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From: Incest Man <incestman@graffiti.net>
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Subject: "Monica" pt.1
Date: Sat, 04 Feb 2006 16:46:24 -0800
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/monica.html
Monica - Part I
My name is Monica French. Although my identity is not really
pertinent to the story you're about to read, I feel that it's
important to tell you that I am a real person. At some point you will
undoubtedly begin to suspect that this story is a fabrication -- that
I have made it up for some prurient reason. I assure you that every
word is the truth, and I hope that you will not think me bold for
relating it in this way. My primary motive is to provide you with an
account of the bizarre consequences I recently experienced as a result
of a simple clerical error.
I have found it necessary to be quite graphic in my descriptions.
If you, dear reader, are squeamish or offended by frank language you
would be advised to read no further.
Smoking finally got to me a short time ago and I resolved to stop.
I have never had an exceptionally strong will and had failed miserably
with every method. I'd tried them all; pills, encounter groups,
hypnosis, and anything else that my friends suggested.
Two weeks ago yesterday I saw an ad in the paper so simple and
direct (STOP SMOKING! WE'LL HELP YOU!) that I called the number
immediately. The number connected me to "The Institute," and the
receptionist gave me directions to an address downtown where I would
need to fill out some paperwork.
******* SESSION ONE *******
Not until I arrived at "The Institute" did I learn that it deals
with more than smoking. In speaking with the woman at the front desk,
it became clear that they offered help with just about every aspect of
life; people who wanted to become ex-smokers accounted for only a
small portion of their clientele. I filed this away with the idea that
if they helped with my smoking I might find at some later date that
they would be able to help me with other things too. In a hurry, I
completed both sides of the application and returned it to the lady.
It was really quite brief and asked for only the basic details about
myself, you know - name, address, date of birth, and so on. When it
came to the part where I was to indicate what service I desired, I
found that there were several columns of choices and I needed only to
locate the one that said "Stop Smoking" and enter the key letters into
the box provided.
I was in such a hurry to finish the form that I read the key
letters from the wrong column and entered them in the box by mistake.
An hour or two later, when it was obvious that there had been a
serious misunderstanding, I was in no position or mood to object.
Presenting the completed form to the receptionist, I was puzzled by
her reaction as she checked each piece of information. Finished, she
looked up and indicated that the service I requested was quite
expensive.
"I'll pay whatever it costs," I assured her, but found myself a
little self-conscious. She was obviously appraising my body! Although
I have no reason to be ashamed of my appearance (I have been told that
I'm very attractive), I could feel the blood rising in my cheeks. She
explained that I was one of the few `normal looking' people to request
this particular service, and I felt relieved at least to know why she
was looking at me that way. I could not understand what might be
`normal' or otherwise for a person with a smoking problem, but elected
not to pursue the issue.
I was shocked when she told me that the fee would be a thousand
dollars, but determined to go for it -- I could always press for a
refund if I failed to quit. Besides, when she explained that the
service consisted of four-hour sessions on Mondays, Wednesdays, and
Thursdays for six weeks it seemed as if I would be getting quite a lot
of attention for my money. I paid for the service with my Visa card
and the lady asked my to please have a seat in the waiting room ...
that I could begin my therapy shortly since it was a Monday.
While in the waiting room I fetched a cigarette from my purse and
lit it out of habit before realizing what I had done. Quickly snuffing
it out in the ash tray, I looked around sheepishly to see if any of
the other people in the room had seen what I did and immediately felt
stupid since they could have no idea why I was here.
After a few minutes a very pretty blonde haired girl appeared and
called my name.
"Miss French, would you come with me please?"
I could manage only a nod as I stood, looking at the others
apologetically for being called before them but they didn't seem at
all upset. I followed silently behind the girl as she led me through a
doorway into a long gleaming corridor.
When the door to the waiting room had closed behind us she turned
to me and explained that on this first visit a physical examination
and preparation was needed before my session could begin. I told her
that I understood and stepped through the first door on the right as
she held it open for me.
The nondescript office held a large shiny desk with a chair behind
it and another comfortable looking chair in front for the visitor.
Except for a few small paintings on the walls the room was bare. I
walked to the chair and sat down as the girl seated herself behind the
desk. I noticed a manila file folder on the desk before her and
managed to read my own name on the tab along the edge.
"Miss French, my name is Carol McGee," she began while opening the
folder. She welcomed me to "The Institute" and thanked me for placing
my trust in them. She sounded as though she had repeated the same
words countless, but she looked so young that she could not have been
with the company for very long. Her eyes were directed downward to my
file and I was glad for the chance to stare at her unobserved. Very
pretty and neatly dressed, she looked no more than eighteen. When she
looked up she smiled warmly, putting me quite at ease.
Opening a drawer at her left, she brought out a small glass bottle
and a plastic cup sealed in clear cellophane. Unwrapping the cup, she
explained that the bottle contained a medication that would facilitate
the efforts of my therapists. Twisting the cap, she poured the
contents into the cup and set it on the desk in front of me. Picking
it up, I gave in to the urge to sniff. We all have memories of being
forced to swallow foul tasting medicine, but I was pleasantly
surprised to find that it smelled like Hawaiian Punch even though it
was totally colorless. My eyes on hers, I took a small sip. Her smile
and nod reassured me. I tasted, found it delicious and quickly drank
it all. Retrieving the empty cup from my hand, she dropped it and the
bottle quietly into a small waste receptacle next to the desk.
She explained that my session would begin in a few minutes and we
spent the time chatting about the weather and the price of clothes. I
felt myself relaxing as we took turns speaking. I was more at ease
with her than I'd ever been with a new acquaintance, and was a little
disappointed when the door opened. I'd have to go with someone else
now, and I'd been enjoying my visit with Carol.
Feeling sad, I accepted Carol's outstretched hand as we exchanged
smiles, but was unable to voice my fears. Oh, I could speak well
enough -- I thanked her and told her how much I had enjoyed our
visit -- but I found that I could not say anything negative. I turned
and smiled at the new face in the doorway, walking eagerly to meet my
guide even though I really didn't want to leave Carol McGee.
Two doors down the hall was a small room where I was invited to
have a seat. Suddenly alone, I was a little puzzled with being
shuffled about like this. Except for the door I had just come through,
there was only one other small door here, unmarked. Next to the door
was a window with a flat counter under it but I could see no one in
the other room. I was tempted to go to the window and look into the
area beyond but something held me back. I began to feel uncomfortable
as I sat there - my discomfort stemming from the fact that I had to go
to the bathroom. The sense of urgency was growing rapidly and my
bowels were churning. There were no cramps or pain but I knew that I
must find a bathroom quickly! Standing up, I walked to the window and
looked through but was disappointed to find the small room on the
other side empty. In my desperation I decided to check the door next
to the window.
As I opened the door I heard the sound of bells jingling beyond the
window but was in too great a panic by then to pay them any notice. I
was never so happy to see a simple white toilet! Quickly stepping
inside and pushing the door shut, I barely managed to throw the back
of my skirt up, tear my panties down, and plop onto the seat before
losing control. I broke out in a cold sweat as my bowels erupted into
the bowl with such force that the water splashed up onto my buttocks.
I lowered my forehead onto my knees because I felt faint as my insides
burst forth and a seemingly endless stream cascaded into the water
under me. Although I was concerned that I had suddenly taken sick, I
was more upset by the fact that anyone outside could surely hear the
commotion! You can imagine the disgusting sound that an event like
that causes.
Almost as suddenly as it started, the terrible need died and I was
able to sit up straight and take some deep breaths. My face and neck
were damp with sweat and I felt a little light-headed but was relieved
that what ever kind of attack I'd suffered seemed to have vanished.
Using large handsful of toilet tissue dampened in the sink I washed my
buttocks and the backs of my thighs where the filthy water had
splashed up onto me. I had to flush the toilet several times before
all traces were removed from the bowl. I was grateful for the exhaust
fan in the ceiling which seemed to have pulled the smell away. Finally
at the sink I used my cupped hands to apply cool water to my face to
freshen myself. By the time I had dried myself I was feeling fine
again.
I was dismayed as I opened the waiting room door to find two faces
watching me! A dark haired woman at the window asked if I were feeling
better now (to which I could only manage a small nod - I was so
embarrassed) and the woman who escorted me here a few minutes earlier
had returned. The woman behind the window smiled and told me not to be
embarrassed by what had happened. She explained that it was the drink
Miss McGee had given me, and that it had done what it was intended to
do. I was about to ask her why such a thing should be necessary when
she said that the escort would take me back to Miss McGee's office
where my questions would be answered.
So I turned silently to the other woman and followed her back to
Carol's office. When I entered, Carol motioned with her hand for me to
be seated. I had an urge to tell Miss McGee just how upset I was about
what had been done, but when my eyes met hers I found that I could
not. Without a word, this young woman had stifled my anger! In fact,
the whole incident began to seem too trivial to mention and I sat down
in the big soft chair.
I listened quietly as she began speaking, her eyes holding my own.
She explained that the laxative was necessary because one of the
primary taboos (that of anal intercourse) could only be dealt with
properly if the rectum and large intestine were empty. You could have
knocked me over with a feather! I don't know if my shock was apparent
but I was unable to find the words I needed to tell her that a mistake
had been made. She directed my attention to the single sheet of paper
before her on the desk and turned it toward me as I looked down. The
large letters "S-T" at the top and the words "Sexual Taboos" below
them seemed to jump off the paper at me. Those were the key letters I
had used on the application form! Scanning the list of topics on the
paper, some of them struck me with almost physical force. Masturbation
techniques, solitary and mutual... masochism... bondage... fellatio...
cunnilingus... lesbianism... anal intercourse! The list was long and I
looked back up as she continued to speak.
She explained that to ensure my co-operation the laxative was
supplemented with a harmless but powerful mind-control drug that would
help me overcome my inhibitions. At the outset, she continued, the
drug would manifest itself in the form of an inability to resist the
instructions of the therapists or to voice any objections. After
several sessions however, I would find that I no longer would have any
serious objections or reservations and that the therapy would progress
smoothly for all concerned. I cannot begin to describe my feeling of
helplessness as the terrible truth was revealed. I assured Miss McGee
that I understood the need for such a measure and that I was quite
anxious to begin. It was my own voice, but those were not the words I
wanted to say! Nor did my expression of eager excitement reflect my
true feelings at the time!
As I listened to Carol McGee's brief run-down of the therapy I had
signed up for I found myself beginning to admire her poise and self-
confidence. Although she was obviously younger than I, she projected
the experience of a much older person. As if sensing my thoughts (a
skill I was later to learn that was shared by all the therapists I
would meet), she explained that she too had been in my position only a
few years earlier. It seems that she had been a star pupil and had
been offered a position on the permanent staff at the institute. She
thoroughly enjoyed her job now because, in addition to her present
capacity, she also served as a therapist. We would definitely meet
again under much different circumstances.
At that moment I made the first positive step toward coming to
grips with my situation. I believed what Carol had told me about the
effects of the drug because I did want to object, to explain that a
terrible mistake had been made, but could not! I determined to make
the best of it, though, and the knowledge that I would see her later
under what could only be some physically intimate conditions sent a
ripple of excitement through me. Again, I felt that she was aware of
my thoughts because she smiled warmly and assured me that I would not
regret my decision. Her hand disappeared beneath the desk top and I
heard a buzzing sound somewhere in the distance. Carol explained that
it would be necessary for me to have a physical examination, and that
my escort would return to take me to the lab. She said that all
applicants are thoroughly examined as a means of controlling the
possible spread of disease. The entire staff was also examined weekly.
Before I continue I should explain a few things about myself. I am
twenty-three years old and quite good looking. Not out of conceit or
any kind of delusions do I make that statement, but because it has
been told to me so many times. I am tall (5-11) with long blonde hair
and green eyes. I have dimples in my cheeks that show when I smile and
make some people think I'm cute, although I must admit that I hated
them for a long time. My breasts are a little larger than average and,
as for the rest of my body, I have just enough fat in all the right
places. Because of the attributes I've just described, I have had my
fair share of attention and consider myself lucky. Uncounted men and
boys (and even a few girls) have made passes at me and I'll admit that
I've taken advantage of a few of them. I don't want to give you the
impression that I've been easy or promiscuous, but I've had what I
guess to be a normal sex life. Because of my upbringing, I've had
trying moments - there are some things that I feel are dirty or
degrading and I've had to "draw the line" on many occasions when I
felt that I didn't want to do something that I would be ashamed of.
Much of this passed through my mind in the minute or two that I
waited for my escort to arrive, and I felt more than a little
apprehensive. It was clear that I would be introduced to a number of
activities that I had always refused; and a few that I'd never even
contemplated!
I was taken several doors down the hall to a large room full of
white porcelain and stainless steel. The clinical appearance put me on
the defensive right away even though I eagerly followed where I was
led. Actually, I was terrified! Two women in nurse's uniforms assured
me that there was nothing to fear. Their friendly approach made me
feel better and by the time the introductions were over my butterflies
were all but gone. I learned that their names were Shelly and Alicia,
both of whom had been employed there for about a year. They were both
quite attractive and had such friendly and easy-going manners that I
didn't hesitate when they suggested that I "get out of those clothes
so we can get started." As I took my blouse and skirt off, Shelly hung
them neatly on a hanger and Alicia folded my panties and bra and set
them on a small shelf above the clothes rod.
Shelly and Alicia led me to a large round white bathtub and helped
me over the edge into the wonderfully warm water. The tub was deep and
the water came up to my neck. Alicia turned a valve and the water
began swirling. I was almost floating and had to hold onto the edge to
maintain my position. They explained that the water had bath oil in it
to clean and soften my skin. I told them that it felt heavenly and
that I could understand why hot tubs and spas were becoming so
popular. Although I didn't mention it to them, I was thankful for the
hot scented water; I still felt dirty after my incident in the
bathroom. After a few minutes Shelly turned the whirlpool off. Alicia
told me they knew I'd like to stay lot longer, but they needed to
begin my examination. They helped me over the edge and dried me with
large soft towels. Alicia commented that I was a "natural blonde" as
she gently patted me dry and playfully fingered the kinky hair of my
bush. I know I was blushing, but since I couldn't think of anything to
say, I remained silent as they led me to a low vinyl covered cot and
helped me to lie down.
After a little maneuvering, they positioned me as they wanted me.
The cot had pelvic exam stirrups at one end and they moved me toward
them until my buttocks rested on the very end of the cot. Shelly set
my heels in the stirrups and told me to relax and let my knees fall
naturally out to the sides. She sat on a low stool and scooted up
close between my thighs. I wanted to at least appear relaxed, so I lay
my head back and closed my eyes -- yet I felt so utterly vulnerable in
my "wide open" position that my imagination began working overtime;
the butterflies returned in force. Shelly and Alicia were talking back
and forth, not exactly whispering, but so softly that I could not make
out what they were saying. I heard an occasional word or two:
"Nice.... I'll get it.... mmmm-hmmm...."
The sound of an aerosol spray and a cool wetness in my crotch
brought my "relaxed" act to a quick end. I lifted my head to see what
was happening. Shelly was spraying something onto my pubic hair and
using her free hand to gently massage it in. Alicia came to my side to
explain: my pubic hair would have to be removed because it had a
tendency to "get in the way" sometimes. Naturally, I nodded in
agreement and told her that I understood, even though I did not
understand at all. But Shelly's fingers felt good as she rubbed the
liquid into my skin. She paid particular attention to the delicate
outer lips of my cunt and the small patch between my vagina and anus.
When she swirled her fingers around the rim of my anus and added
another quick burst from the spray can, it was all I could do to
remain still.
Shelly rose from her stool and went to the sink to wash her hands.
Still at my side, Alicia explained that they would "let it work" for a
few minutes and told me to just relax again. I let my head sink back
onto the cot and tried to sort out my thoughts. Some women did shave
themselves down there but it seemed so kinky that I had never
considered it. I wondered what she meant about it getting in the way
and whether I'd look funny with no hair there.....
After a short time, I heard Shelly say something about "that should
be long enough" and opened my eyes as see sat back down on the little
stool. She had several small white towels and placed all but one on my
stomach. Her face moved closer to my pubic area now as she caught a
few strands of hair near the upper edge of my bush and pulled gently.
I watched a little patch of my skin pull upward with the hair and felt
a slight twinge as the roots suddenly let go. She held them up for me
to see and smiled.
"Simple," she said lightly, and wiped them onto the towel in her
other hand.
The hair came out more and more easily as she worked back and forth
across the blonde triangle, systematically pulling them out in little
patches. I felt absolutely no pain, just a gentle tugging. When the
large patch above my vulva was bare, she began on the finer hairs
covering the outer lips and the area around my anus. After fifteen
minutes or so, she sat up and folded the towel neatly around the pile
of hair, and dropped the package into a small waste can. Alicia had
prepared a small pan of warm soapy water and held it while Shelly
dipped a the clean towel into it. Shelly washed my lower body and
inner thighs and finally used the last towel to pat me dry. After a
close inspection of her handiwork, and apparently satisfied, Shelly
sat up slowly and spoke a single word.
"Beautiful," she said with a smile, and Alicia nodded in agreement.
As they helped me to sit up and finally to stand I was conscious of
a cool sensation down there. It'd take some time to get used to the
absence of hair on my pubic mound, but it was kind of refreshing and
certainly different.
Alicia led me to a scale and asked me to step up on it. It a
standard doctor's-office model with the gadget that slides up and down
to measure your height while the balance arm shows your weight. She
read off the numbers and Shelly wrote the information onto a form.
During the next few minutes Alicia measured various parts of my
body while Shelly silently took it all down. Oh, she measured all of
the normal things -- bust, waist, hips, neck, arm length, etc. But
also some that I found a little strange: the distance around my upper
thighs, knees, calves, upper arms, elbows and wrists; the length of
each finger; the distance from my crotch to my knees, from collar bone
to nipples, from nipples to navel, and the diameter of my areolae.
Then Alicia set me down at the table across from Shelly and
explained that they needed to check my gag reflex. From a drawer on
her side of the table, Shelly fetched a long cylindrical object a foot
long and a little fatter than my thumb. Fine circumferential lines
graduated the length in inches and fractions.
I leaned toward Shelly and made an "O" with my mouth as she placed
the end of the cylinder between my lips. Alicia watched closely from
my right side as Shelly slowly slid the tube into my mouth. She told
me to open my throat as well as I could, and I tried as the end of the
tube touched the back of my throat. I was somewhat surprised at my own
feeling of calm at this point and it was not until the tube had passed
what felt like an inch or so into my throat that my body revolted. My
stomach muscles clenched up tightly and I heard the wretched sound of
myself gagging on the tube.
"Five and a quarter," said Alicia. Shelly withdrew the tube, handed
me a tissue to wipe my mouth and entered the figures on the form.
"+early done, now," she said and led me to the examination table
for the final measurements. An ordinary looking table, waist high and
covered with softly padded vinyl. A small stool made it easy for me to
climb up as Alicia held my arm to help me. They hadn't specified
whether I should be prone or supine, so I chose to lie face-up. Shelly
came to the table still holding the graduated tube and slid a hand
under my leg just above the knee. She lifted as Alicia did the same on
the other side and I cooperated, drawing my knees up toward my chest.
Drawing a tube of K-Y jelly from the pocket of her lab coat (I
could see the label clearly) Shelly explained that she would now
measure the depth of my vagina. She squeezed a generous blob into the
palm of her hand and thoroughly coated the tube.
"Now relax, dear." Shelly gently spread the outer lips of my cunt
and inserted the rounded end of the tube. It was pleasantly warm, and
my eyes closed as I mentally followed it progress. There was a sharp
intake of breath (mine?) when it reached my cervix. Withdrawing the
probe, she told me to lower my legs.
"Six and three-quarters," she said, and I turned my head to watch
Alicia enter the numbers on the form. It came as no surprise when
Shelly asked me to "please roll over." I complied with a strange
excitement, anxious to learn what the next measurement would be! I
turned my face to the side, resting my cheek on the soft vinyl as I
felt Shelly's hand on my right buttock. The end of the tube pressed
gently at the center of my anus. It slipped smoothly in and I realized
that I was holding my breath. It moved deeper into my rectum and I
forced myself to exhale, listening carefully as Shelly began to speak.
"The last section of your large intestine is relatively straight,"
she said, "but several inches from the anus it makes an abrupt turn to
one side or the other. We need to record the distance to that first
"corner," and which way it turns."
The blunt end of the tube began to push against the obstruction and
I found my voice long enough to say that she had reached the corner. I
heard her say "five inches even," but was a little confused when I
felt the tube being withdrawn. Shelly explained that to learn the
direction, she would need to carefully push beyond the corner and that
the tube would "straighten it out," allowing deeper penetration. She
could sometimes sense the direction by the feel of the tube but that I
would be able to tell her for certain. She also pointed out that she
would inject more lubricant into my rectum just to be on the safe
side. I felt the coolness of the threaded end of the K-Y tube as she
slipped it a fraction of an inch into me. It seemed as though she
squeezed the entire contents of the tube into my rectum and it was
strangely pleasant. I heard the empty container drop into the waste
can and a moment later felt the familiar presence of the "measuring
tube" as she re-inserted it. When the end reached the "corner," I
could feel her guiding it experimentally from side to side while
exerting just a little pressure on it. I could tell immediately that
the turn was a left turn and told her so. My voice sounded husky and
strange to my ears.
What happened next is difficult to explain -- I can only say that,
as Shelly guided the tube to the left while pushing gently, I felt my
bowel shift as the end of the tube did exactly what she'd said it
would do. It straightened the corner and I felt the tube begin to move
deeper into me. It was beyond doubt the most bizarre thing I had ever
experienced. The end of the tube felt nearly even with my belly button
when Shelly said "eleven plus" and slowly withdrew the tube. It made a
quiet sucking sound as the end slipped out and I heard the tube drop
into the waste can. Shelly began kneading the soft flesh of my
buttocks with both hands and it was only then that I became aware that
my entire lower body had been trembling.
"That's the end of the exam, Monica." Alicia had stood by me
throughout the final measurement. "Thanks for being so cooperative,"
she said, as though I'd had a choice in the matter.
They helped me roll over, swinging my legs over the edge of the
table as I sat up, and eased me down on the floor. I wondered why they
treated me as though I were helpless. But when my feet touched the
floor I was glad they were holding me. My legs felt like rubber!
Shelly laughed lightly and said that my reaction was completely normal
-- the rectal probe has that effect on nearly everyone. They helped me
across the room to a toilet. It seemed strange to have a toilet right
out in this big open room and I hadn't noticed it before. Alicia
tactfully explained that I might want to "get rid of all that K-Y,"
and I realized that I did indeed have the urge. Bearing down firmly I
was able to expel most of the gooey mess, only a little embarrassed
with them watching me. Before handing me some tissue to wipe with
though, Alicia asked that I stand up so she could check in the bowl. I
did so and was told that everything "looked fine". I carefully wiped
myself and dropped the tissues into the bowl. Alicia flushed it.
We went to the side of the room where my clothes were hanging and I
dressed. It felt really strange when the gusset of my panties touched
the bare skin of my pubic mound. It's surprising how much a thin
covering of hair diminishes your sense of feeling.
The escort had appeared by the time I finished dressing, and I told
Shelly and Alicia that I hoped to see them again. They smiled and
Alicia assured me that I would indeed meet them again in future
sessions. I was escorted to the lobby and the receptionist gave me an
appointment card listing my next session on Wednesday. There would be
no need for a reminder; I was anxious to return!
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