THERAPY   Part I

…Sex addiction.
 
There…

I said it...

I wish I had some more dramatic problem to submit to your sagacity, doctor, but really, that’s  what it boils down to… I think... And something else I’ll mention later, if I work up the courage to do so. But basically, that’s it: I need sex, I need it badly and I can’t seem to be able to live without it.
Apart from that, I’m just your average downtown girl. I’m 28, I work as a PA in a law firm. I pay my taxes. I get on with my parents. I have good friends. I enjoy going out. And I do a lot of sports. Nothing to fret about.
I’m sure you’re going to find a lot of weird stuff about me. After all, it’s your job to find out things about your patients, isn’t it?
Believe me, I would be  everything but interesting, if it wasn’t for this… kink of mine.

How do I know I’m addicted? Well, that’s an easy one to start with, thanks. How about the disturbing fact I need to have two or three orgasms a day, everyday? If I don’t get my fix, doctor, I get all fidgety, I loose my temper, and yes, I’m always on the prowl for a good fuck, excuse my French.

No, I’m not married. And really I just can’t, you’ll understand why. I had a boyfriend a few years ago, but it’s a long gone story.
 
Well, everywhere, I guess.  At home mostly, but often at work, in the street, in public transport, I never seem to shy away from it because of the location.

No, I don’t know those men. It’s not like I’m dating them. To be truthful,  doctor, I use them. I need them, I find them, and I use them. This is a long shot away from romance, believe me.

Before you ask me more, allow me to tell you how it all started. You see, there is a very strange twist to my affairs, and I think you need to have some context.

It started three years ago. I had finished my studies and accepted this PA job in that firm as a way to gather experience. A good enough job, not stressful, but close enough to the top-brass that I would learn a lot from it. I was quite happy with it. Sorry ? Oh, no, I still work there.
It’s there actually that I met Michael, who was one of the associate partners. I quickly developed a serious crush on him. My boyfriend was gone, and I was, well, available, I think. Everything about Mike was a turn on, to tell you the truth. His status, his manners, his looks. I was the typical impressionable little co-worker then, you see. But he just wasn’t interested of course, he was older, married, two kids. Settled like an anchored ship. I was real unhappy about this.
One day, we were working together to finish some papers. Mike was leaning over the photocopy machine, in a little room adjacent to the main open-space, and I was looking at him from my desk, seriously contemplating throwing myself at him, so frustrated I was. And then it happened. His clothes just crumpled to the floor. No, doctor, he hadn’t undressed. He was still in them. In total shock I walked to the heap of clothes, rummaged through it and found him easily enough. All three inches of him.

No, doctor, please, I know what you’re thinking. Fantasy stuff, hallucination, day dreaming. I know what it sounds like. Please let me finish.
Thank you. As I said, I was in shock. I had always been able to reduce things, as far back as I remember. Small things, inanimate things. It runs in the family, so to speak. Not a great gift, by any means. But I had never done so on a live being, not even a cat. And I had never done it without serious effort and concentration. Mike’s shrinking just seemed to be as easy as a fleeting thought. I wanted to bring him back home, sure, but then suddenly, I had turned him into a tiny tiny creature without the slightest effort. On a whim, so to speak. I never knew I could do that. And I was horrified to have done this to my co-worker.

Ok, doctor, I can see the glint in your eyes. Listen, you’re going to have to indulge me in this. And I want you to stay focused on my story. I really need help, but not for what you’re thinking of, right now. I need you to accept my story and to help me give it a happy ending, no matter how strange it sounds. Can we do that? Hmmmm…I sure see I got your attention anyway.

Where was I? Oh yes. So here I was, panicking in the small room, with this tiny man looking at me with terror on his face. Someone could come in any moment. I just grabbed him, mumbled an awkward “Sorry”, considered hiding him in my bra , thought better of it and, lifting my skirt, dropped him inside my panties. I had no pockets on my blouse and skirt. There was no other way. I went back to my desk, walking stiff, probably all red in the face. I sat down , my heart beating madly , and looked around. No one had noticed anything yet. But down under my skirt, I could feel the tiny struggle Mike was putting on against my bush. I was in hell.

The clothes? Oh yes, someone found them all right, a minute later, and I had to act all surprised and play along as everyone was wondering what could have happened. After a few minutes, I was free at last to go to the bathroom, my purse in my hand, to get rid of my little passenger. Or so I thought. My boss called me just then to join straight away an important meeting. I had to spend two more hours listening to business, looking concentrated and attentive while feeling Mike attempting to lift the elastic band of my undies. (A quick crossing of my legs did keep him quieter down there for a while). It was the longest meeting of my life. Eventually I got an opportunity to transfer a shocked Michael into my purse, for the time being.

Later that day, in my flat, I did my best to explain myself to the tiny man on my coffee table. In spite of all my contrition, his anger was proportional to his fear and he demanded of course that I reverse the “magic” ( that’s what he called it) or at the very least that I bring him to a  hospital and warn his family. I thought long and hard about that. I knew I could not undo what I’d done, but the sensible thing was indeed to let him into more competent hands.

I won’t deny I was thrilled in a way to have Mike for me like this , in my home. I’m not joking when I say I had a serious crush on him. And here he was, in my place, for the first time outside the realm of the office. But I also had to keep practical. I was again getting into a small panic as I faced the violent tantrum he was getting into. Confused and at a loss, I , the giant woman that dominated his tiny form, went hiding my shame in my bedroom, where I reflected in vain upon any possible resolution of this predicament.

Later, I dared to come out and cook some dinner for me and my “guest”. I kept staring at him, fascinated by the incredible accuracy of the shrinking. It was exactly Mike all right, but a Mike that was sitting between my plate and my cup of coffee, near a spoon longer than him. He was munching on some crumbs of cake I gave him, and was staring back at me. It occurred to me I was a real mountain next to him, and leaving my hand on the table, I lost myself for a while in the contemplation of his tiny form near the seemingly massive hand that rested at his side.

We both were discovering the impossible situation I guess. He looked so small, I suddenly felt like seeing him as he really was. I wouldn’t submit him to a measuring tape, but I had to compare each other. I asked him (politely) if it would be okey to just be on the floor for a minute. He stared silently for a second and nodded a yes. I deposited him on the kitchen floor and looked down on him. He was slightly recoiling from my feet, his tiny face upturned, in awe. I was looking at him, and could see him from so far above, I nearly got a strange vertigo for half a second, as if it was me, who was placed high in the air. But no, the man I was in love with was this tiny mouse between my feet, hardly reaching my ankle.  The sight was frightening, but oddly, doctor I felt a weird… elation, also. There was something fascinating and strangely…pleasing to this situation.

 I nudged him very gently with my toe, and I swear it was near as large as his body. His head was as small as my little toenail! He yelped and ran away for a few inches before turning back at me, looking frightened and angry, squealing inaudible insults or threats. He had made quite a good run, yet to me, it was as if he hadn’t moved at all, really. I also realized he had a grand view of my undies from where he was standing, and that made me curiously happy (although I blushed). When I squatted down to pick him up again, he really got scared, I could see that. I guess, to him, it was as if a mountain was toppling down on top of him. I brought him to the salon, back on the coffee table. ( I suspect I found him less “threatening” when I was looking down on him, somewhere  below my knees).
We tried to communicate, but his squeaking was so low, it was really hard to follow him at times. He always repeated the same plea, of course. After a while, I improvised a bed for him in a shoe box with old undies of mine (don’t smile doctor, I really was improvising), then I promised him I would clear everything in the morning, and, leaving him in the box, I went to look for some sleep and maybe dream up a solution.

That night, as I was lying wide awake in my bed, a noise from the other room intrigued me. I found Mike playing with the phone, which he had managed to unhook. Although I sympathized with his feelings and even his intentions, it left me with no choice but to close the shoebox, and set an elastic band around it. I put it in the lower drawer of my commode near my bed and tried to think this over, listening to the tiny scratching noises. I was in hell.

I am convinced to this day, that, had Mike not tried anything rash that night, I would have brought him back to a hospital in the morning. But he did. And instead of finding a small man waiting for me in the morning, squarely demanding justice, I found a box in my lower drawer. As I took my coffee, I kept the box on my knees, thinking. But I did not open it. Call it lack of courage if you will, and you’d be right. But in a strange way, my problem seemed to have found its resolution, or at least , the box did seem to contain it nicely.

During the day at the office, I kept thinking about Mike of course, but I kept thinking of him in that box in my commode. And the initial “Mike is at my home” slowly turned in my mind into something like “ I have this strange box at home”, if you see what I mean. Without realizing it, I was, in my anguish, turning Michael into something less threatening, into a new unexpected possession, something that indeed I was keeping in my drawer. When I rushed home that day, I was actually more excited than afraid.

I decided to be strong and face the problem: when I arrived home, I opened the box and, not waiting for his reaction , I grabbed him by a leg and dangled him in front of my eyes. It was cathartic I guess, cos my problem was reduced to its real size: hardly three inches of a warm little thing. I was amazed at the sheer power of this simple gesture. An adult male, whose body and affection I had coveted for nearly a year was in my grip, weak as a mouse, and totally unable to resist any of my decisions. The feeling of absolute control sent a rush of adrenalin through my veins. The threat was suddenly gone. What remained were my whims and desires. Mike was no longer the unreachable goal of my dreams, I owned him, as no woman had owned a man. A warm tingle of satisfaction ran through my body.

I started this time to frankly manipulate him, to examine his body, without the fear and restraint that had paralyzed me the day before. Ignoring his tiny screams , I caressed every part of his body with a finger, while I felt his warmth in the palm of my hand. He was just as gorgeous in the nude as I had imagined him. I smelled him, feeling his tiny fists battering the tip of my nose. The chic aftershave I had learnt to know at the office was still lingering on the tiny man. My heart was racing in my chest, as excitement was taking over my doubts. An all pervasive desire had somehow awakened in me, at the warm contact of his small body on my palm. As I walked to my bedroom, I actually enjoyed the struggle he put in my hand, as I balanced it nonchalantly near my hip. I deposited Mike on the bed, ( he was nothing but a pink thingy on the blue plain of my bedspread) , and sat near him. I nearly had to dislodge him from under the side of my bum, as he had fallen headlong into the slope I'd created . I played a bit more with him, thinking, (he shouted a lot, but that hardly registered for some reason) and after a moment of hesitation, decided I would show him how I felt about him.

I was already standing up and preparing for the strip-tease of the millennium, when it occurred to me I was in fact no longer playing, but actually getting turned on . As I slowly began to shed my clothes, I kept looking intently at the small frozen shape on the bed. It was Mike, and I was undressing for him. It seemed so right. I felt so hot.  I cooed to him, told him how long I had waited for this moment, but his answer was lost in the rustle of my falling blouse. I wiggled my hips in front of him, removing my skirt. He was staring at me, enjoying it I hoped. my shadow was covering him like a mountainous twilight. Mike looked so frail, so much at my mercy...And then it hit me:  I was going to do it. Simply because there was no way Mike or anyone could prevent me from doing it.

There, on the spot,  I took a decision I never thought was possible in such a situation, a decision that would change the course of my life. I decided I would have him  . I would have him here and now, whether it was right or not, whether he liked it or not. A rush of excitment coursed through my body, and I smiled at tiny naked Mike. He was mine, I wanted him and it felt soooo  good.

… Yes. Yes, I’m sure you can read a lot of interesting aspects of my psychology into this decision to own my partner, doctor, but before we discuss this, let me explain to you what it really unlocked in me. I need to get a bit graphic, but I’m sure you’ve heard it all already.

Thank you. You see I was surprised myself to feel this raw sexual desire for this man still, diminished as he was. After all, what could I possibly expect from him at his size? Yet it was as I said, doctor. I wanted him, and I wanted him with an absolute urgency.

I started to undress in front of him, doing it real slow. I know I’m really pretty _ err, thank you doctor _ and I know the effect I can have on men. I offered him the best show I knew. Standing near the bed, I hovered my body over his, as I struggled to unhook my bra, and when I did I let it fall on top him . The image of this tiny man toppled down on my bed by my lingerie could have been comical, but it fuelled my desire even more fiercely. The next second bending over, I was pressing him in the sheet with one of my nipple. The contact of his tiny body against my flesh was supremely sensual to me, and I was surprised even by the intensity of my reaction. My breast was weighing on him like a steam roller, I’m sure, but to me, it was bringing sensations that were just awesome. I sat on the bed and started to play with him on my breasts, feeling his well toned body fight against my fingers. His head was so much smaller that my nipples now and his pitiful defence was really making this… interesting. I used his body to caress my thighs, my belly my neck. The sensations were unreal. Mike was protesting of course. Who'd want to be used like this by anyone? He was screaming the best he could. But it was too late really.
I was there sitting alone it seemed on the side of my bed, with only my panties on, and the man of my dreams, who had been so removed from my reality so far,  was a toy to me, and moreover a toy whose touch was more powerful than the hands of any real man. I was gone from hell to heaven.

I dropped him between my thighs, and as I started to bring them together, I observed his reactions. The walls of flesh were closing on him and I felt the light touch of his hands on my inner thighs, as he was driven closer to the only remaining space, really close to my sex. In a second, in spite of efforts to resist, I had him wedged against my panties. The sight of his body there inflamed my desire even more, and I closed my thighs fully. Only his head was visible to me, a tiny brown head pressed between my flesh. Muffled screams could just about be heard from my buried lover. This was really fun. I let him recover on my belly, caressing him with a finger. He was panting away, and I was feeling like the most powerful being in the world.

Even his screams inside my mouth were a source of pleasure. I know, I should have been horrified, but instead, it resounded in my head like the moans of a loving partner. As I sucked on his little body, I was feeling his hands hitting on the roof of my mouth, on my teeth, on the back of my throat even and it was nothing but added delights. I even resisted the urge to try and swallow him there and then, so intense was my desire to engulf him into my own pleasure. Pushing his legs inside my mouth, I stood up, my mouth full, tasting his curled body on my tongue and slowly removed my panties, already soaked. It was absolutely unreal.

His body sliding against my clitoris was such a wonderful sensation. I pressed his face in it, asking him to take me, to lick me, to pleasure me. I delicately dabbed every tender fold of my labia with his face and body, feeling my own juices loosening my grip over his wet struggling shape.  I’m sure he was a bit grossed out then, or so his shouts let me believe,  but I was gone in my own world , possessed by the sheer force of my pleasure. I stroke myself with him for a good quarter of an hour, at times wiping him against my thighs or my belly. I would kiss him, let him breathe a bit, and send him again against my throbbing clit. His negligible weight in my hand, the look of terror in his eyes was telling me I could do everything I wanted. Even when I did nothing but press him with one finger against my vulva, trying to catch my breath for a moment,  his fighting against my folds would provide delicious sensations.

I played with him in tantalizing ways, letting him “escape”, hovering my naked body over him, letting him discover the power of my feet, my ass, my thighs, delaying the moment of truth, so to speak. His attempts to run should have awoken compassion in me. Instead it made me realize how much he belonged to me , how much I craved his tiny, intense and liberating touch.

And I guess that’s the point I’m trying to make, doctor. I enjoy sex like any ordinary woman, and have had plenty of experience. Yet no man’s dick has ever brought the intensity of sensation to me that this tiny body did, as I slowly started to insert it in my vagina. It wasn’t the usual tool of pleasure I was feeling, it was the entire being of my lover that was slowly opening my labia and penetrating my inner self. I could hear his tiny voice pleading for me to stop, I could feel his hands on the outer folds of my sex, fumbling away and trying to find purchase, but it actually made my desire burn more intensely. I was absorbing him, making him mine as no lover had ever been mine before. I could feel every detail of his anatomy brushing against the walls of my vagina, feel every movement he made as he was attempting to resist the push of my fingers. And every contact of his head, hands, torso, knees on my sensitive flesh was sending stimuli of different nature, different intensity, I was finding it hard to breathe, so high was my excitement. When I closed my labia shut behind him, and tightly crossed my thighs, I knew already I would reach an orgasm that no man had ever given me. The room was rocking around me, and although I was alone on that bed, I felt my body being probed, searched, explored by this tiny being, I felt I was inhabited by the intense drama of his struggle against my sex. Bringing my hands down below, and pressing against my vulva, I locked him inside me, and relished the unfair battle between his desperation and my pleasure. It was a-ma-zing.

Guilt? Oh, yes. Plenty of it, no doubt about that. I was shocked by what I’d done to Mike, as I tried to revive him later. I had disposed of him as of a mere toy, had ignored his crying and screaming. I was mortified to discover I was able to act so selfishly, so callously towards a person I loved. The guilt was there, doctor, excruciatingly so.
… But later during the night, I re-opened the box, and despite all his begging for mercy, I inserted Mike deep into myself once again. It was even better than the first time.

And so it started doctor. The day after I went back to work, but all I could think of was putting my hands on this little body and pleasure myself all night long. I was definitely not able to concentrate on anything else. I rushed back home, and I swear, less than two minutes later, already wet below from anticipation, I could feel Mike’s tiny hands beating against my cervix. I used him three more times that night, and his screams , clearly audible in the silent room, only increased the delicious feeling of “ownership” I felt.  And I swear the pleasure I got from him kept increasing each time. I called in sick the day after and spent it with Mike, in adoration for his little body.

And that, doctor, is the main reason I need your help. These orgasms are so… out of this world, so wonderful, I cannot have a day without them, I always want to feel the small touch  against me, my body craves this pleasure like a junkie. And, well, I’m at it all the time. For the first two years , I did manage to keep the pleasure at bay, indulging only in the evenings, but for the past six months, my body seems to crave more, and I’ve gone into over-drive, so to speak.  I swear I look so tired in the mornings when I go to work, my co-workers are really wondering what I’m up to.

I'm sure you already have plenty of interesting theories regarding child-bearing fantasies etc... but you'd be far from the point, believe me. No, as you can see,  I need something  practical, something to stop these pleasure sessions and get on with my life.. I need to get back to reality  I need control. I can’t fight something this good on my on own. I crave those orgasms, and nothing a real man could propose seem enticing anymore, which is also … problematic.
 
The last time I did it? Well, actually, just about two hours ago, in my car, just outside your office, as I was waiting to go into your consultation.

Errr… to see Mike would be difficult just now, doctor… The truth is,  I was not  using Mike there… He’s no longer…. It’s not …. Oh, god. I think I need to explain to you the really shitty issue I also have with sex these days… I hope you’re as open-minded as you profess, it’s really quite a disturbing picture.

You see, Mike and I are no longer an item….. I killed him three months after our first intercourse...

Tbc

nostromo