The Submission Of Sara Hanes

A personal trainer and fitness instructor for men is sexually taken against her will by a
new client in her office studio.

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A 63 min long recording.

Introduction: The following recorded audio transcript is a full account of what I recounted to my private confidante during a hypnotherapy session. He advised me to address my
new client in the first person.

You planned to do this to me. It was your deliberate intention. It’s changed me, permanently. You and I both know there was no consent. You forced yourself on me, forced your cock inside my vagina. You raped me and fucked me hard. And we both know how much you enjoyed raping me.

I can still hardly believe it happened. It couldn’t have been spontaneous as it looked. You must have thought about me sexually for some time, working out what you were going to do to me. I know it; the way you pulled me down to the office wood floor, you callous bastard, ignoring my pleas and begging for you to stop while you pulled away my clothes and tore my pantyhose open to grope and fondle me.

I sensed you were a risky man with strong, unfilled sexual wants and needs when you changed your conversation during your first meeting with me.

You visited me in my studio office, pretending you were interested in a man’s health and fitness program tailored for yourself. You kept looking me over, gazing at my shapely athletic legs and commenting about my sheer pantyhose, and my short skirt and business suit. You kept complimenting me on my beautiful face, hair, my body and my legs. You wanted to know about my pantyhose and being friendly I revealed to you my pantyhose was light tan color and sheer-to-the-waist. Then you wanted to know if I did not wear a panty underneath and I admitted, yes. You asked if my pantyhose had a crotch panel and I let you know that it didn’t. I answered all of your strange, intimate questions about my pantyhose underwear. I asked you about your strong interest in pantyhose and why you found pantyhose so attractive.

I told you that among my services are those of a therapist for men’s sexual health issues. I recognized your pantyhose fetish and invited you to talk about it for your own benefit. It was normal for a man to experience a clothing fetish, I assured you. And describing to you my helpful therapy discussions about men’s virility and sexual health issues, I reassured you that my approach was uncomplicated, straightforward, and no nonsense.

I said that if you found it necessary to discuss any pressing health and emotional problems or physical needs that I was available ‘round the clock for such clients. But I had to admit that keeping up with many men’s needs often required sheer energy of mine to handle it all.

Your discussion with me had completely changed in nature and subject. You wanted to talk about me, pantyhose, and your sexual desires and fantasies.

You talked of finding of an old Burlington magazine from January 2002, in a small, used books bookstore. You were fascinated by an article in the magazine that wrote about professional career women who secretly engaged in selling sex on a moonlighting basis. You mentioned these professional women ranged from copy editor, social worker, dance instructor, stewardess, college female student, hatcheck girl, a female lawyer and a lady accountant.

You even talked about your favorite professional, career woman who engaged in sex for sale, a dance instructor, Irene, who worked at a dance fitness studio in the city, mentioned in the Burlington magazine article. You were turned on by how she entered her part-time escorting.

It began while she was giving dance instruction to men. She said, “I would have my arms around a man. We’re in an intimate situation, and often I would feel him getting an erection. He would ask me to meet him that evening, so I would quote him a fee. The man is already paying me for something one usually does with a woman for free, so deciding to turn a trick was a small step.”

While you spoke I clearly observed your sexual arousal. You had a full erection inside your pants. You were gazing at my legs when you asked me if I could provide a similar service to you because you had neither girlfriend nor access to a willing woman.

I replied that under certain circumstances of a man’s virile health program that should it be necessary that he have a full sexual release because of an overriding need in which case I can accommodate him. I was trying to be as discrete as possible, but yes, I can give you what you want and what you need. Then you reached across and touched my thigh, stroking it and telling me how much you enjoyed the feeling of my pantyhose. You wanted to touch me and feel my body without my consent. I didn’t show emotion and anxiety as situations with men are best handled calmly. You uncrossed my legs, saying how you wanted to see the rest of my pantyhose. While I protested you spread my knees apart to look up my thighs. You ignored my indignation and protests while stroking the insides of my thighs and looking between my legs at my vulva under the pantyhose.

What are you doing? You spread my thighs and you’re rubbing inside. Why?

Next you did the most brazen thing to me without my permission. You reached in and fondled my labia saying how you liked the sight of my bare, hairless pussy lips under the pantyhose. You’re a nasty bastard, fondling my femininity and having the audacity to ask me why my pussy lips felt so wet and slippery under my soaked pantyhose. You forced me to tell you that I had had sex earlier with my fiancé and he did not use a condom as was usual between him and me.

Oh noo! Why is your hand inside my pantyhose touching my pussy? I’ve just been with my man.

You were clearly out of control and I told you to calm down and remove your hands from between my thighs. I had to take hold of your wrists and push your hands away.

I advised you to regain control of yourself, that you could calm down and either leave and come back next week or calm down and talk to me about what just happened. Your unfilled sexual needs and your pantyhose fetish were clearly bound up together to cause your loss of inhibition.

I knew you were in dire need of a sexual release but I could not be certain this was the right time and circumstances for me to accommodate your need.

Your face had taken on a different look and expression, almost different from when I first met you. I was surprised and unsettled by this physical change in you. Your face was flushed and you were breathing heavily.

I stood up and turned around to my desk, reaching for my water bottle, intending to offer it to you. I felt the slight sensation of material moving and I knew you lifted up my short, black skater skirt. I felt the palm of your hand against the side of my butt cheek, resting on the pantyhose. You were looking at everything, my bare buttocks and my labia folds under the pantyhose.

I could hear your labored breathing and gasping as you looked and touched me from behind. Then you slid your fingers between my thighs and stroked my labia lips. I had had my vulva fondled and stroked and my labium pulled by my fiancé earlier and it was pleasurable to me so I felt personal shock and embarrassment that those same sensations occurred even as you touched me without my consent. That’s when you could not stop yourself and you did the unthinkable to me. You raped me. I can still hardly believe what happened.

You grabbed me from behind. Your hand slipped inside my blouse to squeeze and fondle my bare breasts, you hard-up bastard, ignoring my protests as you rubbed and pinched my nipples.

It all happened so fast, you holding arms together behind my back as you slid your other hand under my short skirt, under the pantyhose waistband down to grope my vulva, rubbing my labia and spreading the fleshy folds apart to feel inside.

Oh no, I cried, not those same pleasurable stimulations that my fiancé induced in me hours ago. This is coming from a strange man who is touching and fondling me without my consent, against my will. What is happening to me; this is not right. Oh, no, no, no…I cried aloud, sobbing.

You thrust one finger then a second into my vagina, probing and rubbing inside my sex hole. I felt my fiancé’s seminal fluid being swept out and I sobbed, no, begging and pleading, and crying, nooooo, ohh noooo, hohohohohonoooo…sobbing…tears streaming down.

Before I knew it, you had me on the floor and you began pulling my clothes off, all of it, my blazer jacket, blouse, mini-skirt, high-heels, leaving me naked except for my pantyhose. I remember crying and sobbing as you stripped me naked. (long crying and sobbing, some pleading). Omigosh, I’m naked. You stripped me stark naked, bastard. I’m going to be raped.

This is what you really wanted all along to have sexual intercourse with me…rape me.

Next you played with me, you pulled my naked body to you where you hugged me and ran your hands all over me. This couldn’t be happening. You enjoyed embracing my body and running your hands up and down, fondling and cupping my breasts, then rubbing your hands over my pantyhose telling me how much you liked feeling the material over my hips, thighs, and buttocks. You squeezed and cupped my butt but you went further, fondling my vulva before slipping your hand inside the pantyhose to rub my labia. Again you inserted two fingers into my vagina to rub inside my sex hole. You were obsessed with my body.

I waited for you to pull my pantyhose off next but instead you grabbed a scissors from my desktop and spread my thighs wide apart. I remember making a scream and begging you not to hurt me. But that wasn’t your intention, was it? Oh no, no, no, hoohoohoo (sobbing) don’t, no don’t do this. Not my pantyhose. Don’t cut my pantyhose. Not my underwear, please, please!

Spreading my thighs wide apart, you pulled up the pantyhose at my crotch, pierced the material with the sharp scissors and carefully snipped open the pantyhose to expose my vulva so your cock could go through and have access into my vagina. Oh no, no, nooo…please don’t, please Stop that. You’re cutting open my pantyhose crotch panel and exposing all of my pussy.

I felt the tip of your engorged cock sliding up and down my pudendal cleft, pressing at my sex hole. I kept saying to myself that how could this happen? Noooo, please, don’t. Don’t pull my tampon out. Yes, it’s still white. I’m not on my period. It just keeps me clean especially after sex.

This kind of thing happened to many women, but for me, more than once. I’ve been raped seven times before over the years of my personal fitness occupation, most so quickly while dealing with the clients that I scarcely remember the details.

I thrashed from side to side but you wrapped your arms around me in a tight embrace and I was utterly helpless. That’s when I felt you were completely naked, your large, engorged cock pressing uncomfortably into me. I don’t even recall you undressing. My mind must have been racing.

Then, all at once, I knew it was hopeless, it was really going to happen. I was going to be raped. I felt my heart beating, breathing fast, feeling panic.

“Please stop it. No, don’t. You don’t have to do this. I’m engaged to a man. He made love to me today.

Please, don’t do this to me, not like this. We can discuss how I can help you with all of your sexual needs if you let me.”

You made me cry and I remember weeping and sobbing. (sounds of weeping and sobbing)

“Please stop it, stop it, please. You don’t need to do this. Don’t make me have sexual intercourse with you. You don’t have to rape me, not like this, please.

I thrashed from side-to-side but you only wrapped your arms around me tighter and I was utterly helpless. It was hopeless; it was really going to happen, your rape of me.

I felt the swollen, wet tip of your cock sliding up and down between my labia and then it pressed hard over the opening of my vagina.

“Please”, I begged, I’m engaged to be…”

But you thrust inside me all at once, your entire shaft buried into my vaginal canal. I was caught breathless by the force of your insertion, your cock so hard and incredibly thick that I almost passed out. My body never before accommodated a cock of that size that you stretched my vagina wider than it ever had been before, such was your urgent desire to be in me.

I felt my body would never be the same while I was being raped. You stretched apart my vaginal canal so forcefully that it would remain that way. I worried that my fiancé would discover this next time he made love to me and feel that I was not as tight as before. (Sounds of sex)

My head swam as you raped me, fucking me hard, conflicted by bodily and feminine sensations that made me feel weak and helpless. (Sounds of female sexual arousal and pleasure)

I’ve always considered how vulnerable we females are; how at any moment I may be mere seconds away from forced intercourse. I anxiously thought of unpredictable bodily sensual reactions, the unimagined body-to-body stimulation even as I now lay beneath you, feeling your entire virile shaft all the way into me, rendering that full feeling I’ve experienced many times before.

Each forceful, full thrust of you cock produced a throbbing tidal surge of stimulated nerve endings that overwhelmed my mental resistance like such an ineffectual storm seawall into the pleasure centers of my brain. (Sounds of sexual intercourse)

You stopped between sexual thrusts, to relish the stolen intimacy, deliberately pausing long enough to
delight in my quivering, wet womanhood. I could see the delight in your face as you enjoyed the sight of your cock embedded in my sex hole, hesitating at different depths of insertion, from full, to part-way, to the glans head spreading apart the opening of my vagina.

I saw how deeply and intensely raping me was filling you with sensual ecstasy, born out of your urgent need for my body. Our bodies were joined such that I started to understand, no, more like feel the intense sexual lust emanating from your body into me.

It allowed me precious moments to gasp for breath in anxious anticipation of your next set of deep sexual thrusts to pound away at the portals of my womanhood.

The contrasting stimulations were incredibly intense, the momentary stillness of bodily motion but the sensations continued unabated, as that center of womanly fulfillment felt pricked over and over again. (Sounds of a woman feeling pleasure as she’s fucked.)

The worst aspect of my rape was the guilt I felt, not from you inside me, giving me that full-up feeling, but the guilty pleasure of my own bodily stimulation and sensual arousal; not the denial of my feminine sexual self, but exultation of it. (Oh my gosh, but why, why, oohhhhh noooo…)

Over-powered and overwhelmed, helpless to stop you. Filled to overflowing by your engorged, throbbing manhood as you enjoy raping me.

But oh my gosh, it was so much more than that it was body full of intense little electrical jolts like lightning that I can’t quite put into words.

It wasn’t right for me to feel this way, betrayed by my own body; warm, wet flesh enjoying the unyielding, pulsating, rubbing contact of warm, wet flesh, that of our sexual organs together.

How can a proper woman feel such ecstasy of the flesh in this way? It’s not supposed to be but it is. Is it because I’m already hard-wired for sexual pleasures of the flesh that my body hungers for the tingling of the coming orgasm?

You took advantage of my situation, pressing your lips over my mouth, thrusting your tongue deep inside, finding my tongue to lick. I felt so helpless that I was so pliant and unresisting. I left my mouth open for you to savor with your tongue. I let my tongue by lapped and rubbed by yours. What else could I do? (Sounds of French kissing and tongue against tongue action.)

You French kissed me forcibly while your hands returned to my breasts, fondling the soft flesh, cupping them, squeezing the fleshy mounds, pulling on my nipples, twisting them. I can’t believe how you could totally fuck me all over, up and down, as you enjoyed raping me and seeing my bodily reaction of arousal, in my mouth, taking possession of my bared breasts and thrusting your engorged cock so completely inside my vagina such that I felt like I was stuffed to the fullest. Any further and I could imagine your cock slipping into my uterus.

Then the realization hit me that in moments your warm, wet, sticky, pearl opaque semen was going to ejaculate in great quantity into the depth of my vagina. And there was nothing I could do about it but worse, the mental prospect of it only served to intensify my own unasked arousal. I could not comprehend how you could be doing this to me and making my body react with pleasure and need.

You spoke to me then, between your rhythmic, deeply, penetrant masculine thrusts.

“Women can’t wrap their minds around rape and accept it for what it should be for them.”
(Sounds of woman pleasure being hard fucked.) (Ahhh, ohhhhhh, uhhhhaaa.)

“Because they’re unprepared to accept…” (Sounds of female pleasure being fucked.)
“…how much they want it; how much they…love it, because…they find it feels so damn good.”

The effect of your words verged on preternatural, your hard, engorged cock, imbued with mystical sexual power over me.

I spontaneously orgasmed like I’d never orgasmed in my life, letting out a scream among my loud moans, groans, and sighs as I lay there, your thrusting manhood keeping its deep rhythm. (Sounds of sexual intercourse, man and woman, and woman orgasming loud.)

You must be a sexual sorcerer, spell-caster of sinful womanly pleasures, mastering our bodies, our femininity, our libidos, and desires of the flesh, able to make us climax and orgasm at will. It was insidious, how wickedly delicious it felt, my logical mind unable to resist such decadence of the flesh with flesh.

I’m sure it’s different for every woman. My shamelessness. My guilt at soaring with body-tingling, orgasmic bliss.

I had been helpless to stop it, helpless to control the way I felt. My vulnerability was a potent aphrodisiac. Your every violating virile thrust immersed me into the dark side of chronic nymphomania. I knew how wrong it was, but nothing mattered anymore. I needed the feeling to go on and on. And knowing that you’re such a bastard for not using protection when you rape your very own physical fitness advisor, deepened that need.

Knowing I had caused your sexual arousal so much that you wouldn’t take no for an answer. Knowing that you had to have me.

And with that contemplation along with your continued sexual thrusts in my sopping wet vagina, orgasm followed orgasm after orgasm. (Sounds of male sex, female pleasure, then loud female orgasms.) You didn’t stop. You went on adulterating me with your vulgar consummation, torturing my unbearably sensitive vagina with your selfish, unremitting rhythm. (Sounds of sexual intercourse, sexual organs, pull out, pause, thrust, pause.)

Every pause gave me just enough time to consider it. “It’s really happening. You’re raping me. I’m being fucked hard,” before you thrust once more deep into my ravished pussy. You’ve really done some hard use on my sex hole and I think it’ll never be the same afterwards.

Yet the resulting ecstatic sensations made everything else fade into insignificance.Violated in so many ways, overcome by obscene sexual desires that you forced me into enjoying. I didn’t care about protection, fidelity to my boyfriend, morality, all of it.

I orgasmed repeatedly, in helpless shudders, as I basted your intruding cock with my gushing vaginal juices.

Pleasure rolling through me like so many unrelenting waves, it took me over totally, making me care less that I was being raped, manhandled and fondled, my body given up to you.

What kind of woman does that make me? Your cock has cast its sexual sorcery, compelling my body to
immerse itself in vulgar feminine lust, down into the deepest recesses of my womanhood.

On the verge of ejaculating, you thrust deep into my vagina pushing painfully hard on my cervix, holding still with breathless expectation. My rape was about to consummate.

Then your climax and ejaculation, felt through my body in the throbbing of your cock as it disgorged streams of life-infusing semen. Your ejaculations went on a long time. I know that you must have waited and held yourself for me. Your urgent need to deposit your seed into me must have been incredibly hard to hold.

You deposited your incredible quantity of semen into my vagina. I felt it fill me and gush, the squishing sounds of thick liquid and aroma of semen filling the air.

Your ejaculations began to slow and soften then you rested completely on top of my body. I was shaking, literally shaking, with need, craving for you to finish what you had started.

Eventually you pulled your cock from my vagina, leaving me breathless on the floor. My eyes locked on to your twitching cock. I could see that it was still semi-hard.

I scrambled to my feet, struggling but finding the words to say to you.

“You indecent bastard. Who do you think you are?” I was gasping between sobs. I stood facing you.

“When a woman says no to you, a woman already taken, you can just shove your cock inside her anyway, without consequences?”

He grinned insolently. “Won’t take no for an answer, huh?”

I was just getting started. “You think you can rape me in my own studio and get away with it?” My tone was utterly contemptuous.

I could see my goading him was working its effect. It wasn’t my imagination but your cock seemed to swell and stiffen suddenly. Its helmet glans tip turned darker.

Hands on your hips, your gorged cock strutted proudly up, so beautiful to behold to feminine eyes as it reared threatening.

“Is it rape if you wanted it and enjoyed it?”

I did end up wanting it, but unwillingly. What I mean is that you forced me to want it. You caused my body to respond.

You reached forward, took hold of my shoulders and pulled me to you, wrapping your strong arms around me. I felt your incredibly hard cock pressing onto my labia.

Everything became surreal, like out of a movie. You pushed me down on my back, onto the wooden floor, your legs spreading mine wide apart again. I was still naked, wearing only the pantyhose which you had snipped open at the crotch to give your cock access through the nylon into my vagina. You’re going to rape me again…aahhh….it’s inside, oh yeah, you’re raping me.

My arms were pressed to my sides as you embraced me tightly. Your eyes fixed on mine as you thrust your energized, engorged cock deep into my devastated, soaking snatch, stimulating sexual sensations. I felt myself being, rraaapped.

Technically, it may not have been rape now, but the word kept occurring to me. But now it was no longer a word evoking fear but an emotional aphrodisiac, driving insane sexual stimulation, lust and arousal with it. My mind and body were one in thought, “Do it, do it. Rape me you bastard, without asking me for my consent. Take me against me against my will as you wantonly rape me, fuck me hard, using that large, hard-on cock inside me as much as you want.”

I began to feel sensual and sexual pleasure again because of these shameless, selfish thoughts of the flesh, of my own sexual needs for pleasure and orgasm regardless of my dignity as a woman. Our eyes locked. I found myself mentally willing you to, ‘rape me’, again over and over, as if trying to link my sexual instincts telepathically to you.

Indeed, you seemed to have responded to my thoughts, embracing me firmly and raping me oh so slowly, oh so deeply, feeding my famished vagina with the delicious entrée of your virile member. My mind raced with the instinctive appreciation that the existence of your cock was meant for my sexual needs that my vagina could not go on without the necessity of a man’s engorged cock embedded completely within to justify its existence with supreme sensual pleasure of the flesh. (Sounds of sex, the wetter and sloppier the better.)

Somehow, you were tender now because of profound awareness of our intimacy, our bodies joined, our sexual organs entwined in the act of pleasurable intercourse and procreation.

I imagine how I must look to you, laying beneath you on the polished wood floor, stripped naked, my breasts totally exposed for fondling, sheer-to-waist pantyhose rendered useless as underpants with the crotch snipped completely open to render full access to my sexual parts and reproductive organs. You…on top, straddling me, spreading my thighs wide apart with your legs, slowly but relentlessly thrusting your engorged cock in and out of my ravished vagina, raping me, and I climaxed and orgasmed….climaxed and orgasmed and came and came.

Somewhere among the rolling throes of my sexual ecstasy you climaxed, ejaculating your semen deep inside me. I closed my eyes, mentally envisioning in vivid, color detail, the flow of yellow-tinted precum flowing from your penis tip, giving way to torrents of pearl colored semen gushing out onto my cervix. I saw the orgasm and gratification on your face as you were sated.

My feminine sexual drive was in full force as you spilled your virile seed into me. I came so intensively, that I had to wrap my legs around you, whimpering and moaning as I twisted my pelvis upwards pressing myself to you, sealing my vagina around your cock during your ejaculations. (Sounds of female pleasure and orgasm.)

In those minutes we were bonded, truly, linked now and forever more. I stared into your eyes. Something had passed between us, more lasting than just the biological and sexual and reproductive interactions of our joined bodies and sexual organs. Even as your seminal ejaculations continued within my womanhood, I felt some established emotional connection.

I went far beyond the extreme, over the deep end, down the twisted Alice in Wonderland rabbit hole landing fully immersed in the feminine sexual libido of my selfish self that had no concern of my ego or dignity but only for that desire, arousal, gratification of the pleasures of the flesh. My selfish, sexual self would do anything for my satisfaction, even finding it through my rape. I lost consciousness then, submerging to warm, comforting oblivion.

I’m not sure how long it was before you pulled me back to stark reality, waking me when you slid out of me. I took in gasps of breath.

“What kind of woman do you think I am?” I asked him, between my tears and ragged breathing, more for reassurance than outrage, sensing my tone of voice may have conveyed that meaning.

“The woman who didn’t know what she wanted and wasn’t sure what she wanted. Or in your case, couldn’t bring herself to accept what she really craved because she had been taught that it was wrong.

Some women need to learn how take a compliment. Instead of thinking what was done to you, think of it as a gift of the pleasure of a man’s body given to you. Women are as much sexual animals as men but you always try to deny it …denying the pleasure you always really want and truly deserve to have it.”

Between my tears of shamelessness, I stuttered, “Heh, heh…how do you know that I won’t tell my boyfriend? We were planning on getting engaged. Maybe he would like to know just how many times you raped me.”

You had an answer for everything, taunting me.

“Tell him what exactly? Are you sure he won’t be turned on by hearing how his prim and proper physical fitness dance instructor fiancé responded to her rape by moaning and climaxing multiple times? You couldn’t get enough of me raping you. How many times did you orgasm? I felt your pussy dripping out all those lube juices. Maybe I disclose to your man that you couldn’t help yourself enjoying it all so much that you wanted a second go-around until we both messed up the floor big time.”

I lay there on the soiled, wet wood floor, the stereotypical raped woman, used and filled with cum with nothing to say about it, no justification, no excuses, no place to turn.

My snipped open pantyhose sprawled apart, exposing all my womanhood and femininity, my labia swollen, glistening all over with sexual fluids. My vagina couldn’t hold all of your semen and much of it slipped out, collecting in a pool on the wood floor between my wide-parted thighs.

You smiled, nodding with appreciation at your virile handy-work with my womanhood. You retrieved your cell phone to capture images of me as I lay there, my face and body and close-ups of everything, for your future enjoyment forever. Yet I know you will be back. And I will be here, still vulnerable.

You still had ideas in mind for me, not quite ready to leave yet, right? You pulled the ruined pantyhose off my body and stuffed it into your pants pocket on the leather sofa. As you left me lying on the floor, you walked around my office and into the exercise room. You found and collected any pantyhose, exercise pantyhose, and exercise tights that I had worn during exercise sessions.

I left the worn nylons on wall hooks along with worn leotards.

You retrieved discarded pantyhose and tights from the trash bins. In my office you took the worn pantyhose hung on the hat and clothing stand behind my desk.

I sat up on the floor, stark naked, my arms wrapped around my knees. Despite my ordeal, I didn’t want to show my nakedness now.

Brazenly you went into my desk drawers and searched into my purse, despite my objections. You assured me that all you wanted was my pantyhose and tights.

Out of the desk drawers you pulled out used and worn pantyhose, leaving the packages of new pantyhose and the clean ones behind. Into my purse you rummaged, pulling out several worn pantyhose, which you sniffed longingly for my feminine musk.

I felt such embarrassment as you inspected my worn pantyhose, holding high the pantyhose by the waistband and gazing at the material, focusing on the crotch gusset panel, spreading the waistband to inspect inside.

You enjoyed feeling the nylon material, reaching inside to rub the crotch panel and sniff at my musk scent and dried feminine fluids.

Yet I felt more humiliation as you discovered pantyhose with stiff, odorous crotch panels that you just had to point out to me was dried semen. That was from my boyfriend.

Among your collection of my stolen pantyhose and tights you found several that you held up to me, showing torn-open crotches and two others the crotch panel snipped neatly open in the middle of the oval panel, from top to bottom. You knew that other men were very much into pantyhose and literally into the pantyhose on my body.

But the worst was a result of my own forgetfulness to dispose of something when I should. You unraveled a, crumpled-up tan pantyhose to find inside of all things, a used condom. You let the used condom fall out on to my desk. I buried my face in my knees. You spoke, telling me how much old semen was inside the used condom, far past the receptacle tip into the shaft. You talked about the large size of the condom and you asked me what kind of man was able to wear a size, grand, condom.

You asked me if a black man wore the large condom. It was worn by one of my exercise clients, indeed a well-endowed, black man, and an athlete. Now you know it. Some of my men clients can’t endure their unfulfilled biological male needs any longer. They ask me for sexual intercourse and are willing to pay for it. In time I started accepting their offers. The euphemism is known as, full service, and the end result is called, a release.

I began to earn a lot of money by accepting clients’ requests for discrete lovemaking. I never openly offered it, preferring to wait until a man propositioned me. The number of men asking to make love to me increased and I soon earned more income than my regular health and fitness personal training. The men remain as clients; working out with me as they originally intended until when and if the male desire arises in them.

I keep everything secret but word of mouth gets out privately. Men show up to my studio saying their friends recommended me. They inquire about dance exercise. Then they’ll want to try the relaxation dance service which is simply slow-swaying body-to-body just like a high school dance.

A man may want me to stay in my business clothes because he likes the very short skirt and pantyhose I’m wearing. Sometimes I don’t wear a bra under my blouse which he notices and he’ll want to feel my breasts pressed against his chest. A different man may want me in a leotard with pantyhose tights, same thing, no bra and no panties. The benefit he gets is to observe me changing behind the wood screen room divider in the office. It has open artistic wood circles so a man can see me taking off all my clothes.

Doing the relaxation slow dance gets him close up against my body. I’m in an intimate situation with my arms around a man. Then I feel him start to get an erection. He’ll ask to meet me afterwards. Or he’ll just come out and tell me what he wants. I’ll quote him the retainer fee which he accepts.

You spoke louder, telling me that you knew I was listening, which I was. You tauntingly asked if my fiancé knew about my extra service clientele.

I just cried, “Shut up! Just shut up!” The answer was yes, my soon-to-be fiancé knew and he was okay with it. My boyfriend is so devoted. He’s so cool and such a modern man with absolutely no jealously or control addict negativity. My fiancé is able to comprehend the separation of lovemaking with someone you love apart from mere intercourse.

I don’t know if you’ll ever understand me, considering what you’ve done to me just now. But you manage to splice together both worlds. You’ve taken me by force and through your male magic made me enjoy it all.

I didn’t think this was at all possible. My boyfriend satisfies my emotional need for connection and affection and companionship first, sex a close second. But you must have found an unfilled emotional, biological, and psychological need in me for simply unrestrained sexual intercourse for the simple basic desires of the flesh.

You’ll be back, I know it. I don’t know what I’ll do with myself when that happens. I know I have everything to fear in myself. It’s because I know how I will respond, how my body will respond with you inside me again and again.

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The above story was written by a client of mine for a custom recording they wanted made. I did not write it, nor do I claim to. I asked for permission to post it and was told I could for others to enjoy it. No one else has permission to copy it or post it.

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