback was shattered by a burst of girlish laughter. She turned around to see the deacon had turned and left, but the four girls who had been playing cards were peering in the door, laughing at the naked whore with her arms zip-tied behind her.

Karen's face flamed anew, but she found herself shouldering past the laughing girls, her bare feet slapping on the floor. She ran awkwardly after the deacon, her balance thrown off by the way her bound arms thrust her chest forward and that made her titties bounce wildly with each step. "Wait!" she cried. "How long do I have to stay like this? How am I supposed to eat?"

"Not my problem," the deacon tossed over his shoulder and that was that. Karen was left standing in the middle of the dayroom with the older girls all laughing at her. She fled back to her room. They laughed even harder as they watched her struggle to close her door. She threw herself onto the thin mattress and sobbed.

Karen cried herself out, then rolled onto her side and stared bleakly at the wall. She was just realizing, with dawning horror, that her new predicament meant that never mind the horrid device, she couldn't touch herself anyway, when her door opened.

Karen tried to sit up but it wasn't easy with her arms bound behind her. Again she went to wipe her face and only succeeded in jerking her arms against the heavy zip ties. She was reduced to trying to wipe the tears and snot off onto her bare shoulder. She was suddenly aware of her long hair in disarray, tear tracks down her breasts. She pressed one bare foot down on the other and tensed her thighs against the tingling in her clit which even now begged for its forestalled completion. And she blushed, not because of her nudity but just what a ridiculous mess she must look like. Karen looked up, ready to face whatever new ridicule the other girls had come for.

But it wasn't any of the older girls. It wasn't a girl at all, it was a deacon. This one was slim and blond and young, hardly more than a boy himself. He had an undercut like was popular with some of the high school boys Karen serviced regularly, and his hair was long in front and flopped over his eyes. He brushed it back and looked down at Karen sitting on the bed. There was a hunger in his eyes that Karen knew all too well. Hunger in his eyes, and a bulge in his black slacks. He mumbled "You're real pretty," and that was all he seemed to have to say. He didn't introduce himself, just sat down on the bed next to her and put his hands on her breasts. He squeezed them, too hard, his eyes wide with wonderment like he'd never touched tits before. Maybe he hadn't. Karen made a soft squeak of discomfort and wriggled back. The deacon looked up in surprise, meeting her eyes for the first time. "You're a whore, right? They said we could touch you an' anything."

Karen's years of training kicked in. "Yeah, I'm a whore," she agreed. She swung one leg up and over behind the deacon so that she was fully exposed to him. "Look at my cunt," she commanded. The deacon dropped his eyes and gulped. Karen's vulva was pink, the smooth pillows puffy and split wide around her delicate inner labia. The opening was clogged with thick cream. She felt her nipples swelling, poking up like little missiles, as she displayed herself lewdly before an adult for the however many thousandth time. Seeing the - boy's, she thought of him, not a man - seeing his confusion her voice was commanding, not wheedling. "Touch my cunt!" she said. "Go on, touch my whore cunt!" The boy leaned forward and again, he wasn't gentle "Uhhh!" Karen groaned as he shoved a finger into her to its full depth. His face showed amazement as she clamped down it. "Now...pump it in and out," she growled from between gritted teeth. He did as he was told and Karen felt her need uncoil in her stomach, felt the heat start to rise inside her, felt the tingling in her clit, realized she was already on the razor's edge of an orgasm - and desperately fought it down, closed her eyes and wished herself away, imagined herself in school, in class, in her demure dress, trying to hold back the wave of sexual pleasure lapping at her pale, sweaty thighs. Panting, she tried to pretend it was Daddy sitting here, not some anonymous boy, felt her stomach cramp with anxiety at the thought of Daddy seeing her like this. Her heart sped with anxiety but the heat between her legs receded for the moment.

It was awkward and Karen's balance was off with her arms bound, but she managed to push off the mattress with her fingertips and fold her body forwards so her face pressed into the lump in the boy's pants. "Take...take it out," she panted. "I want to see your penis. I want to taste it!" She managed to roll off the bed, wincing as her knees hit the hard concrete, and shuffled around to face the boy as he fumbled with his pants, almost tearing them open and yanking down the zipper. His penis pressed against tighty-whities. "I bet his mom picked them out for him," Karen thought unkindly, but she hardly ever saw that style of underwear on men, it was only the high school boys she fucked that wore them. Karen tilted her head and opened wide and mouthed up and down the length of the cloth-covered shaft, felt the boy's legs tense around her. She looked up at him, worked her naked shoulders to indicate her bindings. "You have to take it out, I can't." The boy fumbled at himself, half standing to yank his briefs down, and a long, thick, impossibly stiff cock flopped out and slapped Karen in the face. It sprang up and slapped against the boy's belly. He had a nice six-pack, Karen observed distantly. She really needed a free hand to angle it down and get it in her mouth. Lacking that, she fastened her lips on the base of the shaft, right above his scrotum, puckered softly, and sucked hard. The boy groaned. Karen increased the suction, feeling the stretched skin against her lips and the hardness beneath it. Blond pubes tickled her chin, and his male, sweaty scent was sharp in her nose. She sat back and examined her work with satisfaction, a little bruise the shape of her pursed lips - she'd given his cock a hickey.

She licked her way up the shaft, lifting up on her knees to reach the throbbing purple head. Her balance was off from her arms pulled back. She half fell forward to press her forehead against the boy's abdomen. She was able to get her lips on his cockhead, but not pry it away from the vertical enough to engulf it fully. It was hot against her lips.

Frustrated, she sat back down. The boy gazed avidly down at her nakedness. She met his eyes. "Point it at my mouth," she said. He fumbled as if he'd never touched his own penis before. "Sure, I believe that," Karen thought to herself and rolled her eyes. But he managed to adjust the angle so she could kneel up a bit and get her mouth around it. She looked up into the boy's burning eyes as she sucked the head into her mouth and inched her lips down the shaft. The boy groaned as her tongue swirled around it.

Karen sucked up and down several times, then pulled off to tease the cockhead with her tongue, but she had misjudged. She should've realized that as inexperienced as the young man seemed, it wouldn't take long. Just as the cock popped out of her mouth, the boy groaned, his penis jerked, and a huge shot of hot semen hit her squarely in the bridge of her nose. She fell back but not far enough as repeated squirts painted her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. One shot went right into her left eye and she squeaked at the sting. "Oh, shit!" he breathed, as the last of his orgasm dribbled out the end of his penis and dripped onto Karen's knees.

Karen looked up at him, squinting through a film of cum. She felt it running down her face. A drop stretched from her nose to plop onto her lips. Her lashes were gummed with it and both eyes began to sting. She twisted her shoulders as once again she reflexively tried to use her hands. She gestured with her cum-coated chin towards the roll of toilet paper. "Wipe me off, will you?" But the deacon was already zipping up his pants.

"Sorry," he mumbled, standing up so suddenly that Karen had to lean back to get out of the way. She fell backwards from her knees, ending with her legs twisted under her and her bound arms digging into her back. "My break's over," the deacon said and almost ran out of the room, leaving Karen lying there with her face absolutely slathered in cooling cum. She almost screamed in frustration, frustration at the difficulty of getting back to her feet, frustration at her inability to clean her own face of the stinging goo, frustration at the way her cunt was still hot, still leaking copious amounts of her juice, still throbbing and buzzing with sexual need. She lay on the dirty concrete, trying to open her eyes against the sting, almost crying. The next thing she heard was the voice of the deacon working the desk. "Chow time! Chow time! Come get your dinner!"

"What?" Karen said, disbelieving. It was just one thing after another. She was going to have to go out into the dayroom to face the other girls with her face caked with drying cum. Her growling stomach told her skipping the meal was not an option. Groaning, she rolled over so she could get to her feet. She looked in the mirror and quailed at the mess on her face. Her hair was tousled and tangled and there was cum in it, too. Hanks of it were glued to her cheek and her neck. Blinking back tears that were equal parts humiliation and irritation from the jizz in her eyes, she squared her shoulders and forced herself to step through the door.