An unfortunate habit
By Maximilian Cummings
Part 2
“But this is so embarrassing. Surely I don’t, surely I didn’t, surely you didn’t see—but you must have done. I am so embarrassed I...” Cecily was in the office the next day. Her face was quite a picture, her long neck stretched and moving as she swallowed in embarrassment.
Randolph was reassuring; his job was to sort out problems often of a personal nature; she should not be at all perturbed, the important question was what to do next.
“But I’m not interested in sex; I don’t think about sex, I have never rushed after boys. Mr Trevais, I know other women are, I know men certainly are but, frankly, that is not me. I’m just not interested. Never have been. Are you really sure you are right?” She coloured. “That, that you saw what you say you saw?”
“A repressed sexuality, Miss Stubbs,” said Randolph in the rather stern voice he used to impart words of wisdom to his clients.
“I simply have never been interested, Mr Trevais, really I haven’t. This all comes as such a shock. Really I cannot believe it.”
“Miss Stubbs, I can assure you that what… what particularly Miss Evans, but certainly myself noted was exactly so. But what do we do now? I presume you want an end to this nocturnal, ah, wetting.”
She blushed even more. Whilst he had seen a great deal of her, Randolph had not seen her breasts and still did not know whether the blush extended across them. That was another problem to be resolved.
“Yes,” she said.
“Well let’s try a little hypnosis again shall we?”
Randolph had no need whatsoever of a swinging fob watch but clients liked it. It swung gently to and fro in front of her eyes.
Sometimes, perhaps rather surprisingly, Randolph found it put clients at their ease if they took their clothes off, indeed sometimes it helped if he took his off as well. Only a few days before he had very pleasantly dealt with a small problem of premature ejaculation. Such a pretty young couple together. Delightfully embarrassed at explaining the difficulty both of curtailed love making and the denial of vaginal orgasm on the girl’s part. Randolph had enjoyed asking the detailed questions in his most concerned professional manner, fingers together, and listening particularly to the girl’s explanations; their pleasure at his assurance that hypnosis would assist, even cure, the problem but shock when he had suggested not simply hypnosis but seeing, then and there, whether the hypnosis was succeeding; “no, no, not actual intercourse of course (unless that was what they wished) but an exercising of the organ in question to see if there was an increase in control.”
The hypnosis had not actually only been applied to the young man, it had been applied rather obviously to him with a great demonstration of the oscillating fob watch, but subtly to the girl so she and he were unaware (of course) that Randolph had relaxed her as well, made her amenable to Randolph’s rather strange suggestion. From a tentative start extracting the young man’s penis from his trousers, with darting embarrassed glances at Randolph, the girl had manipulated it to hardness; had gone on, at Randolph’s suggestion “to suck.” Her clear embarrassment and nervousness at doing such a thing whilst under the seemingly benevolent gaze of the kind looking, bearded, middle aged professional in a suit had been a great pleasure to Randolph. The sight of the pretty pale pink, lipsticked mouth opening to take in her husband’s penis had quickly hardened Randolph. She had not been expert and Randolph had been quick to advise her—“all part of the service.”
The girl had been most pleasantly surprised at how long her young man lasted in her mouth before the rapid breathing and groan had signalled ejaculation. Again her embarrassment had flowed in waves as she had looked up at Randolph whilst she licked her husband’s semen from her still pale pink lipsticked lips.
“He’s never stayed... so long,” she confided to Randolph.
Her husband had sat strangely still with a happy grin on his face.
“Excellent,” said Randolph, “clearly we are getting somewhere. Now I want you two to practice, I want you to engage in sex twice daily, yes if you like, that is my prescription—sexual intercourse to be taken twice daily and I will see you both in a week’s time for a report.”
The girl was nodding but the same time wriggling in her seat and with a strong flush to her cheeks.
“I expect you to find that your husband lasts much longer with vaginal intercourse as well but this will allow you your... my dear, are you OK? You do look really flushed.”
“I am sorry Mr Trevais, I seem to have become all worked up.”
“That will be the sexual frustration coming out. Quite natural.” Randolph’s tone was reassuring.
“Oh fuck, I’ve never felt quite like this!” She was perspiring and very clearly having trouble keeping her hands off herself and was staring with intense longing at her husband’s now flaccid penis.
“Please, if you would like, use the couch, pretend you are at home alone in bed.”
She did not need any more encouragement and he watched with great pleasure as her clothes were thrown onto the floor and he was able to see her little breasts, smooth toned thighs, and the wispy fair hair covering her pubic bone that delightfully failed to hide her little pink slit. She was on her back on the couch in a trice with one hand pulling at her little nipples and the other playing between her splayed thighs. After watching for a time Randolph got up to observe more closely and enjoy the heady scent of a young girl in heat. There was now no embarrassment, no feeling of shame at all, no attempt at modesty as Randolph closely examined her plunging fingers and flicking thumb between her now delightfully wet inner thighs.
“I can’t come, I can’t come,” she had gasped as her fingers moved with desperate purpose, “I need a cock, I need a hard cock inside me.”
“Really?” said Randolph, with what was mock surprise. He glanced at the husband still gazing into space. “I am afraid your husband is a little spent. Would you like me to help?”
The memory of that delightful event came back to Randolph as he replied to Cecily. It had been the matter of moments to drop his own clothes to the floor and apply himself to the girl’s liquid sex and to provide her with the necessary hardness she was craving. She had been surprisingly grateful and had certainly been wet, not rivalling Cecily—that would have been difficult—but he had almost had to be careful that his balls hadn’t slipped in as well! After having enjoyed watching the demonstration of her lips on her husband it was such a relief to slide into her and prepare to ease the hardness it had caused. She had no less than three stunning orgasms before he came which was, he was sure, a record for her. He did not put it down to his own prowess, not with his penis anyway, but more with his remarkable ability in hypnotic suggestion. He liked his clients to be satisfied with his services—and come back for further consultation.
Randolph smiled in recollection, two very happy clients, and they would be seeing him again the next week. He would ensure a lengthy appointment.
The watch swung and Cecily’s eyes became glassy.
Randolph listened as Cecily told him more about herself than she would have been prepared to when not ‘under the influence;’ the repressed childhood; the unsuccessful fumblings with boys and the rough treatment by one of them which had certainly ‘put her off’.
At the end Cecily was rather more accepting of the need for a further night visit than she had been earlier in the consultation. That was not a surprise to Randolph; he was rather used to clients agreeing with his recommendations.
It was not actually the same evening but the next, about 11pm, that Randolph drove up to Cecily Stubbs house. Miss Evans was once again in attendance. Cecily met them at the door but was agitated, asking whether this was really necessary again? It was, most definitely, if the problem was to be cured.
“Well, I want an end to these absurd dreams you assure me that I experience or rather have, though I still find it difficult to believe. Are you really sure—you must be mistaken.”
“Most definitely not, and I intend to prove it. I, or rather Miss Evans, shall wake you and all will be clear.”
Cecily had an interesting look of disbelief, defiance and simple embarrassment. Most attractive, thought Randolph.
Once more Cecily went to bed and Randolph and his receptionist began their vigil.
“Our Cecily is an attractive women, is she not Miss Evans?”
“I suppose so, I hadn’t... but yes.”
“It is a shame she has avoided romantic attachment, her psyche has been damaged. It is our task to repair it so she can both love and enjoy the physical pleasures of love...”
“Mr Trevais, really, I’m not sure it is any of our business.”
“...with whichever man... or woman takes her fancy.”
“Woman? Well, I suppose, yes but...”
“My suspicion is our Cecily has a greater attraction to others of her sex, I can easily see her point.”
Randolph’s attempts at humour were always rather good in his opinion.
“But we shall see, Miss Evans, when we ask about her dream.”
As on the previous night it was a few hours before Cecily stirred, her regular breathing changed and she began to move rather more than she had earlier in her sleep. Randolph indicated to his receptionist that she should gently pull back the sheet covering his client. Once more Randolph had the pleasing sight of Cecily half naked; her pyjama top obscuring the upper half of her body, as before, but nothing left to the imagination below, her splayed legs saw to that. Randolph watched Miss Evans face with some amusement, he was catching her unawares and her gaze was resting where his had been drawn to—Cecily’s evidently damp sex. Miss Evans’ tongue wet her lips.
Cecily was tossing and turning now, thighs opening and closing; clearly caught in an erotic dream. Randolph stood and examined. The woman was already very wet indeed but he knew from his previous observation that there was more, much more to come.
“Miss Evans I need you to wake our patient before orgasm but only once she is well into her dream, when she has really soaked both herself and the bedclothes with her lubrication; her vulvic secretions. I need you to keep a close watch, touch if necessary to determine her state, and make the decision when to wake. I shall sit and watch, I do not wish her to be alarmed on waking and it would be best if you did it.”
Randolph watched the two women. One fast asleep but very restless, the other so very obviously wanting to do more than watch. Randolph had given her permission, indeed encouraged her to touch. There was, of course, no need but Randolph was not surprised, and indeed was amused by the prior glance darted in his direction, that Miss Evans did indeed touch the twitching woman, her hand slid up a smooth thigh and came to alight upon the soaked fur of her sex. It stayed longer, a lot longer than was necessary to determine the level of wetness.
The moment came; the moment Miss Evans judged it right to awake Cecily. She was shaken, gently at first and then with firmness.
“What, who, where? Miss Evans! Oh, Mr Trevais.”
Cecily was dishevelled, exposed and sitting up on a very damp patch on her bed, pyjama top askew almost revealing a breast.
It was no good, thought Randolph, that top would have to come off. He got up and came across the room to Cecily and sat by her.
Randolph patted her hand.
Cecily was clearly embarrassed beyond measure. Here she was virtually naked and a man she had met only a few times was sitting on her bed pointing out the state of her sex, the wetness she had taken to be urine was proven nothing of the sort. He had actually just touched her sex with his fingers, run his fingers through her dark pubic hair as if there was nothing wrong in doing so, touched her lower down, even slipped fingers into her, and was now holding those fingers up to her and showing that the oily texture coating them was quite different from mere wee; demonstrating its slipperiness by the moving of fingers to illustrate its purpose was lubrication; to ease the insertion, as Randolph put it in his best clinical voice, of the ‘male member.’
“Cecily, could you tell me about your dream?”
“Mr Trevais, it is embarrassing, I would rather not.”
“But I have to insist, I need to hear it in order to treat you.
“It was about sex.”
“Yes, of course.”
“That is all. Just about sex. I can’t believe it. I don’t think about, am not interested in...”
Randolph began to lightly stroke her thigh. “The evidence is against you on that. Tell me...”
“I don’t want to.”
“I am afraid you must, and in detail.”
“But it is so embarrassing.”
“You do not need to be, we are professionals. It is what we need to hear.”
“But can I get dressed; it is so uncomfortable being naked like this with you.”
“Miss Evans, please undress. It will put Miss Stubbs at ease.”
Cecily was certainly surprised at the speed of Miss Evans disrobing as it was but the simple matter of undoing a few buttons and letting the white coat slip from her shoulders. It surprised Cecily that Miss Evans had nothing on underneath her coat. It was not clear if she was put at ease but she certainly stared and Randolph himself was happy enough to look from one woman to the other as he loosened his tie.
“So, no embarrassment. Miss Evans is as naked as yourself, indeed more so. I shall join you. Now Miss Stubbs, the full details. This is important. You were saying?”
Cecily still looked uncomfortable but she began, “dreams are so stupid, so unreal, so much nonsense.” She was trying to justify what was to follow. “I was imagining, only it wasn’t like that at all, being back at school and being sent out on a cross-country run. At first I was in the changing room, putting on running things with the girls. Oh, Mr Trevais, this is so embarrassing. Do I need to tell you this?”
“What is there to be embarrassed about? We’ve all been in changing rooms, all had to go running.”
“But we always changed in cubicles not together, we were not allowed to see each other naked, it was only later at the leisure club that I experienced communal changing. I was shocked. Yet in my dream I am there with other girls and we are naked and I am looking at them and they at me. We laugh and start jumping up and down making our breasts bounce, it is a real giggle. We touch each other and hold each other’s breasts as we jump as if our hands were bras, seeing how high we can jump. It is so funny that I wet myself laughing; I can feel it and hope the other girls don’t notice but then, oh Mr Trevais, I can see they are doing the same. From between their thighs, below their patches of curly hair, some fair, some dark, come jets of wee, splashing onto the tiled floor and everyone is laughing and getting each other wet. Oh Mr Trevais this is so awful.”
“Do go on. You can see, Miss Stubbs, that your subconscious has misidentified your arousal, your copious lubrication, with the quite different function of urination. I think that, rather than a room full of miturating young women, you have really imagined a changing room full of young women in heat. A pleasing image don’t you think Miss Evans? And what happened next?”
“As dreams do, it all changed; well not the changing room but the atmosphere. The teacher comes in and she is evidently shocked and shouts at us to desist. She has us line up and then bend over to hold our ankles and she applies a ruler to each of our bottoms in turn. It hurts and I feel my wee trickling again. She is furious and comes around for a second spanking. The teacher says she is minded to send us out on the run just like that to be laughed at with our reddened bottoms and bouncing boobs. We plead; she relents and allows us our shorts and singlets and we go out into the rain and cold. It is an awful day and we are soon soaked to the skin. It is so horribly wet that we slip on the paths and fall over and get muddier and muddier. It is awful; my friends’ pretty faces and hair are all smeared in brown mud, their wet shorts and singlets cling to their soft bodies, their nipples poke hard against the thin material because they are so cold. All I can feel that is warm is my still leaking bladder keeping me warm between my thighs.”
“Not your bladder, Miss Stubbs, we know better now!” Randolph’s fingers moved between her thighs illustrating his point and at the same time stimulating her.
“Yes, I do see. I had not realised. At last we return from the run but so cold, so desperately cold and still the rain is pouring down and the sky so dark. We hug each other for warmth, dirty and wet as we are and, Mr Trevais, that feels so good. We can hardly recognise each other for the mud and grime and then a door opens and it is light inside and warm and there is scented steam coming out and we go into this lovely tiled bathroom with a great big bath full of lovely hot, steaming water. Why was it one bath, Mr Trevais, it was nothing like that at school? It is not easy with our numb fingers to pull off our clothes and I have to help my friends, help them pull down their white cotton running shorts, pull them down their hips to lie a soggy, muddy mess on the tiled floor. They lift their arms and I pull up their singlets and then we all step into the water. It is so lovely and hot and it makes our legs go all pink. It is so hot it is not easy to sit down and I look at them, at the contrast of the pink lower legs, their white cold breasts and bottoms and mud covered arms and faces.”
“I can imagine,” said Randolph, and he could indeed. ‘Do go on.”
“Must I, really that is all, just girls in a bath.”
“I think not, we need to hear the rest.”
“Mr Trevais, I’d rather… oh, very well. And then we wash each other and… and. I am so ashamed to say, I liked that, I liked taking the bar of soap and lathering my friends’ breasts, I can feel their nipples hard in the palms of my hands, I wash their arms, their faces and try to get the mud from their hair. Everyone is doing the same and of course you do drop the soap, or put it down, and have to find it; and that becomes a real giggle as you search under the water for it and it is surprising how often it has found its way between another girl’s thighs and you find yourself touching another girl’s privates. They have to be washed anyway and, in my dream Mr Trevais I liked that, liked soaping up my hand and touching a friend there, soaping her bottom, soaping her bits and other girls doing it to me. I was so worried they could feel that I was weeing in the bath, squirting hot wee onto their hands and I was thinking to myself: were they doing this too, were we all weeing together in the bath?”
“But of course you weren’t,” said Randolph.
“And it was so pleasing to be clean again and in this hot bath with everyone being so kind to each other that I was not surprised when a friend kissed me, even if it was on the lips. I could feel her fingers were making sure there was no soap left on my privates and the kiss seemed just to go on and on: and that was when Miss Evans woke me up. Oh what a terrible dream. It was sexual wasn’t it? Not about happy schooldays at all?”
Randolph was not surprised at Cecily’s description. He had not expected a different outcome. Of course, to him, the dream would have been so much better had Cecily returned from her run, just as muddy, wet and cold but with a boy (or perhaps two or even more) and found a similar need to share a bath and clean off the mud and grime; to be followed by, to Randolph anyway, the more interesting result of the energetic insertion of penises into her ready vagina followed by enthusiastic intercourse. Or perhaps, he mused, an imagined crush on the gym master and a similar return from the run with the master ordering a speedy bath for Cecily (and perhaps a friend or two); catching them engaged in intimacy and finding himself unable to resist their wiles as his running shorts and jock strap were removed by young hands and the full extent of the aroused male revealed to their shocked yet delighted gaze. The thoughts were pleasant but so were the two naked women before him.