Chapter 1- I don’t have a problem, they have a problem…
I look down at my watch, i can’t believe i have a fucking year of this shit to sit through. I want to tear into this fucking 300lb neck beard who got busted spying on high school girls trying on clothes at American Eagle. Fucking pervert had a problem. Me though? I did not have a problem. My bitch of an ex had a problem. She reported that i “assualted” her last new years eve. We had done everything under the sun together, she even went ass to mouth a few times. She was filthy. It all went to shit one night when i was drunk and accidently said her sister’s name when i was balls deep in her. She kicked me out and i had officers at my office the day to book me for sexual assault. I took a similar deal that you did and just got on with things as soon as possible. Having to clearly state that i was guilty of sexual assult did something to me, it planted a seed in a very dark corner of my brain that lucky had not gotten the light needed to grow.
That was until Herb took the podium. Herb did have a problem. Herb was blunt about it. He liked having sex with girls that were not his wife, and did not want to have sex with him. On his light nights he would meet girls at bars and fuck them in his van. On bad nights he skipped the first step. He had done decades in jail for rape. Jail had robbed him of shame, or decency. If you asked, Herb a was the worst kind of open book. He would go into detail about his transgressions. Talking about the young girls that he charmed at the bar, their outfits, ages, and how they screamed when he pinned them down. Telling the room how he would usually look for girls in short skirts that smelled of cigarettes. He knew that they were with people who knew they dissapeared for periods of time to smoke, and he would not risk tearing pants to fuck them if there was a struggle. There is not telling how many he raped. Talking about how he would bind their hands with soft lined leather cuffs to not leave marks, quickly clipping them to the waiting wall in his van before he ripped their panties off. He talked about the rise of the thong in the 80’s and how he was disappointed that pubic hair became almost non existent in the late 90’s.He talked about the large tub of vasoline he kept in his van for “the dry cunts that really did not want it” and he bragged about the “sluts who were already wet for him”. It was grotesque, but i was hanging on every word. He would take everything from these girls. If they tried to give in, letting their legs fall apart to offer him their young fresh cunts he would reach for an extra glop of vasoline and swirl it around their assholes, pushing himself deep into the last place they wanted him to be. He made sure to never cum in them, always pulling out and filling their panties with the evidence, releasing them to find their friends in the dark smoky clubs. He went on for over 20 years, finally being caught be a quick thinking sorority girl who snapchated her own rape. Police found him in the time it took him to drive home, discovering his stash of cum filled panties in large totes in his garage. Most of these “addicts” were total bone kills, but i looked forward to Herb, each story watering my dirty secrete seed until it was in full bloom pushing through the cracks of my morals to get through. Months went on like this. You sitting next to me, fidigiting when Herb spoke, me stealthy trying to hide my now frequent erections. Herb was there not for help, but as a cautionary tale of what giving in to our desires would result in.
The counselor was nice enough, brought good snacks and validater parking. She always had tips for avoiding relaspes. Her biggest ones being to disrupt the conditions that lead to sex. She suggested all the ladies to stop shaving their pubic hair and wear basic panties. “If you are not proud of your downstairs, you wont be tempted to go home with him or you would need an hour of prep to get in game shape.” You laugh loudly at her instructions, leaning over to tell me you have been clean shaven since you were 15.
My cock stiffens thinking about your bald pussy, then quickly runs to it not so bald, thinking of the coarse hairs growing in, your shame of your bits growing with it. I notice you squirm and try to sneak a scratch without anyone noticing over the coming weeks. I commended you on taking her advice the 3rd time i see you scratching your croutch. You turn beat red. “Shit am i that obvious?” I laugh, patting your knee, a big no no in this group. “All of you are.” I gesture to the circle and you see the other ladies slyly scratching their boxes, their hair growing and curling back into their soft skin, irritating them to no end. All but one of you seem to be experiencing this for the first time. The other girl either has the self control of a saint, which judging by her stories is far from the case, or most likely, she was rocking a jungle bush before this program.
“Well its hell for us. You guys have it easy. No special rules for you.” You say, a terse tone in your voice as you scratch a little less bashful this time. “Hey its hard work keeping out of trouble. Its the begining of summer, that means a fresh batch of interns. I would normally be balls deep in an eager, stacked 19 year old right now. Telling her how she really showed promise, telling her about how bright her future was at the firm, right before i blow my load on her naive little face. Leaving her with nothing but student loans and hpv.” You give me a disguested look as you are begining to see that i may not be so harmless after all.
You may have picked the wrong person to get through this with. The weeks turn to months as we go through the meetings, listening to person after person confess their darkest secretes. Some like Herb are truly fucked up, others are as we usually joke are “adorable” belittling their “problem” someone jacking off in the back of a comic book store to amime porn is not something that 20 people need to listen to.
You seem to be doing well with the programs, still complaining about your “unmaintained garden” and rocking some very visable panty lines each meeting. “So you are really doing it huh? No sex for you?” You beam, feeling pride in your unusally long “dry spell” you stand up and announce its been months since you last had sex, praising the teachers tips, joking about the disaster between your legs, and borrowing your mothers panties. You sheepishly confirm the effectiveness of “tactical masturbation” that we learned about and declare that you are ready to start looking for a healthy, emotion based relationship, not one based on physical attraction.
“Can i take you out for a drink? You know to celbrate how far you came? You deserve to blow off some steam with a friend. You look at me, trying to see past my smooth personality, and into my actual intentions. “Sure, but this is not a date, this is the furthest thing from a date.” I smile and nod.
“Oh this is for sure not a date.” I saw a little devilish.
Next chapter for this post
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/6p4jnu/tall_dark_and_dangerous_part_2_mf_noncon