Chapter 19

CASE HISTORY

Rena had traveled with the In-Society crowd for a year before she learned that a feather duster could excite her pussy and turn on her total sexuality. And then she learned about the other end of the duster.

At seventeen, Rena had traveled the world with her parents; mother, an amateur artist, father the executive chief of the overseas division of a huge banking firm. Until her sixteenth year, Rena had always known the companionship of her brother, only a year her senior, but when he turned eighteen and returned to the United States for full-time attendance at an Eastern college, Rena was at loose ends for many months. It was this loss of an intimate companion and the resultant limbo of activity that followed, that led Rena to seek different kinds of sexual thrills.

A month after her brother departed for college, Rena took up with a wild beach crowd that squandered their time and talent on nonsense, vegetating, and trying to think of new experiments in sexology. Rena was attracted to them immediately and when one of the leaders, a handsome, young man of twenty-one, seduced her, she knew that she was "in" with the In-Society crowd. She liked that. But she was terribly disappointed that the sex act she had participated in had offered her no more excitement than had her three previous experiences with intercourse. She had departed the boy's nude body without gratification—without having exalted in the thrill of climax. She was nearly sick about it, but this mark of her acceptance by the dashing group offered her the compensation she needed to temporarily subdue the frustration of her body. She didn't really think about all that she had missed until the crowd one night began a frank discussion of their own responses to sexual stimulants.

The conversation had drifted from aphrodisiacs to experiments in multiple love scenes until finally a girl mentioned that she had once studied about a native tribe that had developed "tickling" to a high level in order to achieve the ultimate in sexual climax.

"That sounds crazy," Rena declared. "And I mean crazy crazy—not crazy!"

"Maybe to you," the girl said, "but believe me, dearie, it's really 'in' among the natives."

"Really?"

"Really, dearie."

"Ever try it?" a boy asked the girl who had brought up the topic.

"Of course," the girl replied.

"Do anything for you?" the boy asked.

"No," she admitted.

The crowd roared.

Then the girl said. "But just because it didn't work for me doesn't mean it doesn't work for others. You see, it's really very logical. The one being tickled is acknowledging the aggressions of a type of attacker at the same time that she knows the act is a fun thing—something for kids or for adults to regress to."

"Man—that's logical?" another boy asked.

They laughed again, then dropped the subject. But Rena continued to think about it and consider it in terms of her own sexuality and her recent inability to respond with an orgasm to the act of intercourse. And then one day, quite by coincidence, she encountered a huge feather duster in the library of her home. Immediately, she decided to experiment with it.

Alone in her room and standing in front of a full-length mirror, Rena tickled her naked body with the ends of the feather duster. She felt a stir of sensuality, but it did not enlarge. She played the tickled at the very ends of her nipples. They grew hard, as hard as her nipples had ever been, but she still did not feel a sufficient rising of her emotions that would promise anything more than she presently knew. She lowered the feather ends to her round stomach and circled them there. Again she felt stirred, but with inadequate energy. She moved the feather duster to her thighs. Here, she felt the sudden growth of heat and the quiver of her thighs that accompanied it, but still it was not enough.

Rena gave up with the feather duster. But at the very next gathering of her friends, she, hoping to sound even more worldly than they, mentioned her experiment. And she confessed that it did nothing to dash her to a frantic end.

"That's because you were doing the tickling," a boy who was older than the others said.

"Maybe that's the trouble," Rena agreed, nodding her head as the others did the same.

"Why don't you let me try it with you?" the boy said.

"Because you haven't asked," she answered.

"I'm asking now."

"Okay. Let's go. The feather duster is at the house and my folks are away for the evening."

Rena and the boy, Hank, paused in the library and had a highball. Then they retired to Rena's large, upstairs bedroom.

"Better get out of that," the boy suggested, nodding to the skimpy shorts and peasant blouse she wore.

"Not much to get out of," she said, feeling a sudden flush of embarrassment.

"It all counts," the boy said. "And, to make you feel at ease, I'll do the same."

Rena did not feel less embarrassed as the boy stepped naked from his clothing. But she did feel a good deal more excited than she had been. And, it offered her the confidence that was needed to strip herself of her clothing.

Rena handed the boy the feather duster. They embraced. Then they separated and Rena moved to the bed. She flopped upon it and stretched on her back. The boy, feather duster in hand, stepped to the edge of the bed and looked down at her.

Very slowly, working like an artist, the boy began to play the ends of the feathers over Rena's body. He tickled at her neck and shoulders and at her breasts where he lingered, tipping the ends against her hard nipples with the most delicate motion. Rena felt her body heat and her emotions jam in a kind of hurry as if they all wished to reach a peak and exit her body at the same time. The boy moved the feathers to her belly, then up to her arms where he worked them into the armpits. Then he moved it away and brought it to her thighs. Rena moaned in pleasure. Her eyes slanted in strain. The boy plunged the feathers closer to her and tickled with excruciating care. And Rena felt a very genuine cramp of desire. She braced her legs further apart and arched upward in an attempt to make a closer contact between herself and the feathers. The boy worked harder with the feathers, trying, and succeeding, it seemed, to keep his own desires under control while he exerted in behalf of Rena's pleasure. Soon, her body writhed and she cried out little sounds of delight. Then she started to arch frantically, but she could not increase the feeling within her, to bring it to that peak that would carry her over the plateau of utmost thrill. Her body was bathed in perspiration, and the boy's body was as wet, with trickles of sweat running down his chest and his stomach and into his pubic hair. His prick was standing erect and hard, throbbing with anticipation.

Suddenly, Rena grabbed the feather duster from his hands and began flicking it tauntingly across his chest, at his belly button, and finally dabbing it, swirling it around his hard cock and his balls. This was too much for the boy. It had been all he could do to control himself while he wielded the feather duster, tickling her body—especially her pussy. How he had yearned to plunge his cock into that pink, moist opening. And, now, he could control himself no longer. He flung himself on her—kissing her madly around the mouth, and squeezing her breasts, pinching the nipples into greater erection. And his throbbing prick forced itself into her waiting pussy.

They both gasped as it entered. The boy started to work at once, pumping in and out fast and furious. She knew he would come in just a few minutes—but she was not yet ready. Not yet.

"No," she sobbed to him, "wait!"

He ignored her and continued his fast pumping action. Then, Rena realized she still had the feather duster in her hand. She started swishing it at his buttocks, his balls, and the tips of some of the feathers touched ever so lightly at her pussy lips and her own buttocks. But the sensation was not enough; she knew she'd never make it this way. Now she was suddenly angry with the boy. Why couldn't he wait for her? In anger, and in order to punish him for his lack of control, she reversed the feather duster and jabbed the polished wooden handle of it at his asshole. It was hard to aim without looking, but after two or three tries, she hit it. She worked the handle slowly but surely up his asshole, pushing hard, but not jabbing. Suddenly, all his movements ceased; he arched his back and raised up—pulling his hard prick part of the way out of her cunt. He moaned and shuddered all over. "Is he having a climax?" she wondered. But no, she realized at once that this was not the case. Then it must be the pain that is getting him, she decided. But that wasn't exactly it, either. He took the feather duster from her hand, but instead of pulling it out of his asshole, as she expected him to do, he carefully pushed it in further and further, groaning and grunting all the while.

"Oh, God," he muttered, "God, that feels wild."

Now he began his pumping again, but this time slowly, working his pelvis in a rotating movement while his raging cock pushed in and out. Rena grabbed the feather duster again and began working it slowly in and out of his asshole, each movement forcing a gasp or a moan from his lips. They went on now, together, and soon she felt the slow, constant working building her up to the climax she so longed for. She was almost there, just on the very verge, when she felt his body begin to jerk and shudder. She pumped harder and harder with the duster handle, faster and faster—and he met the strokes by pushing his cock in and out at the same speed, pulling out and back just as she thrust in with the handle. He was almost frantic, now, moaning, groaning, almost screaming. She knew something more was needed—but what? She reached down with her other hand and squeezed at his balls. That did it. He let out little yelps of pleasure-pain as his whole body jerked and shook with the force of his orgasm. And this was just enough to throw her over the brink. Rena writhed with the violence of her climax; she had made it.

A few weeks later, Rena brought another boy home, a young, well-built fellow named Chuck. She described the scene with the feather duster—just telling him the first part, the part where she was tickled.

"That sounds groovy," Chuck told her.

They decided to try it, but taking turns, since Chuck wanted some of the tickling, too. Once they had their clothes off, Chuck took the duster and began to tickle Rena's breasts, then her abdomen, her pubic area. He made her raise her legs and spread them so he could get to her pussy. This is where it started to get to her. She looked at Chuck's prick and saw that it had risen to stand almost straight out in front of him—but it would jerk every so often, as if Chuck was really enjoying what he was doing. Her eyes went from Chuck's stiff cock to the handle of the feather duster. She found herself comparing the two: the handle was longer, but not as thick; it was straighter, but it was the same width all the way down, not equipped with a red, bell-shaped head, as Chuck's cock was. And, of course, it had no hole in the head.

Then Chuck decided it was his turn. She got up and he lay on the bed, and she began to tickle him carefully, brushing at his nipples, his arms and armpits, his stomach, his pubic area—especially the pubic area. She wrapped the feathers around his cock and jabbed down, tickling the top part of his balls. He moaned at that, and she knew she was getting to him. Chuck suddenly reached up and touched her breasts, flicking his fingers across her nipples as gently as the feathers. She leaned down a little, so he could reach her better, all the while continuing to dust his cock and balls with the feathers. Soon, she was lying down next to him on the bed. His hands by this time had moved down to play with her clit and one finger squished in and out of her pussy. She could feel the warmth building up in her. But she began to worry, "Will I be able to make it this time?" And the worry distracted her and made it more difficult to concentrate on the sexual activity.

Chuck sensed that something was wrong, that Rena had stopped responding to his caresses. He took the duster from her hand and began brushing her body once more. He worked especially at her tits and her thighs and pussy. Now she began relaxing, again, and just gave herself up to the titillating sensations. Suddenly the tickling stopped, and she felt something hard pushing against her asshole. She opened her eyes, about to protest, and saw that he had reversed the duster and was jabbing at her asshole with the handle. She opened her mouth, but no protest came; instead, she felt a wave of excitement spreading from her asshole, engulfing her whole pubic area.

Now Chuck swung her feet up over his shoulders, and, standing at the edge of the bed, he pushed his hard cock at her asshole, meanwhile using the duster handle to jab at her pussy. She moaned. But he could see that it was not going to go in that easily. He stopped, went over to her dresser and selected a jar of what looked like face cream, smeared some of the goo on his hard cock and massaged it a couple of times; then he took some on the end of his finger and smeared it on her asshole—eliciting another moan from her. As an afterthought, he smeared some of the cream on the handle of the feather duster. Then he raised her legs again and started pushing his turgid cock into the tight anal opening. Slowly she relaxed, and slowly but steadily he pushed in, till, with a sudden lunge, he was all the way in. He let his prick soak for a few minutes till she relaxed again and got used to the feeling of it, and he tickled her cunt lips with the feathers while he waited.

Soon she was quivering with anticipation. She became very excited—so excited that she felt she couldn't stay still and had the urge to rock back and forth, and she began to shake and shudder. But, at the same time, she felt impaled. The cock up her ass was reaching some nerve that caused an excruciating sensation of pleasure-pain at the slightest movement, and she wanted to stay very still. Consequently, she began to move in shuddering jerks—first giving vent to the urge to freeze, then exploding into a violent writhing motion, followed by another moment of freezing, and so on.

Chuck now began to work the greased handle of the duster up into her cunt. He worked it around and around, as he tentatively began to move his torso back and forth, pulling his cock in and out of her asshole. Rena was moaning, now, and seemed on the verge of screaming. Never before had she felt so completely filled, so totally taken. From separate sensations, the two began to work together into a rhythmic crescendo—the almost unbearable friction in her ass, and the warm, pulsating friction in her cunt. They built together, now, pumping, forcing, screaming for release. And release came at last in a flood of emotion; the explosive sensations were ripped out of her insides by the unrelenting demands of the wooden rod in her pussy and that almost wooden prick pumping in her ass. While she was still at the peak of her orgasm, Chuck suddenly jerked his pelvis sharply and let out an agonized cry of climax, and came in compulsive spurts. He threw his arms up, dropping the feather duster on the floor, and collapsed onto her breast. There, he sought her mouth in a lingering kiss which she greedily answered with her own mouth.

And thus it was that Rena discovered that a simple item such as a feather duster can yield up a world of delight when it is used in the right way.

CASE HISTORY

Jessica had been whipped regularly by her rough, tough, truck-driver father. He was less a disciplinarian than he was a drunk who seemed to take great delight in brutality, especially that which he issued to his daughters.

When Jessica was sixteen, she began resisting her father's beatings. She would fight him off, even run away if necessary. But he always caught her. Then, the beating was worse, harsher, more demoniacally invoked upon her body.

At a glance, or even at close observation, one would wonder why any man would wish to mar the body of such a "daughter. Jessica was quite tall, about five feet, seven inches, but her height was chastened by large breasts and a narrow waist, by good, firm thighs and shapely legs. And all of her bodily beauty was topped by natural auburn hair, green eyes, and a spray of freckles around the bridge of her nose that made her seem younger and more innocent than the truth of her years.

Jessica was popular with her peers and did better than average work at the high school where she was a junior. Boys liked to date her because she was such fun. She was also quite sexually inclined. Upon favorite dates, she bestowed her breasts for their touch and her sharp tongue for their excited taking. Some, she even allowed to touch beneath her skirt at the silken smoothness of her thighs. But she allowed none of them the intercourse they wanted.

One night when Jessica was midway in her sixteenth year, her father, drunk and ill-tempered, confronted her with an accusation about her sexual conduct with the boys she had been dating. She denied promiscuity. Her father raged. He lashed his hand out and struck her hard against the right cheek. Jessica caught herself before she started to fall. When she righted her body, she turned and tried to flee. It was impossible. Her father caught her as she tried to lock herself in her bedroom.

"Don't hit me again, damn it," she warned.

He laughed,

"Don't—I mean it," she said.

"Christ, you're getting real uppity, ain't you," the father declared. "Well, guess I'm just the one to take that uppitiness out of you. Guess I'll do it just like I did when you were a little kid."

Jessica started to back away, but she was too slow. Her father caught her by both wrists, then wrestled her to the edge of the bed. He twisted her around and seated himself on the bed. Then he forced her over his knee in that classic position of a child about to be whipped.

He struck her hard upon the double moons of her buttocks. Then he hit her again, harder, as she twisted to free herself. Her large breasts crushed his knees as she wiggled to be free. And her father struck her again and again and again. And then he paused. But the lull was not one that was meant to free her. It was intended to present more of her body for his striking hand. With a quick motion, he tore her panties downward to rest low on her legs. Then he hit her bare buttocks with all his might.

Suddenly, Jessica's struggling ceased. She no longer wanted freedom. Instead, she wanted the continuation of her father's strong hand against her bare buttocks. And he applied it brutally. A glow crept through Jessica's body. Then she grew hot and tense as her flesh smarted beneath her father's hand. She felt the heat everyplace, at her breasts where they crushed against her father's knees, at her buttocks and thighs—everywhere.

Soon, as the father's hand reached a high peak of striking, Jessica felt the swell within herself that was her first release for sexual outlet. She cried out, pretending that the sound had come from pain. But it had not. It came from the immense jam and scramble of her sexual climax.

Finally, her father released her. Jessica turned and flung herself on the bed, burying her face into the pillows as her father left the room. She could not understand what had happened to her, but she knew that it was akin to sexual release, that it was that sensation that the boys sought, that her girl friends pursued, that it was that climax that was meant for all humans.

Jessica, seeking to experience that glorious feeling again, deliberately aggravated her father at every opportunity. She provoked his wrath by all manner and means, hoping for, and often receiving, the spanking that brought her relief.

Jessica continued dating boys. But with them, her love play took on a new endeavor. Now, she teased and provoked and tried to engage them in the rough house play that might lead her to a climactic end. Often she was successful. When she was not, she was distraught and nervous. And then she devised a method of trade that provided her with the churning release she seemed always to need.

Sexual intercourse was foremost on the minds of all her dates. Very candidly, she told them that she would permit it if they would first spank her. Although many of them thought this odd, none refused the barter. And Jessica was treated to a spanking-induced orgasm before she would turn and open herself to the sexual lust of her date. She received no thrill at all from intercourse. It was simply the gift she gave in order to know the more vital gift of her own release.