Doctor Jane Marcowitz: Sexual Therapist

My most recent work to date, as of this month, specifically. Which means I didn't have much to edit (thank god). This content contains some disturbing non-sexual content, just as a warning. Let me know what you guys think of the footnotes. Hopefully they're helpful (plus, free vocab words).

-Lemonator

 "Are you awake yet?"



His eyes shot open, looking around frantically. He tried to yell, but was muffled by a thick damp cloth stuffed into his mouth. He stared up into frigid brown eyes.



"Jane?" He asked, her other features coming into focus. Or rather, he would have if he wasn't being gagged. Instead, a strangled "mmmmmmmphhhh," escaped from the thick fabric.



"Yes, mmmmmmph," She replied, with a smile that lacked any kind of warmth. "Do you know why you're here, Joe?"



Looking past her, he saw the splintered wooden ceiling fan, circling ominously in an unbalanced orbit. It creaked with age. He could see the pale, skin-colored wallpaper beyond that, noticeably peeling at the edges. He was tied down to Jane Marcowitz's bed, in her parents' house in the suburbs. She had waited until he was alone, and had wrapped a cloth soaked in chloroform around his mouth. She had hidden his body in the trunk of her car and drove him back to her house around 6, hiding him from plain sight in a large burlap sack she had found in the attic. She put him in the garage and waited for her father and her older sister to leave the house.



And then she had woken him up.

Looking back and forth between her, and the fan—still looming overhead—he began to sweat. He shook his head. She was kneeling over him—practically riding his crotch—and he would have been aroused had he not been so terrified. She frowned at him and shook her head slowly, as if the answer were obvious. She shoved a photograph in his face.



"Do you remember now?" She screamed at him, all previous calmness now absent in her voice, replaced with burning rage. His stomach jumped up into his throat when he realized what this was all about. That fucking picture. It was a full profile shot of Jane, her hair swept back, her hands tangled in it; she was standing in the same room that they were now in, plump full breasts and rosy red nipples on display; her curves were highlighted well, and the expression on her face was sultry and alluring; it was truly a well taken photo.



"You took this picture—which was supposed to be for my boyfriend's eyes only—and you posted it online so everyone in our class could see it. Now they all think I'm a whore." She had regained her composure, looking down at him with that same expressionless stare.



"You shouldn't have done that." She reached over to the nightstand and picked up a heavy pair of pliers. She turned back to him and licked the cool metal slowly, leaving a thin trail of saliva on it. As she positioned the pliers around one of his fingers, he began to squirm desperately, muffled screams of terror only exciting her more.



"I wonder how many fingers you need to jerk off," She asked. "Let's find out."



"Jane?"



She turned quickly, and saw her sister standing there, a look of horror on her face.



"Jesus, Jane, what the fuck are you doing?"



"Oh, hi sis," Jane said. "I'm just making a point."



And with that, she squeezed the handle, which triggered a suffocated scream from the teenage boy tied to her bed. His finger lay on the stitched quilt. It had not been a clean cut. Tears ran down his face now, his eyes shut tight with agony.



Her older sister barely resisted puking, and ran from the room.



"Now then," Jane said. "Where were we?"



~~~~~~~~~~



"Usually, she'd be tried as an adult. But you say she'd been home-schooled up until last year, correct? Also, her actions tonight don't seem like those of a mentally stable person, especially in light of your daughter's testimony and some bizarre responses to particular lines of questioning. We're letting her go free this time, on the condition that you get her some psychiatric help. Immediately."



Jane sat on the front porch.



"This is terrible, I--I don't know what to say. Nothing like this has ever happened before."



She sat silently, staring straight ahead into space.



"Are you sure? I guess what I'm asking Mr. Marcowitz is, how well do you know your daughter?"



At nothing in particular, really.



"You think I don't know my own daughter?! Fuck you. She's always been so polite..."



The blue and white cop car stood tall—blocking her line of sight—but she seemed to look right through it. As if it wasn't even there.



~~~~~~~~~~



Jacob Collins shut the door halfway behind him, stumbling into his poorly lit and rather disheveled apartment. His breath smelled faintly of vomit, and everything else radiated alcohol. He grasped blindly for the chain above his head, reaching it after a delay and turning on the bulb overhead. The light that escaped from the glass was dim, and it flickered a few times before stabilizing.



Jacob grunted in distaste and opened the mini fridge on the kitchen counter. He reached in and grabbed a Beer. It was a Coors, his brand of choice. He made his way into the living room and dropped to the couch, his fat ass making a deep indent. He sighed contentedly, hearing that little rush of air making its way into the can as he popped the tab. At this point in his life, the sound was almost titillating. He stopped, lips inches away from the lid. There someone else in the room.



"Who's Kelly?" A voice asked in the doorway.



"J—" Something solid and heavy cut him off; as he found himself sprawled face first on the Turkish floor rug his wife Jane had purchased during a trip to Europe a few years ago. He noticed, with almost childlike curiosity, that there was now blood on it.



"Get up," The disturbingly even voice of his wife was somewhat sobering, and he struggled to pull himself up off the ground, out of the growing pool of blood that he started to realize was his own. The fucking bat, he realized. She's using the motherfucking ba—



The world turned upside down again. The ceiling spun, blurred. Went out of focus, came back into focus. A hand roughly grabbed his shirt collar and hoisted him upwards. He found himself staring at a picture of a girl he knew very well; a horrible understanding overtook him. Another strike across the face and he was back where he started, bleeding on the carpet.



"Her number. The one written on this photo matches the one on your cell. I've been smelling women's perfume for the past few days, and I found lipstick smudges on more than a few of your shirts." This time she brought it down from above, his skull bursting with pain. His hands and feet grew numb and his vision turned red.



"She's probably not the only one, either." He was too drunk to offer any form of resistance, save for desperately trying to crawl away, gurgling blood. She didn't stop after he was dead; it got to a point where there wasn't much left to hit—nothing recognizable anyway. She panted heavily, and dropped the bat, letting it roll under the coffee table. She took a second to look herself over in the mirror. Her long black hair was a bit messy, but nothing a good combing couldn't fix. She thought her tan skin almost glowed in the weak fluorescent light. Her sleeveless green V-neck which housed her considerable cleavage only had a little blood on it, and her white capris and matching sneakers were clean. Satisfied, she took her former husband's place on the couch, eyes widening briefly at how far down she sank—courtesy of her former lover's overactive appetite—and picked up the remote control. Jay Leno was making a joke about how Newt Gingrich sort of looked like Droopy Dog from the old Tex Avery cartoons.



Jane laughed.



~~~~~~~~~~



The police arrived about ten minutes later, after a couple downstairs had called in the sounds and the screaming. Once again Jane Marcowitz, she was led out of her apartment in handcuffs. She didn't fight. Why would she? She did what she had to. At the trial she admitted guilt, said that she could see how people would think it was wrong. She also said she didn't regret it. That in-fact, if given the chance, she would do it again. The jury unanimously voted guilty. Her lawyer tried to plead insanity; however, the general sentiment was that although she had her fair share of problems, she was most definitely sane. The judge decided on the Death Penalty, and on May 19th, 2005, it was carried out.



She was alone in a dark room, strapped to a chair. Her hair hung down limply, a few strands falling in her eyes. The man who was going to kill her stood a few feet away, staring at her intently. Her eyes were focused on nothing in particular.



"I've heard about you." He said, quietly.



She didn't respond.



"Sounds like you're one fucked up bitch." When she remained silent his eyes began to dart back and forth. His face turned red and he began to sweat. She had an amusing thought of him crawling around in the filth like an oversized rat.



"I'm sure no one would mind," He said, awkwardly fumbling with his belt. "Not for someone like you." She wondered who had built the prison. She thought it was a quaint little place.



~~~~~~~~~~



"Hello? Helloooo?" She groaned restlessly, covering her face with her hands.



"Hey, Jane?" Someone was calling her. The voice was calming, almost reassuring. It reminded her of her mother, waking her up for school when she was a girl. Opening her eyes, she instead saw a man's face.



"Time to wake up, Kiddo. You're in Hell now." Sitting up, she was able to get a good look at him. Now that she was wide awake, she realized that his face was very misleading. Since it was the only thing she had seen, she had mistaken him for a man. As she stood, she realized with mild curiosity that she was dressed in the clothes she had killed her husband in.



His broad shoulders were lined with bright red spines, highlighting sickly green muscle below. His arms were covered with scales; they were a dull brick red, ending in sharpened talons in place of hands. His torso and legs were a similar color and texture. One unusually distinct feature was his apparent lack of feet. Looking past his ankles, there was simply nothing there. It didn't look like they were severed, rather that they didn't exist.



She found that thinking about it made her head hurt. As she got shakily to her feet she realized that she wasn't standing on anything. An immense ocean of fire seemed to stretch on endlessly below her; jagged twisting peaks rose out of the void, the impaled remains of what resembled humans decorating their length. There was no ground beneath her feet, yet she didn't fall.



"Nice to meet you, I'm the devil," He said casually, shaking her hand. "Hope you enjoy your personal damnation." Seeing an opportunity, she spoke up.



"Wait."



"What?" He asked exasperatedly. "You're not going to tell me you don't belong here or any shit like that, are you? Because I've seen every fucking thing you've ever done. This isn't the American justice system. The good ones go up there, the bad ones down here. That's how it's always been. You belong here."



"No, no, that's fine," Jane said. "I know what I did. But can't we talk a little first? I mean, I should be gracious to my host." He raised an eyebrow. He suspected ulterior motives, but knew she couldn't do anything.



"What about?" The Devil asked, pushing such thoughts out of his mind and managing barely to sound interested.



"Well," She replied. "Being the king of Hell has to be pretty sweet. Bet you get laid all the time, right?" He snickered in response.



"Yeah, right," He shot back. "No, I'll be lucky if I get the time to rub one out. I've got so many fucking responsibilities, plus I have to maintain an air of professionalism. People have this picture in their head of me poking dudes with a little pitchfork, but I mean, I just run the place. You'd be surprised how little I get to do. Well, nothing fun anyway." She had planned for this. A smile played about her lips.



"That's really too bad," She said. "You know, if you want, I could change all that. But not without something in return." His eyes widened for a moment and then he burst out laughing.



"You're kidding me, right?" He asked. "Can you really comprehend who I am? I would rip you apart. Trust me; you'd be better off in the pit."



"We'll see," She said, her smile widening. For a second, he was taken aback. She was very confident, almost unnerving so. Then he regained his composure. But his accommodating tone was gone, replaced by a cold, stony demeanor.



"You're serious?" He asked. "Think about this real well, because once we start, I won't stop."



"That's fine," She replied. "I'm sort of excited, actually."



"What is it exactly that you want?" He asked, impatiently.



"In return for this, I get to go back to Earth. I get to live forever. And all records and memories of any crimes I've committed are to be erased." He was shocked for a moment, and then broke into hysterical laughter once more. Behind her a large brown stone jutted up behind her. Chains materialized from it, cuffs clasping her arms and legs, pinning her to the rock.



"This is the worst mistake you've ever made, human," He whispered threateningly into her ear. He stared at her face intently, looking to find the terror there that made his life worth living. He was a little disturbed then, when he saw none. Then he frowned.



"Don't think you're special," He said. "I've seen every twisted fuck that falls. I've seen that same blank, psychopathic stare a million times. And they go into the fire, and they scream. Just like everyone else." Her expression didn't change.



From between his legs, a thick, snake-like appendage began to swell where nothing had been a second ago. She blinked and it was there, like it had always been. It looked like a human penis, except it was considerably larger. Among the other differences were the dark red color of the shaft, and the multiple ridges that lined its somewhat intimidating length. It found the opening to her taut¹ slit and slowly worked its way in, each ridge entering in secession with a soft wet pop. She was fully clothed, yet inexplicably he penetrated her without tearing any of it.



With his clawed hands he grabbed her shoulders roughly, squeezing them and leaving red marks on her arms. She moaned. She felt a large, blunt pillar of flesh straining against her puckered asshole. Her muscle began giving way, opening itself reluctantly for this new intruder. It was just as huge as his other one, as if it was a replica. Her cunt was filled to the brim, the thick member spreading her wider than she was used to. He thrust it in and out enthusiastically, uninterested in her experience. The ridges worked their way back and forth, kneading her tender flesh.



She shook with uncontrollable delight and bit her lower lip, stifling her vocalization of pleasure. The meaty organ in her pussy thumped against the end of her tunnel repeatedly, swallowed up to the hilt by her scant² cave. While the phallus in her snatch seemed to be racing forward to some unreachable goal, the one in her ass continued to meet with resistance.



With a sigh, she felt the head slip in, with a moist sucking sound. Then, the first of the bony ridges made its way into her anus, sending shivers down her spine. A second entered, causing her to shut her eyes tight and throw back her head, which he then grabbed and brought back to face him. With a grin he kissed her, slipping his long, serpentine tongue into the deep confines of her mouth. As the third ridge pushed its way past her uncooperative muscle, she let out a long, muffled moan, finding her own tongue meeting his, overlapping with it. She felt something strange then, which made her eyes fly open.



The tongue in her mouth was beginning to change shape. It was becoming thicker, more rounded. As it grew longer it brushed past her tonsils and into the back of her throat. It also filled out in width, making it impossible for her to speak. Meanwhile he grabbed her soft, shaped hips—feeling her body heat radiating over his hands—and pulled them down on his lap. He was suddenly buried in her wonderfully tight ass, as far as he could possibly go. She felt him deep—impossibly so—and let out a frantic garbled approval.



The vibrations traveled down his cock and up his body, and hot, viscous³ ropes of white spurted down her throat. It continued to work itself in and out of her mouth however, coated in saliva and its own orgasmic fluid. Below, Satan's twin cocks pounded her wanting orifices like pistons. Although he was enjoying this, he was concerned. He had expected her to be screaming in pain when he entered her, not moaning with pleasure. He tried to focus on the task at hand; it had been too long, and he deserved this.



With a grunt he came, pumping her holes full of his seed. Years of build up exploded inside her and oozed out past the tight union of flesh. In her mouth, his soft pink head rubbed itself against her tongue, spilling thick, milky cum across it. He withdrew then, breathing a sigh of relief. He watched as she swallowed his most recent deposit with a satisfied grin. He chuckled.



"What do you know, you outdid me," He said. "Well anyway, I'm a man of my word." The shackles opened and the chains receded.



"With the dark powers at my disposal, I grant you, Jane Marcowitz, immortality on Earth, as well as freedom from any past actions." He clapped his hands together and Jane stood back as the air in front of her began to distort. The phenomenon she was witnessing took place only right in front of her. Before her, the atmosphere began to break down. It was as if someone had installed a giant television right in the middle of her vision. Visible static filled the air. It only extended a certain height and width, and just wasn't anywhere else, in that bizarre way things were with the Devil that simply made no sense. It stuttered, like a glitched computer screen, and then a hole opened. As it expanded slowly, she could see the street where she grew up, the house in which she had spent most of her time. It stood there, expectantly. It was a portal.



"Well?" He asked, moodily. "What are you waiting for?"



She leaped on him. Tackling him to the ground, she seated herself on his crotch, thrusting herself down vehemently⁴ on his still erect phalluses. She placed her hands on his firm chest, steadying herself. As she fucked him with her powerful hips, her breasts bounced in time, her nipples poking through the fabric of her shirt. Feeling the ridges rapidly stroke her insides, she moaned intensely, this time unrestrained.



"What the fuck are you doing?" He asked, shocked. "I said you could leave!" Her eyes narrowed in a lustful stare and her lips spread in that same unnerving, unwaveringly confident smile.



"I'll leave," She said calmly. "When I'm ready."



"Y—" His words were cut off by those same lips, her tongue now probing his mouth, tasting the sticky cum that still resided within. She rubbed her clit frantically with her thumb, back arching in response. He found strangely that he could not get her off, and also that part of him did not want her to stop. But he had already come once, and he was exhausted. And he was about to again. A steamy load shot up her ass, followed immediately by another in her cunt. She still wasn't satisfied. She was renewed by the filling, slick warmth inside her and pulled back from his lips, to moan extensively.



When she didn't stop, the cum began to spray; it flew into the air and landed on...whatever universal property prevented them from plummeting into the fire below. She dismounted, turned and plunged down upon him with unwavering vigor, this time with her back to him. She plugged herself fully, her snug, calescent⁵ insides sustaining his erect state. As she straddled him, she leaned back far enough to look him in the face.



His expression was feverish and confused, and his eyes met hers, the look of which—something indescribably malicious (and yet playful) residing within them—pushed him over the edge again. Prior to this he had at least propped himself up on his elbows, but now he collapsed, panting. He sighed, almost in relief as he felt himself go flaccid. She looked down at him in disappointment and got up, stretching.



"You know," She said coldly. "I expected more. I thought you would make me come at least once." She walked through the portal without turning back. When she was gone, he got up slowly, holding his head and wondering just what had happened.



~~~~~~~~~~



"So here you are, Mrs. Marcowitz. Your therapist's license. You're certainly well qualified." The woman with the short brown hair and rimless glasses smiled, shook Jane's hand and handed her the certificate.



"Thank you very much," Jane said, smiling hospitably. She said her goodbyes and departed from the neatly kept office out into the day, the gray overcast sky hardly putting a damper on her mood. She would refrain from committing further crimes, even if they were justifiable. She had worked hard for this, and she wouldn't throw it away for a moment of impassioned hatred. No, she had goals and she stuck to them. This was something she had wanted to do for a long time.

¹taut-tightly drawn; tense

²scant-barely sufficient in amount or quantity; almost inadequate                                                                                                                       

³viscous-sticky; thick

⁴vehemently-a manner marked by great energy or exertion      

5calescent-growing warm; increasing in heat