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From: Incest Man <familyincestfamilyincest@yahoo.com>
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Subject: Story "Monica" Part I
Date: Thu, 18 Jan 2007 14:36:15 -0800
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/monica01.html
Monica
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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