A Troubled Mind

I don't care for sex; I never have done and neither does my husband. We, that is James my husband and I are very proper and religious. In any case during the early part of our 14yrs of married life James would spend his sperm quickly and would soon be asleep; but it did not matter. Sex, I repeat, is unimportant to us; we are far too busy with other things.

Why then have got myself in such a mess? Why, this morning did I request an urgent meeting with Pastor Michael to beg his understanding -- plead for his help and advice? The situation is not through any fault of mine; indeed not, I have been lead astray by an evil man. Though I ought to have been stronger and will accept that I may have to pay a price for my stupidity and weakness -- but not for being wicked -- I am not wicked!

"Gina, come in and tell me your troubles -- but I'm afraid I have very little time at the moment," Pastor Michael had said when I entered his office.

I expected him to be of more help but he seemed impatient and bored; though he did pay more attention when I went into a little more detail. At first I had rambled and become upset, mixing up my story and not explaining things properly. The pastor had made me begin again then was more attentive because he started to ask me questions and insisted that I fill in fine detail, so, he had told me, that it would enable him to 'get the full picture and understand the situation better'.

"You're not the first housewife to be unfaithful," he had told me, quite brusquely and before I had hardly begun my tale. "If it troubles you badly maybe your first port of call ought to be your doctor, maybe he'll recommend a counsellor you can speak to."

But it was more than that -- as the pastor realised when I managed to straighten myself out and compose myself; then he became very interested -- very interested indeed.

No, I had not encouraged the man nor had I any desire to flirt. Indeed, I thought he was rough and course and without good manners. Soon I was proved right when I overheard him making disgusting remarks to his friends -- about me -- about how I looked. Before long they cared not if I heard them snigger and stared at me lewdly, making comment. Then the man would often make an excuse to be near to me and would enjoy my embarrassment and anxieties, looking me straight in the eye, making me avert my glance to look down at the floor.

He was a big man with an evil grin, showing off his unusually white teeth that contrasted with his unkempt black beard. When he was near me I could detect his body odour. I disliked him from that first day he walked into the little drapery shop where I worked. Usually I was not alone, working together with the owner, a lady just a few years older than I.

"Would you mind if I asked you to call into the shop while I'm away - on a regular basis, just to keep an eye on things?"

She was going abroad for two months and it suited me for I would still receive full pay. You see her trip provided an ideal opportunity to completely renovate the old building in keeping with the area. Quite simply, Dora, the owner, didn't want to lose me. All her plans had been made long before I came into her employment.

"Just for the season," she had said when offering me the job, "Trade isn't good, and I'm going away in the winter."

But trade had improved and the little shop had taken on a new lease of life. Yes, it was fine by me and I would go in to work and reorganise the stock, the records and make sure all was packed away safely and kept clean; there was lots to do.

All was fine the first week and I kept out of the way whilst the workmen stripped the walls and cleared away the dusty dirty mess, leaving one half of the building just a bare brick shell. Then though he, that evil man, began to leer at me, in a lewd way, sometimes licking his lips, smirking. Sometimes I felt nervous and had palpitations or butterflies in my stomach -- especially when he came up quietly behind me in the small kitchen we had to share. When he went away I would hear him making fun of me, telling his friends how he had scared me, making me tremble -- suggesting that maybe I trembled because I wanted him -- wanted sex! They would all laugh loudly.

He told lies! They told lies! They said that I had begun to wear shorter skirts and blouses and shirts that showed off my bra. Hadn't I also begun to leave an extra button undone to display 'a bit of cleavage'? Certainly not! True I had found a need to wear some older clothes that perhaps didn't fit as well but only because the shop was so dusty now and I was handling so much old stuff, like clearing out old paperwork from the attic. What was the sense in wearing my better clothes?

Things went a little further when one day the bearded man sneaked up behind me when I was bending over low to pick up some files. What could I do when to my horror I heard him breathing heavily, then placing his fingers on the small of my back that was uncovered because my shirt had ridden up he prevented me from rising. He pressed his hand on me making me bend even lower -- I knew he would be almost probably able to see my underwear; then he made me have a conversation with him, as though nothing was amiss!

When he finely let me up I turned but he was standing very close to me, smirking, showing his teeth, I could hear the sound of his excited breathing and he seemed to force me to look up to his face; it was as though his eyes could see right inside my head and he knew something about my inner thoughts. I was scared and began to shake when he rubbed his rough hand over my face and pushed a finger against my lips making me open my mouth and I tried to push it out with my tongue, but he seemed to think I was doing it for another reason and it excited him even more.

From then on the man would appear as if out of nowhere and he would touch me, like rubbing my shoulders, massaging me or slipping an arm around my waist while he spoke to me and caressed my belly with his other hand. I would be too shocked and scared to stop him and would simply freeze on the spot trying to avert his gaze.

But sometimes he would take hold of my chin and make me face him so he could see me while he rubbed those rough fingers over my face, letting one push against my mouth, making me part my lips to let it in. He enjoyed it and I reasoned that if I put my tongue against his finger I would prevent him from pushing it to far in and anyway if he liked that it would satisfy him then he wouldn't pursue or attempt any other dirty act.

One time he whispered to me asking me if I enjoyed licking his finger -- then asked what it reminded me of - what was I thinking of? No, licking his fingers was not what I was doing!

I ought to have called the police and reported him when one day when I was unaware of his presence and climbing down from the dirty attic that I heard him below me and stopping dead felt his hands on my thighs. He gripped my leg when I tried to step down preventing me reaching the floor, it was awful, I had to stand there, listening to his vulgar comments as he tormented me making it very clear that he was 'admiring' the view up my skirt, even commenting on the colour and skimpiness of my panties under the smoothness of my pantyhose.

The man kept rubbing my legs, my inner thigh and asked me if I was enjoying it, getting aroused; I told him an emphatic 'No!'

"Come down now!" he said.

It was a trick to humiliate me as when I did he was so close to the ladder that I was in his arms and he held me keeping a hand on my leg that caused my skirt to fold up as I descended -- then just as I had turned to face him his friends appeared and saw him holding up my skirt and leaning forward as though he was about to kiss me -- as though I was about to kiss him! I was distraught and when they left, laughing, I cringed and almost sobbed. I caught some of their comments as the men apologised for interrupting him while he replied, "I told you that she wanted 'it'!

The following week was even more disturbing because the man would now try to cuddle me or hold me in front of his friends -- just to embarrass me I think. I asked him to stop doing this but he ignored my request. When he did get me alone he would pester me to tell him my likes and dislikes regarding sex though I usually didn't answer. Pastor Michael made me remember and tell every question the man ever asked me.

I told the man how religious my husband and I were and that we didn't place importance on sex. The man said it was a shame because I 'looked like I would enjoy a good ride'! He said that I was frustrated and that he could tell that deep inside I was curious and excited. I denied that having him touch me aroused me and asked for him to leave me alone. The man said he had noticed how erect my nipples became when he touched me but when I opened my mouth to protest his finger was ready to slip in between my lips and I struggled to speak to continually refute and deny the many following comments and suggestions as I kept his finger in check with my tongue.

It was perhaps silly and unwise for me to answer, "I don't know" when the man whispered to me asking if his finger going in and out of my mouth reminded me of sucking a 'cock'. He looked surprised and made me confess that I had never done that -- it was dirty!

"But your tongue sure knows what to do!" he grinned. "You can let yourself go with us," he said, "No one will ever know what we do in here -- in this little shop."

I said that it was wrong and I had no intention of doing anything; that apart from my religion I could not be unfaithful to my husband.

"No one will know," he said, "You get aroused having me touch you don't you? Do you wonder what it would be like to let things go further -- feel how exciting it can be -- how pleasurable?"

When I had reached this part of my story with Pastor Michael he seemed very impatient and I thought he was about to dismiss me from his office.

"I need to be somewhere else," he said curtly, "I have an appointment to keep." Then he scratched his nose and asked, "Did things go further - a lot further?"

"Yes Pastor, " I told him ashamedly, "Perhaps you're right and I need to seek the help of a trained counsellor. I'm sorry for taking up your time."

"Let's not be too hasty," he broke in, "You are sure you feel a need to talk this through?"

Of course I was.

"Bring everything out into open as it were -- to tell me...well...someone, of every incident, in detail -- to have the benefit of a clear conscience of course, so you can understand why this happened?"

"Yes pastor." I had assured him.

He looked almost uncomfortable when he asked me, "And there is lots to tell?"

I admitted that I had done some bad things -- let the Devil rule and influence my actions.

Pastor Michael said, "Really!" in a funny way but was now interested and concerned.

"I think we should carry on with this one evening," he suggested. "Is your husband away on business? I'm thinking that you would be more relaxed and comfortable in your own home. I wonder, would you like me to call round tonight?"

I assured the pastor that I would take the opportunity to purge my soul and reveal all that I had done and take his advice if he could suggest a penance, a punishment.

"I do really feel I deserve to be punished Pastor Michael." I said.

The Pastor came that evening and seemed impatient for me to carry on outlining my problem, even refusing refreshments. I was confused now; he helped me recap and pick up where we left off.

The sequence of events came flooding back and when I faltered, shamed at what I had done, the Pastor urged me on and encouraged me to go into great detail telling me how cathartic that would be, heal my soul.

The evil man from the shop had continued to take extra little breaks from his work when he would come and seek me out in the part of the shop that wasn't yet being renovated. When sometimes his friends were there too, like using the kitchen or when I had cause to go into the area where they were working the bearded man would embarrass me in front of them and grab hold of me pulling me close to him. The others would watch intently and it made them feel lustful -- I could tell this when I looked at them -- and saw obvious signs. It was like they were waiting for something to happen, something very dirty and wicked.

The man would grin and he made an issue of running his hands all over me, letting me wriggle and struggle, protesting all the time -- trying to stop him from trying to hitch up my skirt as we struggled. The atmosphere would become very tense when he clasped both of my wrists and held my arms down my side. Cruelly he gripped both my arms behind my back with one hand and he played his silly game. Putting his finger against my lips he would force me to take it in my mouth while they watched.

"Show them how you like to pretend my finger is a penis!" he would say, "Lick it! Show them how you suck cock!"

One day he had me in such a position and I was letting him slowly push his finger to and fro into my mouth, my arms held fast behind my back, reasoning that it would get the silly game over with quickly when closing my eyes to cover the embarrassment of listening to the other men making rude comments while displaying signs of their arousal. Suddenly the finger was whipped out and replaced, to my horror by the man's slobbering mouth, forcing his tongue between my lips. As if that was not bad enough his hand took hold of my right breasts and he squeezed it, hard, before rolling my nipple between his thumb and fingers.

I struggled and fought but the friction of my body against his seemed to heighten his lust as really only my hips and belly moved back and forth, to and fro. Therefore I took the logical stance that it would be better to cease and let him finish 'feeling me' for the amusement of his friends as also, what was happening was that the roughness of the situation was making the buttons of my blouse fall open. My tactic wasn't totally successful as I heard the men pass comment on the daintiness of my bra which meant that most of my buttons were now undone.

For an age I had to allow the man to kiss and maul me, licking the inside of my mouth with his tongue and tickling, if that's the right word, mine. I'm sure that I had become so well accustomed to sucking and licking the finger that automatically almost I found myself doing the same to his large wet tongue. Trying again to struggle free he held on tighter and I felt his manhood pressing into me. So too I could smell his sweat and feel the roughness of his beard as he kissed me hard on the lips but while all this was going on the worst thing was realising that a man, other than my husband, was attempting to stimulate my breasts, making my nipples harden and sending shockwaves shooting through my very nerves. Unable to free myself I had to bear with it and comprehend the fact that witnessing this assault were three other common and rough men. This had an odd and unusual effect on my inner being; but to my astonishment, not entirely one of devastating repulsion.

I was glad when the bearded one stopped kissing me if only so I could take in a breath of air; but my relief was short-lived. Still massaging my breasts he nibbled my ear, then I felt his hands unfasten the last two buttons that held my blouse together. Opening my mouth to complain two of his fingers quickly blocked the hole and he commanded me to suck.

"Come on suck hard -- pretend it's a penis -- show them how you suck cock -- harder!"

Get it over with I thought -- just comply, do it -- do as I'm ordered -- eagerly I sucked, please them I reasoned, and they will leave me alone, do it how I imagine a fallen woman would, move my head up and down too - but then.

"Come over here," I heard the man say to the others, "Come and have a feel how firm her tits are!"

No! This was going too far. I tried to spit the fingers from my mouth but to no avail. Now there I was being held tightly and forced to simulate a dirty act of oral sex whilst men took their turn to feel my breasts, now uncovered almost completely with only a thin little bra to protect my modesty.

"Please don't!" I cried in a second or two of oral relief as the man pulled aside my blouse. When I glanced down I saw how my nipple was being rolled, pulled and pressed then saw a look of sheer depravity in the eyes of the man fondling me. Our eyes should not have met because then it was as though some evil hidden urges were exchanged and awoken. He leaned forward and kissed me, giving my breasts an extra hard squeeze -- I let him put his tongue in my mouth and touch mine. The bearded man laughed, sounding dirty and evil.

"She likes it!" exclaimed one man. "I brought something for my lunch today that will taste better!"

The man kissing me broke away, then, a minute later, looking me in the eye, smirking, whispered, "Suck the banana, let me watch you -- suck the 'pretend cock', I like seeing you do it, look at me while you suck!"

I was astonished -- I needed to close my mind off from this filth, this evil. Just do it, I thought! Get it over with! Suck the banana -- do as they say -- let the man watch me -- let him play with me -- look at him whilst I do it, how the dirty sexually deprived man enjoys it! Just go through the motions. Let him see how I suck and lick! Close my mind now and just do it -- give them what they want then they will go away.

I explained to Pastor Michael how uncomfortable, and very tender, the extremities of my breasts felt as the constant friction of various hands rolling over my body, squeezing, gripping and teasing caused blood to gather and make me erect, like the cold does -- but unlike the cold it was accompanied by feelings and excited nerves that should not be inflamed as they lead to the mind being corrupted.

The pastor asked if I was experiencing such thoughts and feelings now, as he observed that my nipples had stiffened. I failed to neither confirm nor deny his observation, though my embarrassment grew knowing his eyes were now constantly checking, gazing at me. Had I awakened lustful thoughts and desires in his head? Was I creating in his head an imaginary scenario, with him surmising being one of the perpetrators, rolling his fingers over my paps?

I think a temporary fright prevailed with the men scared of the possible repercussions deciding that enough was enough, though their amusement at my humiliation wasn't disguised. Left to button up my blouse I hurried away to put the episode behind me and continue with my tasks.

The pastor weighed me up when I went silent.

"Did you feel pleasure?" he asked pointedly staring at me.

I was ashamed to answer but confessed to having a weird and unusual feeling that confused me.

"It was as though I was enjoying being humiliated and exposed to the lusts of those dreadful men!" I said after clumsily trying to justify why I hadn't sought the help of the law.

"You returned the next day," he pointed out accusingly. "Is it not a fact that you enjoyed the uncovering of your body, the sexual thrill from having your flesh exposed in front of men? Is it not true that you would thrill to have any man touch and expose you? Would you not feel the same wicked sensation if you exposed yourself now -- in front of me?"

"No -- definitely not -- how could you suggest such a thing? It was the devil himself trying to get inside me!"

"Prove me wrong then," said the pastor, "Expose yourself the same way and see if your emotions remain controlled and pure! In this situation you ought not to experience any form of lewd pleasure or sensation."

Well, he insisted I could not give him an excuse to condemn me out of hand. I unfastened my upper garments and let him see my underwear. He seemed shocked that I fully drew my clothes to one side to uncover my breasts but I wanted him to see I wasn't holding anything back in my attempt to make him see that I had been tricked by Satan and would not feel anything but pure thoughts now.