The Author

Sweat coated my brow, glistening in the glow of the computer monitor, the only source of light in the room. Darkness shrouded the tasteful furniture, Swedish styled minimalist couch and leather armchair behind to my left, LED TV, Blu-Ray DVD player, surround sound system, and satellite TV box all in a smoke black glass entertainment console to my right. My entire focus was on the glowing computer screen in front of my hunched form. On the screen a word processor sat open, waiting, a blinking cursor urging me to start. Black oiliness, an unwelcome presence, swirled through my mind, pressure, pressure pulsing.

My shaking hands touched the keyboard. Slowly, hesitantly, reluctantly, I started typing.

Beads of sweat started rolling down from my forehead, slipping down my temples and between my eyes. My hand swiped at the moisture. Resist, resist, resist.

Shaky hands once again touched the keyboard, a nervous twitch tapping at the backspace key. I paused. Please!

The Blackness swirled, strengthened, and grew, pressure, pressure pulsing. I closed my eyes and inhaled, a raspy breath, and started again.

Please, I pleaded, begging for release, for relief from the pain. Pressure built, a wave of pain temporarily obscuring my vision. Then a slight easing as my hands moved back to the keyboard. I began, again.

Relief flooded through me as The Blackness in my brain eased a little, satisfied. It hovered watchfully. I continued, a sob escaping.

My hands hesitated on the keyboard, fingers twitching nervously, sweat dripping, testing. Pressure built anew, a threatening twinge of pain warning me. I continued.

I paused, hands stilled at the keyboard hoping, begging for an escape. Please, please, not this. Pressure from The Blackness pulsed, throbbed and threatened. A jab of pain hit. I sobbed. I continued.

Please no, I pleaded, tears blurring my vision, she's too young, she's too close to . . .

NOW! The Blackness screamed inside, a flash of pain ripping through my head.

A wave of dizziness washed over me, the pain so intense, so fierce. But I couldn't resist, couldn't find a way to eject this evil Blackness writhing inside. I continued typing.

I stopped, sobbing. I CAN'T, I screamed at The Blackness. I felt it unfurl, a demonic force. I felt its displeasure, its anger, and I was scared, terrified. Before it could hurt me again I continued.

'THANK YOU' The Blackness whispered as it faded like a mist dissipating in my mind. I felt an almost orgasmic relief with its departure. I slumped forward, head hitting the keyboard, sobbing, hatred, disgust and self-loathing filling me.

I looked up at Linda from the kitchen table with red-rimmed eyes, a weak smile on my face.

My seven-year-old daughter stood just inside the kitchen doorway wearing her beloved and too small, sleep-wrinkled Dora the Explorer cotton flannel pajamas, bunny slippers on tiny feet. Zak, her love-worn teddy bear, was clutched to her side in the crook of her arm. She was smiling at me, a smile only the truly innocent are capable of. Shiny big hazel eyes watching me, a halo of chestnut, shoulder-length curls still mussed from sleep.

Linda wondered what was wrong with Daddy. He was always so much fun but he looked sick again, like he did yesterday and before. She knew what he needed. She walked over to her daddy, climbed into his lap and hugged him. She always felt better when Mommy or Daddy hugged her. She'd make her daddy feel better.

As Linda hugged me I felt a heaviness grow in my face and sinuses, the precursor of tears. I hugged her back, comforted by her small, cuddly body. Shaking myself mentally, I took a deep breath, Linda's sleepy girl smell filling my nostrils. I kissed her hair and lifted her to the floor.

"Breakfast time. What will the princess have today?" I asked with false lightheartedness, rewarded with another bright smile, dimples forming on her rounded cheeks in the last traces of baby fat that still lingered.

"French toast!" She declared knowing full well this was a school day. As she scrambled around the table and onto her chair, she looked at her daddy expectantly.

I smiled. She tried this every morning even though she almost never got her way. But with that boundless enthusiasm of youth she never seemed to be deterred.

"Eggo's," I said in a voice that told her that was as good as she was going to get.

As I slipped a couple of Eggo's into the toaster, Pam walked in taking in the typical morning scene in a glance.

Her eyes lingered on John. He looked worse, unshaven, medium length light brown hair spiked out in all directions and, as he glanced up from the toaster, dark shadows under red-rimmed eyes.

"John, you should see a doctor. It's the fifth night in a row. Maybe something's wrong."

Typical. Men. Actually typical John. Stubborn as a mule. She walked up behind him, arms slipping around his slim waist, hugging him, chin on his shoulder.

"John," she said in a softer voice, "go see the doctor, for me, for my peace of mind. Please?"

Eggo's popped out of the toaster before she heard his answer, but it sounded like a reluctant grunt of agreement.

Pam smiled at her excitement, that such simple things in the life of a seven-year-old seem so exciting. "So Honey, how'd you sleep?" she asked her daughter, turning towards the fridge for milk.

"Okay," was all Linda said, her attention taken up by the Eggo waffles Daddy had placed before her.

Pam turned to her husband, coffee mug in hand. "John. I meant it. Go see the doctor today."

As I stood over the bathroom sink shaving I looked at my reflection. Damn, I look terrible. Maybe I should see the GP. He could give me some sleeping pills.

At 4:45 pm I was seated in the examination room trying to explain my problem to Dr. Marsten, a kindly old man a couple of years shy of retirement. He was a great family doctor. He took great care of Pam, Linda, and me, always making room in his packed schedule for us. We'd been with him since I was eighteen, a new city arrival. Anyway, I tried to explain without giving any details, the details shamed me.

"John," he said in his kindly voice, "this isn't the sort of problem I can help you with, and I'm not sure I really understand it, so trying to treat it would be reckless."

He held up his hand. "Give me a couple of minutes. Why don't you wait in the reception? I'll be right back."

I sat. His couple of minutes turned into half an hour. I was beginning to think he'd forgotten about me and had started treating other patients, but apparently not.

He led me back into his office. I'd never been in it before. He preferred to see patients in the treatment rooms. It was a surprisingly modern office, modern desk, leather chair, a pair of comfortable seats facing the desk, LCD computer monitor on the desk, and framed certificates on the wall surrounding a reproduction Monet. But it was jammed. Magazines, periodicals, health notices and papers piled in neat stacks everywhere. I mean piles heaped on any flat surface.

He grinned at me, seeing me observe the mess. "Old habits," he said. "I still like the feel of paper in my hands. Can't read the stuff on that damned computer.

"Anyway, I talked to Dr. Grayson. He's a psychiatrist I've known for a while. Referred several patients to him, as well. In fact there was this one . . . Oh, um, excuse me. Anyway, I had a chat with him. Here's his address. You're booked to see him tomorrow afternoon at 2:30."

"But Dr. Marsten, I'm not sure it's bad enough for me to see a psychiatrist. I just needed something to help me sleep."

He handed me a trial sample. "Dr. Grayson told me it would be okay for you to have this. It'll help you sleep." Grinning at me he continued. "There's only one dose, so don't get any ideas about skipping the appointment."

That night I did sleep. It felt wonderful. So wonderful I decided I didn't really need to see Dr. Grayson. But Pam was on to me.

"You'll keep that appointment, won't you?" And when she saw the look in my eye, she made me promise. Damn.

At 2:30 I was knocking on a door of a small cottage, if you could believe it. I couldn't. I'd checked the address so many times I almost knew it by heart. I wandered up and down this street not quite believing the doctor worked out of a cottage, sandwiched between commercial buildings, dry cleaner on one side and a photo processing lab on the other, a throwback to pre-digital days. A small neat garden led up to the quaint porch. The house was totally out of place, more appropriate for a small town not a big city.

Nevertheless here I was. The door opened to reveal a mid-fiftyish man with gray hair. I guess his name suits him, I thought with a smile. He was tall, slim, a longish clean-shaven face, with frameless glasses revealing gray eyes. My smile broadened at that observation. But clearly he mistook my smile, taking it as an indication of my utter glee at being here. Let me reassure you it wasn't.

"John?" His voice was like those radio announcers, deep, gravelly, the kind that gave every word gravitas. They could make the word knickers sound as if it were an outbreak of war in the Middle East, you know what I mean.

He led me into his sitting room, an orderly arrangement of comfortable if rather old-fashioned furniture and nick-knacks here and there. He invited me to sit opposite him on a couch that turned out to be quite comfortable despite its appearance.

I hesitated, debating how much to tell him. It turned out my shame made my explanation a bit of a dog's breakfast.

"No. I don't feel compelled. I am compelled. I told you, it's The Blackness that forces me. If I don't do exactly what it wants it punishes me."

"I understood that part, John. What I'm trying to understand is the nature of the, what did you call it? Oh yes, The Blackness. Are you convinced it isn't your subconscious talking?"

"John, please call me Keith. Let's try a different angle. What exactly disturbs you about these daymares. I wasn't quite clear on that."

"They're evil doctor, horrendous. And the memory of them haunts me thought the day. It affects my work and it's beginning to affect my family."

Dr. Grayson could see just by looking at John that something was haunting him. The black circles and an unusual look in his eyes were ample evidence he was suffering from something.

"I see. Sexual. Well, that's not unheard of. Do you inflict pain in these daymares?"

"Hmmm. John, you're going to have to give me something to work with. Either you trust me or you don't. If it's bothering you so much, and it appears that it is, you have to talk to me, explain it. I can't help you from a position of ignorance, although some of my colleagues have been known to try," he added with a wry smile.

I wrestled with myself, argued for and against telling him. As I thought back to Wednesday night, the worst I had experienced so far, it scared the hell out of me. I felt like The Blackness was devolving, demanding increasingly perverse acts. But I really, really didn't want to talk about it. That was so much against my natural tendency for privacy.

Come on John. Make up your mind, I chastised myself. While I might have an over-developed desire for privacy I'd never had a problem making decisions, sometimes erring on rashness. I took a deep breath.

"Keith," he said, giving me an encouraging smile. I somehow felt it might be the last time I'd see him smile like that.

"It started five days ago. About 2:45 in the morning I woke up. The only way to describe it is like there was this bolt of searing white-hot pain in my head. At first I thought I had been electrocuted. It sounds stupid now, what with being in a bed and all. But that was my first impression.

"Anyway, I sat up holding my head, pushing against my temples to try to ease the pain. It faded after a minute or two, like it was melting inside or draining away.

"I was about to lay down when it came back, but different. It was really weird. Like a thick velvet cloak. It felt like it was unfurling in my mind."

"No. It felt soft but black, definitely black. It was as if my brain was being muffled. You know, like that deafness you get in your ears when you hear a ringing or buzzing in your head. But I could feel it. It spread across the back of my brain, like wearing a yarmulke, resting between my brain and the inside of my skull. Weird.

"I was about to laugh at myself when I heard it. That really got my attention. I mean who wouldn't be concerned about hearing a voice in their head?"

"Well, the voice screamed 'GET UP'. My first thought was, weren't voices in your head supposed to whisper?

"When I didn't react, it screamed again but I felt a small jolt. Like the one that woke me up but much less painful. At that point I decided to ignore it. I mean really, voices in my head? So I lay down. But another blindingly painful jolt had me standing next to the bed. I was panting and holding my head again."

"Well, I remember being a bit disoriented. But it yelled at me again. 'GO TO THE COMPUTER'. I think I might have been a little confused, certainly bewildered. I just stood there not moving. I felt a pressure at the back of my brain like something was squeezing it. The twinge of pain sort of shocked me out of my stupor. I remember walking into my office and standing in the doorway.

"It told me to turn on the computer. At that point I thought what the hell, why not, see where this is going.

"I think it was then that I started getting scared. You see, I started talking to it in my mind without really thinking about it. When I realized what I was doing, that's when I got scared."

"Let's see. I think I asked what I was supposed to do. It told me to start typing. I had no clue what to type so I asked 'what'. It said 'a girl, write about a girl'. Quite honestly, I thought this was ridiculous. I mean who ever heard of a voice asking you to write about a girl? Weren't they supposed to make you do things? Mass murder, or build a bomb?

"It started telling me to write about a girl, a young girl. 'Touch her' it said, 'make it exciting'. I laughed. I mean how stupid is this? Some voice telling me to write about touching a girl?

"How did you know what to write?" Dr. Grayson asked with what sounded like intrigue.

"Oh, well. That was easy. It just whispered directions. Well, at first it was easy. But anytime I resisted a suggestion it'd yell at me and the harder I'd resist the greater the flash of pain would be."

"As I typed, I began to understand the signs when it didn't like what I was writing. The pressure in my head would increase and I'd feel that blackness spread. I started correcting what I'd write. Sort of feel my way."

"Um. I printed it off for you this morning. I'd be more comfortable with you reading it instead of me telling you." I pulled some crumpled papers from my pant pocket, somewhat damp from my sweaty palms, and handed one to him.

"John, there's tea on the side table," he nodded towards a rectangular table against the wall. "Pour yourself some while I read this."

As I sat back on the couch, teacup in hand, I watched him read. I looked for any reaction. His head was bent and his glasses had slipped down his nose slightly. Aside from that he could have been a statue.

Dr. Grayson opened the printed pages, noting the damp marks left by John's sweaty hand. He smoothed them out on his lap and began to read.

He saw her sitting on the park bench, bare knees crossed, tartan skirt draped over her thighs. A white long-sleeved blouse buttoned to the neck fell in graceful folds from her shoulders. From a distance he saw long straight auburn hair falling forward, the shadows obscuring her face as she bent concentrating on a book in her lap.

Sunlight, warm on this spring day, played softly with her hair, glints of gold flashing as the light breeze stirred it about. There was something about her that drew his attention; that piqued his curiosity. Perhaps it was her demure appearance. Or perhaps it was a desire to see her face, see if it matched what appeared to him to be an attractive body.

As he walked towards her he took in her simple black flat-heeled shoes and dainty ankles. He admired her slim calves. Maybe early twenties, he thought. The brown and black tartan skirt was unmistakably Burberry. The drape of her blouse hinted at small breasts.

He sat next to her on the bench keeping a respectful distance between them. Her hand, slim and delicate, matching her ankles, blindly reached for her handbag, moving it to her other side away from him.

He crossed his legs and reached into the brown paper bag now on his lap. She glanced across at him briefly at the crinkling sound of wax paper being unwrapped from his tuna sandwich. He caught a glimpse of hazel eyes, slim nose, and small mouth before she bent back to her book.

Younger, he thought, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Quite pretty in a delicate sort of way.

As he took his first bite, he looked at her exposed knee. He wondered if her thighs were as slim as her calves suggested. He wondered what they might feel like. Did she shave her thighs? Were they stubbly or smooth?

He glanced at her breasts gently outlined by her blouse. They were smaller than he first thought. He wondered if they were perky. What were her areolae like? Were they a dark brown or light pink? Were her nipples small or large? How would they look when aroused?

He gazed into the distance, his eyes losing focus. He imagined his hand resting gently on her knee. She'd look up at him with a question in her eyes. He'd smile at her reassuringly. She'd smile back, a shy smile. He imagined his hand caressing her knee as it pushed the hem of her skirt up just a little, testing her response.

She'd look down at his hand not moving, her shyness giving him confidence. He'd slide his hand up just a bit feeling her silky smooth skin.

Sitting, chewing on his tuna sandwich, he felt a stir of arousal, that first little tingle inside, a pulse of blood in his penis.

He imagined how slim and firm her thigh would feel against his palm. In his imagination he applied pressure to her knee, urging her to uncross her legs. He felt the first stirring in his groin as he imagined her slowly uncrossing her legs, her head still bend to the book in her lap, and her hair a veil hiding her face.

His penis twitched again as he imagined her resist the pressure of his hand, her knees clasped tightly together. It thickened as he imagined slipping his fingers between soft thighs and gently applying more pressure. He felt his penis begin to lengthen, pushing into his crotch as he imagined the first movement of her leg, reluctantly separating, just slightly. He imagined his hand caressing her thigh, inching up slowly towards her panties. White satin bikini panties he decided.

His erection hardened pressing against his underwear, growing and throbbing as he imagined her pussy swaddled in satin, a plump peach between her legs, and the satin taut against her pussy with an indent of a camel toe outlining her cleft.

His penis leaked precum as he imagined the hint of her auburn pubic hairs dimpling the front panel of satin. He imagined his hand caressing higher, feeling the gentle swell of her thigh as he got closer and closer to her panties. He imagined the thrill as his pinkie touched warm satin.

His penis throbbed rhythmically and precum spread in his underwear as he imagined his pinkie sliding across her plump pubis, of the tremor he felt in her body. His excitement surged as he imagined her voluntarily spreading her legs for him, and his hand cupping her. He imagined how plump and warm it was in his hand and his middle finger curling, tracing the indent of her cleft, of the feel of her hooded clitoris sharply outlined.

His erection ached as he imagined feeling dampness on her panties, the first sign of her arousal. He imagined feeling her hot against his hand, feeling the dampness of her arousal spread as he pushed her panties against the opening of her vagina, rubbing her.

He imagined her moan as she felt his finger wriggle under the gusset of her satin panties, her head still bent, hair trembling. He imagined the feel of her silky pubic hair as his finger slipped between soft wet labia to touch her vagina and the erotic, exciting feel of a hymen on his fingertip. As he imagined thrusting his finger into her, her body jerking, and her squeal of surprise as his finger tore through her virginity, he climaxed, cum surging and blasting into his underwear in pulse after pulse, flooding his crotch with warmth and wetness.

"So," he said, "this doesn't appear too disturbing. Is this what's been bothering you?"

"That was only the first night. It's come back every night. And every night it has changed the stories, making them worse, making them dirtier."

"John. Let me ask you something. Do these stories arouse you when you're writing them? Do you get an erection as you write them? Do you climax?"

"NO! I DON'T. I don't get aroused or get an erection. Never." I felt outraged he had suggested it. But I knew my outrage was driven by what I had written two nights ago. It was so much worse.

"That's interesting. If you had been aroused by the story I'd have attributed the whole thing to your subconscious. The fact that it had the opposite effect is puzzling, I have to admit."

I watched him think. I started to feel uncomfortable. I knew he was going to ask me about each night.

He looked at the ball in his hand. He considered it for a moment before looking at his watch.

"How about I read these over the weekend? We can meet again on Monday." He consulted an agenda on the side table. "Let's say 4:30."

Fear chilled me at the thought of the three nights ahead. I couldn't even imagine what The Blackness would have me writing or how much worse it could be. It was hard to breathe. Panic inside my chest pressed against me.

"Uh, Keith. I'm not sure I can take three more days of this. You have to read that stuff to understand. You really need to read it. Please!"

Dr. Grayson watched the panic build in John's eyes. It seemed genuine. He thought about it. It certainly was an odd case, not quite like anything he'd seen before. He was puzzled by the discrepancy between a story that was obviously meant to be arousing and the lack of arousal John claimed, if that were true. But his distress was evident.

"I'll prescribe some more for you. Let's meet tomorrow, Saturday, say at 2:30. I'll read this before then. How does that sound?"

I felt a weight lift from my chest and I could breathe again. I wasn't that worried about seeing Dr. Grayson again. But the reassurance of an uninterrupted sleep sure felt good.

"John. Really. Call me Keith, or Dr. Keith if you prefer." He smiled as he said it, escorting me to the door of the cottage.

Dr. Grayson closed the door behind John. Deep in thought he returned to the small sitting room and poured a cup of tea. With the tea beside him he sorted and smoothed the rumpled papers until he was satisfied he had them in order. Picking up the teacup, he started reading.

She had caught his eye on the bus. Blond, fifteen, prim in her blue school skirt, knee high white socks in black leather shoes. It was the black tie on her white blouse that first drew his attention. She sat stiff and proper, her back straight and satchel on her lap, gazing at the passing homes as they slid by in a rain-swept blur.

He watched her, admiring her figure. Just over five feet tall, perhaps 100 pounds, a little on the small side he decided. He watched the swell of her breasts as they jiggled from the bus thumping over cracks in the road and wondered how big they were. A C cup? No, smaller, a B cup.

It was her lips that aroused him. Her small mouth with thin red lips seemed so cool, slightly disapproving, as if she was being asked what she thought of the summer rainstorm. He wondered what her straight blond shoulder length hair would feel like as he combed his fingers through it and how small her ears might be. Would she have earrings or ear studs, just one or many? He wondered how soft her cheeks would be as he let his fingers trail across her alabaster skin.

His eyes turned to the blur of passing suburban scenery, losing focus as he imagined. He imagined what he might do.

In his imagination he saw her rise from her seat, holding onto a rail as the bus rattled over a drain, inertia tugging her body as the bus decelerated for its stop. He stood up and moved closer to her as the bus came to a halt, leaning forward to smell her. At the whoosh of doors opening he followed her down the steps, pausing to see which way she'd go. He liked the way her breasts were outlined as she held her satchel over head, a makeshift umbrella.

He chuckled. Her hair may be dry but he saw her lacy bra emerge as dampness spread across and down her blouse. It excited him. So did her bottom. The swish of her skirt enhanced the sway of buttocks underneath and, as he followed her down the deserted suburban residential street, he longed to get a peek at her panties.

Her pace increased as she neared her destination, a two story detached with a carport to the side. The small house looked well cared for and neat. But what set his blood pumping was the vacant appearance, no lights in the windows or at the front door. In the growing late afternoon dusk it was perfect.

He closed in as she turned up the drive and grabbed her from behind before she reached the door. With a hand over her mouth and another around her small waist he lifted her, carrying her to the side, under the carport and around to the back. He saw what he had expected, high hedges providing privacy and a garden shed at the back. He carried her struggling body to the shed, leaned close and whispered harshly in her ear.

Her trembling hand fumbled with the door latch before it opened with a squeak from rusted hinges. Setting her down, he shoved her inside and followed her, pulling the door closed behind him. In the gloomy light he watched her turn to face him, her eyes, blue he noticed, wide open in fright. The fear shining out aroused him, he was getting hard.

He stared at her. He spoke slowly as if to a child, enunciating every word to make sure she understood.

"If you do what I tell you, exactly what I tell you, I won't rape you. Do you understand?"

"You will strip. Take off all your clothes. Don't try to hide yourself. If you do it will make me angry. Do you understand?"

He watched her standing frozen, staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights. He leaned towards her, startling her. She dropped her satchel to the ground.

As he leaned forward again, her head fell, her blond hair fell forward and trembling hands reached up to the tie at her neck. Her shaking knees made him harder. He enjoyed the sight of her fear, her hands moving slowly and her blouse teasingly opening, her bra peeking through.

He reached into his pants unseen, straightening his erection to point it up, to relieve the pressure of his confining underwear. His hand paused holding his hot erection as her blouse fell to the floor. Breath inhaled at the sight of her small young breasts nestled in white lace. He could see pink through the lace and the bumps of her nipples, erect from fear.

His anticipation built as her hands unzipped the side of her pleated school skirt, his breath panting. He wondered if her panties would match her lacy bra. He groaned, precum dampening his palm as the skirt fell over the youthful flare of her hips to the floor and her lacy bikini panties were exposed.

She was beautiful, a young filly at the height of youthful sexuality, alluring in the lingerie she had worn for her pleasure, hidden from the sight of boys by a modest school uniform.

With his hand still shoved down his pants he squeezed his erection like a dirty old man, drooling at the innocent, virginal, and erotic sight.

Her hands reached between small breasts. A snick was heard as the plastic closure popped open. Shoulder straps fell down her arms to her elbows, still bent holding the bra cups to her, trying to protect her modesty. Her fear made her hesitant. It inflamed him. She didn't realize she was putting on a slow sensual striptease for the monster in front of her.

As her hands dropped, her head was still bent towards the floor, too scared to look at him, to see the evil in front of her making her do nasty things. He gasped at her proud breasts, firm and upright, almost conical, feint blue veins under her alabaster skin, and topped with pink areolae and tiny hard nipples. Yes, B cup he thought lasciviously.

He imagined how they would feel in his mouth as he sucked them hard, forcing her areola to turn dark red and pucker, as he nibbled on her small nipples, and as he bit them making her cry out. Panting, he gripped his erection firmly, precum sliding over the crown onto his fingers.

He tore his eyes from her breasts and ogled her flat stomach, then her lacy panties. Straining in the gloom he couldn't see any pubic hair behind the lacy front panel. He wondered if she shaved. His excitement built.

Jerkily her hands griped the waistband at each hip. They paused, moving again only after she inhaled deeply, tremulously. His eyes were riveted. Does she shave?

In a single move she shoved her panties down, bending at the waist to push them to her ankles. He felt the stirrings inside as she straightened. He gasped again. Her pussy was covered in a thin mat of blonde, almost white pubic hair, a prominent vee between her legs with just the tip of her clit poking out, nestled between pink lips. He throbbed at sight of her pubis protruding down between the gap in her thighs.

She knelt, a naked virgin with her head bowed as if in prayer, her hands hanging at her side.

Her head rose slowly with eyes closed. As it straightened fully she opened them. Blue, piercing blue shot through him. Icy from hatred mixed with fear. It excited him.

Staring at her he pulled his hand out of his pants, unbuckled his worn leather belt, unzipped his fly, popped open the button and let them fall to the floor, his erection starkly outlined inside his grimy underwear.

A grin, a nasty, evil grin broke on his face as he saw disgust in her expression, his anticipation building. He hooked the front waist of his underwear and pulled it away from his body, then down slowly to reveal his hard penis to her. He was thrilled by her horror, knowing how he would affect her life, be part of her in the coming years. She'd dream of him, he thought excitedly.

Precum drooled down his penis as she opened her mouth revealing small pearly white teeth and a little pink tongue. He moved towards her, his shaft gripped in his hand, staring at her small-lipped open mouth and pink tongue. He knew how it would feel as his penis stretched her mouth wide, as her lips slipped down the flared head, as he felt first her hot little tongue, and then her warm moist mouth surrounding him. He knew how it would feel as his penis pulsed wildly, as precum leaked over her tongue, as the head expanded inside her. He knew how it would feel as he shoved against the back of her mouth, as she gagged, and as the first heavy pulse of cum burned up his shaft.

Sitting on the bus seat, his hips twitched as he came explosively inside his pants, legs crossed and semen spreading warmly in his crotch.

Dr. Grayson let his hands drop to his lap, printed pages held lightly, lost in thought. There were a few things that disturbed him, not the two stories themselves, but the progression between them.

The second story was more violent. You could feel a rage building. That wasn't good. The other bothersome detail was the victim. She was younger, noticeably so. He wasn't sure what to make of that.

He poured another cup of tea and turned on a small floor lamp before returning to his chair. After a sip of tea he picked up the papers shuffling through them to the next story and started reading.

He watched Lisa as she chased after her new Labrador puppy in the back yard next door. He smiled at her endless store of energy and of the Lab's even larger reserve. There was something about the joy of youth, her loud laughing, her giggling, and her irrepressible enthusiasm that he found charming.

As he leaned against the kitchen sink watching them play, he admired Lisa. With no kids of his own he had watched her grow in the last four years since they'd moved in. He'd watched as the chubby child of nine seemed to melt off fat and sprout into a gangly thirteen year old.

Her dark, dark brown curly mop of hair had transformed over time into a cascade of dark shiny curls that streamed out behind her as she ran, or fell in soft waves over her shoulders when at rest. He loved how her body had grown like a joke on nature, skinny, with arms too long and feet too large, out of proportion to her height.

As he reminisced, he remembered his shock, only two months ago, when Lisa had lain out in her yard to sunbathe. She had appeared as he was sipping coffee in his usual place by the kitchen counter. She'd strolled out, so ladylike in her first bikini. For the first time he saw how pubescence was setting in. Her hips seemed to flare slightly, emphasizing a pleasing new shapeliness of her thighs. Her red bikini against her almond skin enhanced contours of her body, contours he'd never noticed before. He found himself admiring the pleasant new prominence of her bottom and the surprising gentle swell of newly budding breasts poking against her bikini top.

It had shocked him when he realized his perception of her was different. She was no longer a child but a flowering young woman at that most attractive stage, budding pubescence. And as he stood watching her chase her puppy, he wondered how much her breasts had grown since then, and whether she had any pubic hair. He felt an erection form as he tried to picture her pussy. His hand fell unconsciously to rub his crotch as he envisioned her in that red bikini, big dark brown eyes looking up at him from under thick lashes, and a grin on her face.

"Look," she'd say, pulling the front of her bikini bottoms from her stomach. "I've got hairs growing."

He pushed his sweats down, grabbed his erection and masturbated furiously to the sight of Lisa playing, dreams of her pussy clouding his mind, semen spurting out in long ropes to splash against the cupboard below the sink in a very satisfying climax.

It felt so good he did it again the next day, and again whenever he saw her in the back yard. When she didn't appear, he felt disappointment inside. As the weeks slipped by and autumn became winter, he became progressively more obsessed. His disappointment at not seeing her slowly evolved into anger at her avoiding him.

She filled his dreams at night and he'd catch himself thinking about her at work. The same thoughts seemed to haunt him. What did her tits look like, were they firm and hard? Did they hurt or ache as they grew? Did her nipples get hard? Did she play with them, pull them, or caress them?

Did she have any pubic hair? Would they be sparse straight little hairs? Were they emerging at the top of her pussy mound or on her lips? How soft would they feel against his fingers as he slipped his hand down the front of her panties?

He masturbated at night, his passion inflamed as he imagined seeing Lisa on her bed at night, on her back, on top of the covers, pulling her nightgown up her legs and above her sky blue cotton bikini panties. She'd caress her unusually prominent mound, her fingers probing and pushing into the gusset of her panties with her plump lips bulging out around her middle finger.

She'd gasp as her finger found her hooded clit, fingers moving faster to stimulate her little pleasure button hidden inside, and her arousal would show as a damp stain emerging in the gusset of her panties. He saw her thrust her hand under the waist of her panties, the lump inside showing her hand's progress as she reached down to touch her pussy, horny and desperate for sweet release. Her fingers blurred as she rubbed her clit faster and faster, side-to-side, then up and down.

He saw her chest heave, her eyes tightly shut and a small frown between her eyebrows as her climax neared. And he felt his own orgasm erupt, his penis pulsing, spitting rope after rope of cum onto his stomach as he pictured her body arching off the bed, the wet spot in her panties blooming, and fingers flashing as she climaxed calling out his name.

His obsession built through the winter as she teased and taunted him relentlessly, her smile telling him "look but don't touch," as she'd leave for school in the morning, his back sore from ploughing the drive. He knew her bright "Hi" greeting when she'd see him was an adolescent code for "I'm off limits, you'll never touch me," her tight bottom swinging seductively as she climbed the steps to her front door.

By early spring he was watching Lisa through her bedroom window, erection gripped tightly in his fist, stroking as he'd watch her slip her t-shirt over her head. He'd groan at the sight of her tight little tits held in her modest cotton bra, and her delectable rounded ass cheeks cradled by soft white cotton, so well worn he could see the dark shadow of her crease between firm globes. He'd climax as she'd emerge from her walk-in closet, her hands held high slipping a nightgown over her head, the action making the outline of her nipples appear and her panties pull up into a camel toe in her slit.

He made plans. He'd show her. She shouldn't be allowed to tease adults like that, tease him like that. There were consequences.

It was 1:15 in the morning when he slipped over the ledge of her window, landing softly on his bare feet. He stood quietly, listening for a change in her breathing, any indication she was aware of him. Reassured, he moved to the bedroom door, the snick of the lock echoed loudly in the silence.

Moving towards her he studied the young girl, his mind working feverishly to figure out the fastest way to subdue her, restrain her, and strip her. Fast, it had to be fast.

There was a loud rasp as he peeled off a piece of duct tape followed by a tearing sound. Armed, he pulled her shoulder gently, rolling her from her side to her back. As her eyes bolted open he slammed the duct tape across her mouth, his knees straddled her writhing body under the blanket, imprisoning her arms against her side.

An evil grin spread on his lips outlined by his woollen ski mask. Now you'll pay, he thought, as his erection strained at the fear in her wide eyes. Moving fast now he pulled the covers off her struggling body and flipped her over easily, her 95 pounds nothing in his hands. More duct tape bound her wrists behind her back and his excitement strengthened at her moans and shaking head.

Lifting her torso, he flipped her face up, shoving the covers down between his legs, using the weight of his ass to restrain her flailing legs.

He felt a thrill, a surge of arousal as her eyes popped, seeing his erection throbbing and pulsing with slimy precum oozing from the tip. He reached behind him and picked up the scissors. Slowly he cut her nightgown from bottom to top, his erection bobbing as his anticipation built, as he contemplated seeing the naked body of this thirteen year old prick tease for the first time.

He yanked open her nightgown, gawping at her childish bra with little tit mounds, and at her pussy pushing against cotton panties, her slit teasing him. He heard it, her pussy calling to him, 'here I am, all yours, stud'.

With a slight tremble in his hand, he cut the center of her bra and inhaled sharply as it snapped to the sides revealing perfect little tits, firm and proud, tiny puckered pink nipples excited to see him. He cut the sides of her panties and pulled the front panel down. His penis throbbed wildly at the sight of her pubescent pussy dusted with small pubic hairs, her slit clearly visible and the hood of her clit nestled between puffy lips.

Her head shook side to side, eyes wide in terror. He gripped his erection and smiled evilly at her as he stroked himself. 'Look at this' he said in his mind, 'can you see how big you've made me? Do you regret it now? Too late little girl.'

He stroked himself faster, his eyes flicking between her tits and her cunt, picturing his penis tearing into her, blood spurting as her cherry tore, her muffled scream as he violently thrust his erection up her cunt to slam against her cervix, her body arching in pain.

He came, semen bursting out and splattering her face across her lips and chin. He groaned as a second load landed with a splat on her chest between her little tits, her muffled squeals and wriggling adding to his pleasure. He heaved again, cum spitting onto her belly, collecting with each pulse and slowly dripping across her writhing stomach to slip over her side. He was in ecstasy as he watched her covered in his slimy cum, sweat popping out on his forehead.

Dr. Grayson again let his hand fall to his lap as he thought about this story. Again there were disturbing signs revealed, a progression of actions increasingly explicit. It was no longer an imagination being explored in the story, it had become direct action. This was ominous.

The story also revealed a significant increase in interaction with the victim, suggesting a building of courage in the molester. His victim now had a name; his victims were becoming more personal. He had also achieved a climax with his victim for the first time. This was serious.

But perhaps most disturbing was the continued trend to younger victims. From eighteen with the first, to fifteen for the second, and now to thirteen with this victim, this was disturbing.

He wondered why, if this was John's subconscious acting out, John didn't get aroused. He wondered if perhaps it wasn't John's subconscious at play. But could it be self-punishment of some sort? He needed to know more about John's childhood and his current family life.

He shuffled the paper to find the Tuesday story and started reading as he stood and paced around the small sitting room, his familiarity with the surroundings evident in his unconscious, deft sidestepping around obstacles.

As I twisted on the mat around my ten-year-old niece, I sneaked surreptitious touches of her forbidden places. I slipped a hand under her skirt to brush against her small bottom, giving me a little tingle of pleasure from the illicitness of the act. I grabbed her around her small chest then let her slide out of my hold, my hand sliding across two newly sprouted tiny bumps, the first manifestation of the hormones flooding her body.

Her giggles thrilled me, reminding me of how young and innocent she was. I was so turned on by her virginal and innocent youth. As she contorted to find the red circle on the Twister mat, I let my hand slide up her little arm, her soft skin with baby soft hair tickling my palm. I studied her body as her increasingly acrobatic moves taunted and teased, showing off her beautiful prepubescent body, her flat stomach as she arched her back, her t-shirt sliding up to reveal soft bare skin, or her small bubble butt as she bent, round and firm.

In my mind I reviewed how I had groomed her. From four years old I had started hugging and touching her over her clothes, paying careful attention to never touch her inappropriately. I had taken hidden pleasure in her scent, that unique little girl smell I found so erotic, and of running my fingers through the silky soft curls of her short-cut light brown hair.

I had cupped her tiny bottom as I hugged her, holding her off the floor as my excuse for fondling her bum.

Over the years I had been careful, so careful. I introduced tickling as an excuse to touch other parts of her body and slowly allowed myself to extend the tickling onto her velvety soft bare skin. Oh yes, I had taken my time.

In her ninth year I had felt the crease of her bottom from outside her panties, just my fingertips tracing the hidden valley lightly, but it had been enough to help me achieve a strong climax that night. She hadn't noticed or shown any signs that she found my actions unusual.

Samantha's giggles brought me out of my reverie. I realized I had been looking at her bottom, so deliciously outlined in pink panties as she bent for a blue spot. I grinned as I saw her peering out from under her arm, light brown eyes glinting.

"Darling, when you've got such a beautiful bottom, never be embarrassed at boys looking at it."

I grinned again and grabbed her, pulling her off her precariously balanced position to fall on top of me. I slipped my hand under her skirt and onto her bottom.

"Now I'm touching them," I said with a big smile. "Nice, pink and soft. You've got a lovely bottom."

Her eyes lost a little of the glint as she reached behind her to pull my hand away.

As she frowned at me in disapproval a red haze descended over my brain. Fuck. I've invested six years in you. You can't just stop now.

My eyes narrowed and my pupils turned to pinpricks. My voice deepened as rational thought was subdued by the haze in my mind.

Samantha felt the first stirrings of fear. She'd never seen this look in her uncle before. What did it mean? Why was he looking at her so strangely?

"Nnnno. I didn't mean that." The first stirrings of fear made her voice tremble slightly.

"Mommy said no one should touch me there." She said it with sudden defiance. Her mommy had told her, had warned her, men who touched her there were bad. Her uncle was being bad.

I growled at the thought of my sister trying to thwart my plans. The red mist in my mind morphed into a fog. I pushed her off me and rose to my feet. Reaching down I grabbed her wrist, yanking her to her feet. Turning, I pulled her towards the bedroom.

"I'm your uncle. I'm your mother's older brother. I know what's right better than she does," I told her.

My blood pressure increased as I threw my niece on the bed, her body bouncing on the mattress, arms flying out and her skirt flipping up to her stomach. I glared at her.

She saw her uncle change. It was his stare that scared her as it changed from anger into something else, as he ogled her exposed pink panties. It changed into something that frightened her more.

I couldn't tear my eyes away from her pink panties, the bulge of her prepubescent pussy pressing tightly against pink cotton. My penis engorged and unfurled into a rigid erection as I stared at the camel toe outlining her cleft.

I watched her pink panties darken at her crotch with pee, my mind misinterpreting it as the lubricating moisture of her arousal. I grabbed her ankle to stop her as she wriggled away from me trying to escape.

"Beautiful, beautiful," I muttered as I salaciously ogled her hairless cunt and her tiny slit waiting for me to touch, the liquid of her arousal glistening on her lips.

Holding her ankle, I undid my pants, forcing them down to release my erect penis, now drooling precum in my sexual frenzy.

I tugged her leg pulling her closer, and her skirt slipped higher bringing her cunt nearer to me. Taking her other ankle in my hand I pulled her legs apart, and my vision narrowed to her slit as it opened to reveal her hooded clit and immature inner lips.

Growling, I moved towards her, my erection throbbing painfully as I stared at her moist vagina, an impossibly tiny hole at the bottom of her little slit. It beckoned, 'here I am' it teased, 'I need you'.

My hands gripped her thighs and yanked her to the edge of the bed. I was on fire at the sight of my huge erection, made so much bigger by the smallness of her immature cunt. Grabbing my hard shaft I pushed my penis down.

Blood thundered in my ears as I felt her cunt for the first time, hot and soft against my erection. I pushed between her lips and dragged it up, her lips embracing the crown as if welcoming me. I pushed against her clit then dragged it back down through puffy reddened lips.

As I lodged the tip against her cherry I threw my head back and roared, cum surging up my erection to explode against the opening of her vagina. I felt warmth bathe my cock as she squirted hot liquid over me, my lust hazed brain again misinterpreting her pee. Another load of cum surged, exploding into her tiny cunt. My vision dimmed as sexual bliss surged through my body.

I felt another agonizing pulse and cum spurted up in the air, splashing down on her pussy, soaking her. I heaved and roared through my climax until, finally, my orgasm crested, my spurts weakened, and sweat dripped down my temples.

Dr. Grayson had stopped pacing as he read. His concern was growing stronger with each line. The story had devolved into molestation faster than the previous stories, a sign of self-control eroding. It had turned dangerously personal moving into the first person perspective.

Just as disturbing was the continued trend towards younger females, this one only ten years old. But, most alarming was the progression to a familial victim, a niece. Whatever this was, it was getting closer to home. It didn't bode well for John.

He sat again, oblivious to the darkness of night outside the window, absorbed as he turned to the last story, Wednesday night's story and started to read.

I felt surprisingly refreshed as I knocked at the quaint front door of Dr. Grayson's cottage. I'd had a restful and restorative sleep for two nights running now.

Pam hadn't been impressed when I had gleefully tried to explain the economic value of spending only $200, talking for an hour and snagging a prescription for a week's worth of sleeping pills. She was unmoved by my rationale of the benefits, of a happier, more productive member of the family.

And she was frowning by the time I was trying to explain the relative value of my achievement compared to the cost of illegal acquisitions on the black market.

But it was probably my suggestion of how she could capitalize on the newly refreshed libido of her husband that made her interrupt.

"Sean, this isn't a joke. If there wasn't something wrong, Dr. Grayson wouldn't have given up time on the weekend to see you. You've got to take this seriously! Promise me you'll listen to him and follow his advice."

Of course, the problem with that was I had been planning on stretching out the sessions long enough for this problem to disappear on its own, with the help of sleeping pills, of course. But she made me promise, which meant I'd actually have to participate in any remedial action. Shit!

He startled me. He probably thought I'd lost half my IQ points in the last 24 hours as I stood there with my mouth open.

"Um, excuse me. Good afternoon." There, I'd restored my dignity with an appropriately formal greeting. His grin suggested it hadn't worked.

As I plonked myself into that surprisingly comfortable couch, I noticed he was casually dressed in jeans, golf shirt, light gray I noticed wryly, and house slippers on bare feet. But his eyes were quite serious. I felt a little nervousness creep in.

"John, I read the stories and before we talk about them, tell me about your early family life."

Now I may be having some problems, actually a lot of problems, but I could see what he was digging for, especially after that last story.

"It's not that . . . Keith. I grew up in a perfectly normal home, one older brother, no sisters, a loving mom and an absent father."

"I imagine it was quite normal. High school girlfriend, my age, sixteen if I remember. We did the usual stuff. You know, kissing, petting, me chasing after her and, if I may say so myself, brilliantly seducing her. We were both virgins."

"There's nothing left to tell. We had sex once, it was disappointing for her, fabulous for me. I hadn't figured out that I was responsible for giving her pleasure at that point. She subtly let me know how she felt by flatly refusing to have sex again."

"Keith, why don't you come out and ask me directly? I have a wonderful, understanding wife and a cute as a button seven-year-old daughter. I assure you there's never been an inappropriate thought or action on my part. In fact, it never entered my mind. Come to think of it, I haven't even seen my daughter naked in over two years."

"John, relax. I have to ask these questions. It would be professionally unethical if I didn't. What still puzzles me is that you say you have no trace of arousal as you type the stories."

"Are the stories dictated to you in detail by The Blackness, or are you constructing them?"

"Hmm. It's sort of like a Pavlovian process, like I mentioned yesterday. It yells and seriously hurts when I don't respond in the right way. I'll give you an example. When I typed in twenty-eight for the girl's age the first time, it didn't tell me what age to change it to, it just told me 'younger'. Then it was a combination of pain and pressure in my brain as I adjusted her age to something it wanted."

Dr. Grayson observed John as he answered questions. He seemed like he was being honest and, humour aside, he thought John might be telling the truth. This set up a bit of a conundrum. He had read the last story yesterday evening and had sat for quite a while thinking about it.

John's situation was somewhat different than he was used to dealing with. And regardless of whether it was his subconscious or some form of demonic possession, unlikely he thought, the treatment, the only treatment he could think of, was the same.

"John, this is going to be tough for you. I don't know if 'The Blackness' is your subconscious or something else. It really doesn't matter though. What I believe is that it's feeding off you. It's your fear or revulsion that it needs. If we can address that, it might end up leaving you alone."

"Well, you need to implement a process that allows you to manipulate your current conceptions and perspectives in such a way that the process achieves a progressive evolution to your mores, allowing you to gradually alter your perceptions and adjust your thoughts and feelings, thereby starving it of nutrition."

"In simple terms you have to like the stories. Unfortunately you can't fake it. It is your brain after all. If you like them 'The Blackness' won't feel any satisfaction. Eventually it'll give up."

I'm no rocket scientist, and admittedly his first explanation had sounded like gobbledygook, but I understood clearly what his second clarification implied. I smiled at his pun.

"You're crazy!" See how adaptable and quick thinking I was? And articulate to boot.

"How about a disciplined regimen of sleeping pills? Say, once a day for the next few years?"

"Do you want to be cured or not? Delaying it won't get rid of the problem. And you cannot live on sleeping aids forever."

"Doc . . . Keith. It's not that I don't want to cure the problem. It's the cure that's too much. Do you have any idea what you're asking?"

"I have a very good idea, John. I also have a very good idea of how hard it will be for you. But, in my professional opinion, it's the only solution."

"I can't . . . No, I can't. I mean I wouldn't even know how to . . . Think about it. How could I?"

"There are ways, John. But before I discuss a course of treatment you have to decide. Either you accept treatment or you let things continue. Based on the progression of the stories, there's no telling what will happen. You need to think about protecting your family as well."

"I can't. I just can't." This was very distressing. I simply could not envision it. It wasn't me. Thinking about what Dr. Grayson was suggesting had my heart pounding.

"John. Take the weekend to think about everything. Have you discussed the details with your wife?"

"Well that's your decision. Her support would be beneficial to you. Perhaps you're underestimating her. She might understand. If it would make it easier, I could talk to her."

It was too much for me to process. I think I mumbled a 'thank you' as I stumbled out of his cottage. I know I was in a fog all the way home.

I sat staring at the TV. Linda had been fed, washed and put to bed without any interference from me. Well, truthfully, without any help from me. I had a beer in one hand, still full, and a mind ticking over like a Nascar engine at full throttle.

"So, John, what did Dr. Grayson say that's so upset you?" and, "It's not good to bottle it up. Talk to me." See? Subtle.

I didn't hear the phone ring at nine o'clock, I didn't notice Pam leaving to answer it, and I didn't see her returning.

I looked at her. Still beautiful in my eyes, dark short hair, incredibly expressive warm brown eyes, Egyptian nose, and attractive mouth framed by an oval face. But she had that 'uh-oh' look in her eyes. You know the one. That 'uh-oh, you're in trouble' look.

"That was Dr. Grayson on the phone. He wanted to remind you of your Monday appointment at 10:30. He also asked if I wanted to see him at 9:30. Why would he want to see me, John?"

See? Uh-oh. I felt panic start in my chest and for a moment I was frozen in indecision. Should I tell her? Should I let Dr. Grayson tell her? But I knew if I wasn't the one to tell her, I'd never be able to live with myself.

It all seemed to pour out of me. I told her everything. I was honest in relating the stories and told her how I felt as it was happening. She sat silently, brown eyes watching me as it all came out.

I expected her to get up and slap me in the face when I finished, or leave the den, or at least show disgust in her eyes. She didn't.

"Okay then. You have to go through the treatment. I have some questions but I'll save them for Dr. Grayson on Monday."

And that was that. She didn't probe, she didn't ask for more details, nor did she ask what the treatment consisted of, not that I could tell her; I had no idea.

Pam had felt shock as John had described what was happening. She'd felt him leave the bed at night and seen how he looked the next morning, but she thought it was nightmares, not this. It was funny though. As he went into the details, as she became progressively more horrified, never for one minute did she believe John was capable of any of it. It was completely contrary to his nature. But her motherly protectiveness couldn't stop her from asking about Linda. That night in bed she hugged him close.

"I understand Dr. Grayson. What concerns me is any lasting impact it will have on John. I mean you're talking about a major change. How can it not continue to affect him?"

"Mrs. Sanderson, part of the process will rely on you. You're going to have to make a special effort, as we discussed. The rest of the process is a course of treatment he'll have to go through after 'The Blackness' has disappeared."

"Yes. You need to be vigilant. I did say this wasn't without some risk. But I believe, between the two of us, we'll be able to steer John through safely, safe for you, John, and your daughter."

As Dr. Grayson escorted her to the door, he added, "Remember, keep me informed. And if you have any questions or see anything, you must call me."

"I assume from your wife and your presence here that you've decided to go ahead with the treatment."

I hadn't, not really. I wasn't quite prepared to agree to something I knew nothing about.

"That's fair, John. What we are going to do is put you through a program to achieve a progressive sensitization and build interest, a round of immunization against selected stimuli, followed by a controlled exposure to The Blackness, and eventually another program to desensitize the aspects that might create ongoing issues."

"Er, perhaps you could elucidate me as to the nature of your proposed course of treatment in such a way that might allow for the concepts to be processed for maximum clarity and ensure an educated decision might be attained."

I always seemed to respond to stress with wry humour, don't know why. I just do. But at least it made him smile.

"I'm going to show you material. You are going to describe what you see. I will then guide you to become personally involved, changing your feelings about what you see."

"Doc . . . Keith, it can't work. You can't change a person's core beliefs or feelings."

"John, it can and does work. You need to take two weeks of afternoons off work. We'll run sessions every day. It might not need that much time, but best be safe."

I felt somewhat nervous about this, understandably. I knew what he was talking about and could already feel a bit embarrassed.

"I already have. She understands perfectly and we've talked about her role in this."

So there I was, sitting in Dr. Grayson's small office, a tiny room at the back of his cottage, in darkness. A 27" LCD monitor sitting on a table two feet in front of me as I tried to relax in a leather armchair. Dr. Grayson was somewhere behind me. I couldn't see him.

The screen filled with a movie. A young man walked into a bedroom, his hand leading a girl in. Fifteen would be my guess. They seem quite happy as they hugged one another. He seemed to be only slightly older, a bit of bum-fluff around his lips suggesting he was probably seventeen.

They started kissing, lightly at first, but I saw their heads tilt and mouths open as his hand slipped through her blonde hair.

She arched towards him pushing small breasts against his chest, moaning as the kiss deepened and his hands slipped to her lower back. As their heads tilted to the opposite sides there was a glimpse of their tongues intertwined. His hands slipped down to cup her jean-clad buttocks, nice buttocks, tight and round.

"John, imagine how her buttocks would feel in your hands, how taut and firm. Don't you want to slip them inside the waist of her jeans? Feel her firm buttocks in silky panties?"

I did. So did the boy. He slowly brought his hands up to her lower back and, after a slight hesitation, slipped them under her jeans, pulling her groin against his as he cupped her compact bottom. They both moaned, their lips locked together.

She moved first, a small grind against his crotch. The boy reacted with alacrity, pushing his groin back against her and moaning as he pulled his hands from her bottom to slip them under her t-shirt. I heard the sound of a bra clasp opening.

"John, can you imagine his excitement? Her bra is loose. He's thinking about cupping her small breasts in his hands, and how firm and perky they'll feel."

They broke their kiss, her lips red and inflamed, eyes bright. As his hands started pulling her t-shirt up, she moved back, smiling as she raised her arms. The t-shirt revealed her flat stomach and her stretched abdominal muscles before her loose bra appeared, hanging on her breasts. I saw him look at them as he dropped the t-shirt on the floor. I heard him gasp, as did I, when her arms lowered and her bra fell away. She had perfect breasts, not a hint of sag, prominently protruding, and topped with pink nipples.

She smiled at him shyly, a hint of rosy red on her cheeks, embarrassed at him seeing her for the first time, but thrilled non-the-less.

He stared at them as his handed pulled his tee over his head, his chest hairless, with the underdeveloped muscles of youth.

"John, he's thinking of her panties. He's wondering what color they might be, what style, silk or cotton. Imagine how hard he is from the anticipation."

They looked at each other smiling, still shy. But only briefly, his eyes dropping to her hands as they unhooked the button of her jeans, moved to the zipper, and I heard it as she unzipped. My pulse rate ticked up.

I heard him moan again as black satin appeared. I was holding my breath as she lowered her jeans with an erotic wiggle of her hips, her breasts becoming conical mounds of delight as she bent pushing her jeans past her knees. My eyes focused on her panty-clad bottom as she bent, so round and sculpted, curved and alluring.

As she stood, my erection was complete. From the side her mons swept out inside her panties, starkly enhanced by shadows created by sunlight behind them.

"John, imagine his pulse rate, his heart pounding in his chest as he looks at his young girlfriend in silky panties standing in front of him. Imagine his excitement as he thinks of seeing what's underneath, as he thinks about her pubic hair, about her parents not due home for another two hours, about slipping his hand down the front of her panties, about touching her, the feel of her soft young pubic hair against his fingers, of sliding his hand down to cup her, of the moisture of her arousal against his middle finger."

It did. It reminded me of my first girlfriend and brought back all those feelings of excitement at seeing a real girl naked for the first time.

I felt somewhat guilty that night as Pam and I made love for the first time in almost two weeks. As we moved together in sensual delight, images flickered through my mind, a collage of the girl in the movie, my first girlfriend, and my wife when we first made love.

But the orgasm it induced was tremendously satisfying, and my guilt seemed to melt away. Post coital lethargy and the sleeping pill pulled at me.

Pam enjoyed John's renewed enthusiasm. He hadn't talked about his session with Dr. Grayson, but the doctor had told her in that morning's meeting what John would be exposed to. She was satisfied with their lovemaking and she had achieved a climax, but a small part of her worried about what was to come.

I saw the movie start. A boy and girl in a back yard, sun bright, lawn well trimmed, and a crystal clear swimming pool fronting a cabana.

The boy was young, perhaps thirteen, matching the age of the girl. She wore a green bikini that emphasized her blossoming body, small tight bottom, slim hips not yet matured, and tiny breasts poking out of her top. I figured them to be an A cup, maybe a B. Very nice.

I watched them jump into the pool with youthful enthusiasm, splashing as they raced each other to the end. There was no sound, just a movie playing on the monitor.

They played tag, laughed, and dove off the side of the pool; kids having fun. As they frolicked, their games evolved. He grabbed her ankle and pulled, and she turned to splash water in his face, laughing, her eyes sparkling with amusement, her dark hair plastered to her face. He splashed her back, grinning. Suddenly they were splashing each other in a mad frenzy of foaming water, sparkling in the sunlight. It looked magical to me.

As they tired and stopped, I smiled at the way they just stood and looked at each other, shy grins on their faces. I enjoyed their discomfort with each other. I could imagine their hesitancy, how unsure they were, and the new feelings that were strangers to their minds. It was charming.

They started talking and drifted to the steps leading down into the water. I watched them sit, side by side, heads turned to each other, their smiles and laughter building familiarity and ease.

As they edged nearer to each other, their conversation fell silent, looking at each other. Their hesitancy was cute. I could see Linda in the future as she discovered the first stirrings of attraction to the opposite sex.

"John, what do you think he's thinking right now? Is he wondering if she'll let him kiss her? Can you feel the tense excitement he's feeling as he imagines kissing her sweet red lips, his excitement at his first kiss? Can you feel his apprehension?"

The boy leaned towards her slightly. She smiled to him in encouragement, excitement glistening in her eyes. She thought him cute and sexy.

"Imagine how thrilled he's feeling, the touch of her soft lips against his. He feels a tingling inside as he realizes he's kissing Jennifer, the most popular girl in class, the one you mooned over and dreamed about. Remember? Can you remember your first kiss, the stiffy in your underwear, the excitement? Do you remember thinking 'I'm kissing a girl' and the surge of arousal you felt?"

I remembered. Mary, sweet Mary. Mary with the boobs. Mary of my first kiss. I remembered the painful erection her lips caused, and I felt a stirring at the memory.

I watched the boy rest his hand on her shoulder tentatively, and the girl turn her body just enough. The boy's hand moved to her side and slowly crept up until it hesitantly touched her tiny breast over her bikini. They pushed their lips together harder, lips still closed.

"Do you remember your first touch of a breast, John? How exciting it was to finally feel one? How small it was, and the hard little nipple pressing to your palm? Do you remember how your penis throbbed at the feel in your hand? How you marvelled at the firmness as you squeezed it, as you imagined seeing it bare? Do you remember how you masturbated that night imagining her whisper to you shyly, 'you can see them if you want', how you trembled as you pulled the bikini cups away from her chest and looked down? How you spurted cum imagining seeing her tiny little breasts nestled in the bra with hard little nipples pushing against her bikini? Do you remember?"

As I watched the boy lean over and peer down her bikini, pulling it away from her chest, I felt a raging erection form.

"It aroused me, to be honest doctor. But it was my memories that really did it."

A girl, the same age but different, was sitting on a boys lap sideways, on a brown leather couch. Her dark curly hair hid his face from view. They were kissing, or it appeared that way from the tilt of her head. He had one hand resting on her yellow skirt, the other at the middle of her back.

His hand started rubbing her back, up and down no more than six inches. She must have liked it as her bottom shifted on his lap. I saw his other hand move. He started caressing her thigh gently and I heard her moan. I watched in rapt fascination as his fingers slipped between her knees.

"Can you imagine, John, how soft the inside of her knees are? How silky her skin feels? Imagine how he feels, how he's imagining slipping his hand under her skirt, wondering if she'll let him. Can you feel his excitement grow, the beating of his heart as he thinks about her panties, about touching them?"

I could. I imagined the thrill of my hand inching up Mary's thigh, how exciting the anticipation had been, of the images it had created in my mind.

The boys hand started caressing the inside of her thigh, the top of his hand slipping partly under her skirt. His other hand moved down her back and tugged her blouse out of her skirt, slipping underneath.

"Imagine the feel of her bare skin, of the anticipation of feeling her bra strap. He's thinking of unhooking it. He's excited, imagining her small breasts swinging free. Do you feel it?"

I did. I watched his hand move up, imagining that first thrill of touching a girl's bra, and of how erotic the first touch was.

The boys hand on her thigh distracted me as it disappeared under her cotton skirt. She shifted her bottom again and I saw her knees part slightly in invitation.

"John, can you imagine his excitement as she moves her thighs apart? Can you feel his erection straining in his tight jeans as his hand slips higher? Can you hear the blood pounding in his ears as he thinks about touching her panties, as he thinks about how her pussy might feel against his finger? Can you see him wondering if they're cotton or satin?"

"Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth of her firm young thigh sliding across your palm? Can you feel his arousal as her other thigh rubs against the back of his hand, as he realizes how near he is? Can you hear her breath panting, her soft, sweet, fresh breath against his cheek? Can you feel his erection strain as soft cotton touches his index finger? Can you see her twitch as she feels it, the first time anyone has touched her there?"

Oh yes, I could. I saw her twitch on his lap. I could feel his excitement; my penis could feel his excitement.

"Can you imagine the thrill of pushing your finger against her cleft? Pushing her panties between her lips? Can you imagine the feel of her plump lips forming around your finger, of the heat she's radiating? Can you, John? Can you hear her small gasp as your finger slides across the hood protecting her clitoris? Can you feel her sharp intake of breath as you rub her? Can you hear her moan?"

"Can you feel your finger trace her cleft? Can you feel the surge of excitement when you feel her arousal, the damp spot on her panties? Can you?"

"Can you feel your finger pushing in, pushing her panties between her lips? Can you feel the dampness in your underwear, your erection throbbing painfully? Can you feel the entrance to her little vagina? Can you, John?"

I watched the girl's body shake and I knew she was climaxing. My erection pulsed painfully at the sight. Then she leaned back, her dark curly hair falling from her face. With shock, arousal pulsing through me I saw a thirteen-year-old in the throes of an orgasm, eyes tightly shut, mouth open, small body shaking, and a man in his mid-thirties with his hand buried in her crotch!

I froze, still throbbing as her leg slipped off his lap and I saw his hand pressed tightly against her white panties, rubbing her, coaxing her climax higher, her little breasts straining against her blouse as she leaned back and cried out.

When his fingers pulled the gusset of her panties aside and I saw her engorged labia fringed with a dusting of dark pubic hairs, I groaned aloud.

The screen went black, and God help me, but I wanted it to come back. I wanted to see more. I wanted release from the pressure inside me.

I groaned again, fighting to calm myself. But, honestly, my arousal still fogged my mind.

I was shocked, shocked and embarrassed. I was shocked at seeing the man, a man in his mid-thirties pull her panties aside, her thirteen year old pudendum and swollen labia with a light dusting of black pubic hair. I was embarrassed that I could still feel the eroticism of it; of feeling I was him, that I was doing it, and embarrassed at my erection throbbing in my pants.

"But did you understand her arousal, his arousal, and her willing participation?"

That confused me. On the one hand I thought it would be better if they weren't. But that made it worse in some strange way. I didn't know why but I felt easier about it imagining them being related. As I dwelled on it I realized it was the idea that there was an established relationship between the two beyond the physical, of two people who knew each other well, rather than two strangers, rather than simply an older man taking advantage of a younger girl.

Wednesday I was exposed to movies with men, all around my age, playing with girls. They became younger with each movie and each involved increasing stages of nudity. They were all of men fondling girls, who seemed to be enthusiastic participants.

Dr. Grayson's deep voice kept nudging my imagination, making images I'd never considered erotic appear to be. It was like I had no control. While my rational mind told me what I was seeing was unnatural, his voice would focus on the emotional side like a laser, constantly driving me to imagine.

To be honest, the process resulted in a rather heightened state of arousal, although I didn't climax with the movies. I did, however, leave his cottage with a wet spot in my underwear.

On Thursday, he introduced a new twist. I was once again sitting in front of the monitor as the movie started.

A seven-year-old girl was bouncing up and down astride a man who lay on his back on a carpeted floor. Her page cut brown hair was bouncing as she squealed in delight. They were both fully clothed, he in tan slacks and a Polo shirt, her in a frilly little blue skirt and pink tee, a sequined unicorn embroidered on the front.

They were clearly having fun; he was smiling at her with his raised hands out to his sides, ready to catch her in case she slid off, which looked likely as her hands flailed in the air trying to maintain balance.

When he bumped his hips up slightly it sent the little girl falling forward, giggling up a storm. She pushed off his chest, over compensating, her arms whipping behind her to stop falling backward.

It was almost a slow motion moment, her hand landed in his crotch, her bouncing stopped, a thoughtful expression emerged and she asked, "What is it?"

I could see her feeling it from the movement of her hand. He answered, "It's nothing, Honey."

She climbed off him and knelt at his side, peering down as her hand traced the lump. His expression change as he felt pleasure from her groping.

I have no idea what their relationship was, but what was clear was the struggle on his face as he wrestled with her request. I saw the moment he decided, a sort of hopeless resignation appearing. He unbuckled his belt, opened the pants and zipper, and, lifting his hips, slipped his pants and underwear to his thighs. He had a strong, rigid erection, the crown hovering a couple of inches over his belly.

My penis stirred awake as she reached for it, the palm of her hand touching it then jerking away as it bobbed. Her expression was priceless, warm brown eyes almost bulging as she studied this new find moving before her. Her mouth hung open.

She reached out again and touched him, giggling and pulling back when it moved again. I felt a sympathetic pulse in my erection.

She grinned at him briefly before turning back to inspect his penis, her hand cautiously reaching out again. I groaned as I saw her little fingers curl around the shaft, both of our erections pulsing, his with the feeling, mine with the sight. I groaned again when I saw her knuckles turn white, gripping him firmly. Her hand was too small to encompass him so she slid her second hand underneath, palm up, and curled those fingers too.

"John, can you imagine the pleasure he's feeling on his erection right now? Can you imagine how erotic it is to feel two tiny hands holding you, squeezing you? Doesn't it make you throb when you see her hands only able to hold half of your thick shaft? Do you want her to do more, John? Do you?"

"Like this," he whispered as he moved her hands up then down his erection. I felt precum dampen my underwear as the first drop was milked from him on her upstroke, her total concentration on his erection adding to my arousal.

"Can you imagine, John? Hot little hands caressing your erection, squeezing, and milking you? Can you feel your precum dripping over the straining head and onto your stomach? Can you feel your heart racing?"

I could see him tense as he struggled with the feel of a child masturbating him. His face strained on every upward stroke. My erection pulsed painfully and he gasped when her little hands slipped over the head. I gasped as I saw his erection glisten from precum being spread down the shaft.

She looked up at him briefly then bent concentrating on the hot stick in her hands, caressing up and down in long strokes. She grinned when he gasped again.

"Can you imagine, John, how intoxicating it feels as she masturbates a man for the first time, as she masturbates you? Can you feel the heaviness build, the tightness in your testicles as she gleefully brings your orgasm closer? Can you imagine the surprise on her face when you cum? Can you imagine, John?"

His hips jerked and I watched his penis expand. As the first pulse of thick white semen ejected explosively, she squealed in delighted surprise and pulled up, pulling his erection upright just as a second load of semen jetted up in the air to fall back over her hands.

I came in my trousers as she squealed again pulling her hands off the pulsing penis, staring in fascination as this mysterious thing rose from his stomach, spit semen, fell, rose again, spit and fell, over and over.

The monitor went black. My penis was depositing the final weak pulses of cum in my pants as I gripped the arms of the chair, heart thudding in my chest.

I couldn't answer. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell him I had ejaculated. I couldn't believe I had. But I had, to the sight of a seven-year-old masturbating a man my age.

I heard him leave. I felt ashamed, a hot flush inside, not because I had climaxed, but because I had been so aroused. It was terrible, I'm terrible. Even worse, all I could see was the surprise on her face when he ejaculated. It was not a disgusted surprise, it was a delighted surprise, as if she'd just opened a birthday present and found exactly what she had wanted, that type of surprise.

"It's okay, John. It's exactly what we wanted. It's important that you respond positively to sexual activity with a child. This was a critical step for you. Well done."

The absurdity of it, and probably my continued embarrassment, made me laugh, loudly.

"Do you know what you just said, Keith? You just congratulated me for becoming a pedophile!"

"No, no, John. Don't get confused. I don't think you'd ever be capable of actually having sexual contact with a child. You must remember, all we're doing is conditioning your mind to find the pleasure in specific situations."

I admit I was somewhat relieved by his explanation, but tensed again when he asked me if I was ready to continue. I took a deep breath and nodded. I thought it'd be easier this time as I'd just climaxed, so I was unlikely to respond to anything he'd planned. I was wrong.

A pretty little girl appeared as the door opened. Snuggled in her bed, only her freckled face and blond curls were visible, her small form only hinted at under the blanket. I could see a daisy flowered wallpaper above her headboard and behind her child sized bed.

Her face was cute, blue eyes twinkling in excitement, her bow-shaped red lips smiling.

"Hi, Sweetie. Ready for your good night kiss?" His voice was completely normal, no hidden meaning, just a father saying good night to his daughter. I relaxed.

I saw him move closer, but he hadn't appeared. The camera moved with him, the picture presented from his point of view, the girl becoming larger, her face filling the screen. She smiled and white small teeth flashed. As the camera moved in her eyes closed and she pursed her lips.

The kiss wasn't shown. The scene switched to him pulling back, still from his point of view. She grinned.

The camera shook like he was making faces at her because she burst into a fit of giggles, her curls shaking and her small body writhing under the covers. His hand came into view pulling the sheet and blanket down before tickling her ribs over her Mickey Mouse flannel top.

"Daddy, Daddy, stop." She giggled, gasping for air. She had a lovely voice, high-pitched music to my ears.

Two small hands pulled out from under the covers and started unbuttoning the flannel top. Not a sound was made as she unbuttoned each small button, her hands eventually disappearing under the cover. Her smile showed when she had finished.

Her little hands spread her top revealing flat pink nipples on a small bony chest, and a sharp inhalation was heard off camera. His large hand came down on her chest rubbing gently then, with just a finger tip, he circled her tiny nipples. I saw them harden into tiny pellets.

The camera shuffled back and the large hand drew the covers lower revealing her entire tiny frame.

She lifted her bum and slid the pyjama bottoms off, her legs rising to slip them off completely. As she lay back, I could see her powder blue little girl panties pulled up to just below her belly button. Her hips had no womanly flare and her legs were thin but, unbelievably, I felt a tightness inside me as I looked at the bulge of her pudendum inside cotton with the faintest hint of her cleft.

"Do you see it, John? Do you see her pussy hidden from sight? Can you imagine what's underneath her panties? Look at the gap at the top of her thighs. Do you see it? Do you see how prominent her pussy is? Would you like to see more, John?"

I held my breath as her hands pushed her panties down. As she lifted her bottom her pubis strained against her panties making it looked even bigger. Two bony hips appeared preceding a remarkable upsweep between, and I gasped as her mons was revealed to me; a perfectly hairless mound topped by a dimple, and a tightly closed cleft drawing my eyes downward.

I was riveted as she lowered her bum and a large hand pulled her cotton panties off her legs. I felt my body respond to the sight of this naked, prepubescent seven-year-old displaying herself for me.

"Isn't she beautiful, John? Don't you find her youth and innocence alluring, exciting? How do you imagine she'd feel? Can you imagine touching her? Can you imagine how her tiny hard nipples would feel against the pad of your finger? Can you imagine how soft her pussy might feel? Do you want to see her spread her legs, John? Do you want to see the treasures she keeps hidden, the treasures only for her daddy, only for you?"

Her legs slowly spread. I focused on her pussy lips, holding my breath waiting for them to part. My breath burst from me like I had been punched when her lips slowly oozed apart, starting at the bottom, showing me her tiny vagina, a deep dark moist shadow. Her lips parted higher and higher and my penis inflated and extended, pushing through the dampness left from before.

The camera moved closer as her undeveloped inner lips appeared and finally the hood of her clitoris, large, sweeping up to the top almost half the length of her little slit. I heard thunder in my ears from pounding blood, and faintly heard Dr. Graysons voice.

"Can you see her secrets, the ones she keeps just for her daddy, for you? Can you see the moisture glistening, her arousal, all for you John? Can you imagine what it might feel like to run your finger through her cleft, feel how soft and warm she is? Can you imagine the feel of her clitoris hardening inside that hood as you rub her? Can you imagine, John?"

The camera pulled back and I could see this little child fully naked, and legs spread with the sweetest smile on her face. Her eyes twinkled.

The camera shook and I heard rustling. As it steadied on her again I heard a voice.

The camera panned down and I saw a huge erection obscuring her pussy, clear precum leaking at its tip.

"Can you see how big she makes you seem, John? Can you see how small she is compared to an adult penis, her daddy's penis, your penis? Can you imagine sliding it over the hood of her clitoris and feeling the hard bead still hiding inside? Can you imagine sliding your penis down through her lips? Can you imagine how they feel sliding warm against the sides of your crown? Can you, John?"

He was directing me, steering me, pushing my mind where he wanted it. I knew it, but couldn't resist following his lead. I could imagine. I reached inside my pants, pulling my erection up to relieve the uncomfortable pressure of its awkward position.

Her knees moved up as his erection slipped against her. I could see his hand holding the shaft as he slipped the tip down, her lips hugging it as it left a glistening trail of lubrication in its path.

My heart was pounding. I had forgotten my hand was still holding my erection inside my pants.

"Can you imagine how it feels, John? Can you imagine what it feels like to nudge your erection up to her tiny vagina? Can you imagine how it feels as you push, as you feel her vagina dilate slowly? Can you imagine how her vagina feels as it expands to accommodate her daddy's pulsing erection, your pulsing erection?"

I watched as the head of his penis flattened, her lips stretching, turning first light pink, and then paling as they stretched more. I could see her vagina opening and squeezing over the tip.

"Can you imagine how tight it is, John? Can you imagine the heat expanding on you? Can you imagine the feel of your erection popping in? Can you, John? Can you imagine how tightly her vagina grips your shaft? Can you imagine the exquisite feel as you thrust deeply into your daughter?"

As his penis slid into her, her clitoral hood dipped down to kiss his shaft, her labia disappearing inside and I came explosively, my semen spurting against the palm of my hand. The monitor went dark. My eyes closed picturing myself sliding deeply into her tight, tiny vagina, and cum rocketed out as I groaned at the image. My orgasm washed over me, soaking me and draining my energy.

I felt scared. I felt scared that I had pictured Linda just as I came. I felt my penis shrivel at the thought and pulled my hand out of my pants. I felt scared.

Dr. Grayson handed me a cup of tea as I sat in the now familiar couch. It rattled in my hand, a now familiar sound.

He smiled. "Good." And after a pause, "Feel free to finish your tea. I'll see you tomorrow at 2:30."

Pam could see the changes in John. She saw it in the return of small stress wrinkles around his eyes. She noticed it in bed, his foreplay becoming briefer both nights, and in the desperation she felt as he'd thrust into her. He'd come quickly and cuddle her tightly to him afterwards, a rare occurrence.

She didn't achieve a climax but accepted it. Dr. Grayson had warned her of the signs. She quietly thanked him for his honesty and forthrightness with her, and his call to let her know what to expect after John had left his cottage. He helped her sustain confidence that the treatment would work.

I had slept restlessly. I knew it because I felt tired and fidgety. I was also feeling mildly schizophrenic. I had bouts of mild arousal at memories of yesterday followed by depression as my memory of Linda slipped in. I hated it. I hated the way I was feeling and hated the arousal that was betraying every moral fiber of my being. I hated it.

So you can understand when I tell you I expressed my displeasure in no uncertain terms to Dr. Grayson as soon as I stepped into the cottage. I was clear and concise, I articulately took him through my feelings and the rationale behind my decision to stop the course of treatment before it was irreversible.

He showed his appreciation, his understanding and his total agreement with my decision by smiling, and worse, chuckling. I was not impressed.

As we sat in the sitting room, me in my comfortable spot, he reached for the cordless phone and dialled.

I knew Pam well enough to decode her message. What she really said was 'Just what in the hell do you think you are doing. Do you think I'm stupid or something? Get a life and grow some balls!' Well, perhaps not quite that, I may have erred in my analysis slightly, but I was sure I managed to capture the gist of her message.

Somewhat sheepishly, I handed the phone back to Dr. Grayson. I smiled my 'you dirty rat' smile. But he seemed to interpret it wrong. It was that kind of day, I guess.

"John, we're moving on today. We're well on track with the treatment. Today, I want you to listen to my voice, only my voice. What you'll see will have no sound. Understand?"

"Uh-huh." My articulate self deserted me as I started worrying about what he had planned.

Dr. Grayson looked at John carefully. Today was a critical step and he wondered if John could take it. He knew he'd have to lead John over the next hurdle.

A little blond girl was being led up the stairs, her hand held by a man with only his back visible. She looked like Shirley Temple with thick blond ringlets falling to her narrow shoulders. I wondered if it was a period movie, what with her deep blue velvet dress, layers of white lace petticoats showing at the hem, her small legs in white tights and flat-heeled black patent leather shoes.

They climbed the curving marble staircase and walked down a hall lined with oil paintings, old masters by the look of them.

"This is Sian, John. She's seven years old and she's just come in runner-up in a beauty pageant. Her ignorant mother has entrusted Sian to that man, one of the judges. He's told her she needs further instruction."

I felt trepidation as I watched the man lead Sian into a bedroom. It was large, probably the master bedroom with a large four-poster bed covered in a white-on-white bedspread, and a white lacy canopy. Textured wallpaper added the only color to the room, a very light pastel yellow with a textured random pattern of swirls. This was a lady's room.

The man lifted the little girl under the armpits from behind and laid her on the bed face down, her head turned away and little legs hanging over the side, too short to touch the ground.

"Do you see Sian's white petticoats, John? Would you like to see them? Can you imagine how exciting it would be to lift her dress over her little bottom and slowly peel up each lacy layer? Can you imagine the delicious anticipation of wondering what type of panties she's wearing, silky bikini style, or chaste little girl cotton, or even bloomers?"

The man slowly revealed her petticoat as he lifted Sian's blue velvet dress up and over her waist. As he reached for the hem of a petticoat, I felt my pulse quicken. The second layer of her petticoat was revealed, and then the third as the man lifted each over her waist. Her bottom was shrinking in size as each layer was lifted.

"Can you imagine how small her bottom must be, John? Can you imagine slipping your hand underneath her petticoats just for a feel of her undies? Can you imagine your hand sliding up her little legs, the feel of her tights, and the swell of immature thighs? Can you, John?"

Another layer was pulled up, Sian's bottom smaller now, and now I could see the shape of her buttocks, round globes forming gentle mounds. I held my breath when the last layer was inched up the back of her legs, exquisitely slowly. My penis grew with every inch exposed, first her little calves, then the back of her knees. She wasn't wearing tights! The demure fabric covering her legs ended just below her knees, with red silk ribbons tied in a bow to hold them up. The swell of her small thighs appeared. My pulse quickened even more as I realized Sian was wearing bloomers; lacy frills tied mid-thigh with soft silk disappearing up underneath.

"Can you imagine how your hand would feel sliding over those silky bloomers, John? Can you imagine how her bottom looks with only fine silk draping over her rounded globes? Can you imagine the excitement as you cup her little buttocks covered by smooth slippery silk?"

The expanse of silk grew until, with a sigh, I saw her tiny bum. The man caressed her thighs moving higher until his hand covered her bum, both cheeks, one hand. As he caressed her, silk moved seductively in the crease of her buttocks and at her crotch, pulling up to hint at the illicit delights underneath, then down teasingly hiding them.

Her shoes were removed and knee-high stockings peeled down. I felt my arousal build as I took in this seven-year-old bent over the bed, her silk-clad bottom protruding and bare legs hanging in the air.

With bated breath I saw the silk bows on her thighs opened, his hands slide up over her silky bottom and underneath the petticoats. Her body moved, rocking from side to side as he tugged. Her buttocks were revealed, beautiful proud hills, the dark shadow of her valley drawing my eyes down. I was hard.

"Would you like to see more, John? Would you like to see her legs gently spread? Can you imagine the sight as her cheeks are pulled apart? Can you imagine her seeing her tightly closed little ass hole? Can you imagine seeing more, John?"

Standing to the side he pulled her buttocks apart. I gasped at the sight of her tiny rectum nestled deep between firm little cheeks. His hands slipped down to her thighs and paused teasingly before spreading them. My eyes were riveted on her crotch as two tightly closed lips emerged from the darkness. They were plump and formed a sexy fullness, a seductive bulk between her small thighs.

I could see her cleft, all of it, her small slit dividing her bulging hairless pussy. It looked so big. I felt dampness in my underwear as thumbs, resting along the joint of her buttocks and thighs, pulled her open. Her labia parted and the tiny opening to her vagina appeared, a tiny red dark indentation against the whiteness of her skin.

He pulled them apart further and her lips unglued to reveal the hood of her clitoris. I felt longing inside me as I contemplated her immature sex displayed for my pleasure.

"Can you imagine sliding you finger across her clit, John? Can you imagine the unbelievably soft moist warmth as your finger glides through her slit? Can you imagine how her tiny vagina would feel against the tip of your finger? Can you imagine pressing in, feeling her cherry and her opening tight around your fingertip? Can you imagine how it will feel to push your penis into her, how tight she is, how hard you have to push, how it will feel as she stretches around you, as you take her virginity? Can you, John?"

I was there with him as I watched him drop his pants and his erection jut out. I was there as he moved behind her, as he used his thumbs to spread her bottom, and as he spread her little lips apart.

I was there, I was him as I admired how big my penis was and how it loomed even larger as I moved it towards her tiny vagina. I shuddered as my tip nestled against her. I inhaled, breath hissing as I felt her heat against my erection.

My penis strained painfully and I pushed, an uncontrollable urge driving me. The crown flattened against her impossible tightness, and I pushed harder. Beads of sweat popped out on my forehead as I held her bottom spread, pushing, pushing urgently. I felt it first, progress! Her tiny vaginal opening grew against me and blood seeped out as her hymen melted from my assault. I pushed harder in a desperate desire to feel her clasped tightly around me and moaned out loud as the crown of my erection oozed into her. As the flared ridge disappeared I felt her opening clamp my shaft. I was in. I was inside a little girl. I was penetrating a prepubescent child!!

Quickly I let her bottom go and grabbed her small waist to hold her as I prepared to thrust. The sight of her buttocks spread by my monstrous erection inflamed me. I shoved. A hot velvety sheath slipped down my erection, my testicles tensed and I felt the first surge of cum develop.

HE LIED! And I couldn't stop myself. Before I had fully penetrated her I exploded. Cum spurted into her as I pulled back, trying to pull out. Another wave took control and I shoved, blasting cum into her.

God, help me, I couldn't stop, it was too good. I thrust and ejaculated into Linda again and again, white cum spurting out around my erection, my orgasm screaming through me and my groin cramping.

I heard loud silence as my vision cleared. The monitor was dark. I felt the warm wetness of semen spreading in my pants.

"Hmm. I imagine so. Why don't you get cleaned up? I'll meet you in the sitting room."

I felt like a heel. I was having trouble separating the feelings coursing through me. I couldn't seem to separate the intense pleasure of cumming in a small child with the sound of her distress. They were tightly intertwined in my mind. I felt like a heel and hated myself even more.

You're damned right we're going to talk about it I thought, as I sat in my spot with a cup of tea rattling in my hand, tea slopping onto the saucer.

"Before you say anything, John, I want you to consider this. You didn't actually do anything. You didn't undress that girl, you didn't fondle her, you didn't fuck her."

"But, it was me! I wasn't watching it happen. It happened in my mind. I was the one molesting her!"

"That's good. That's exactly what we needed to achieve. Do you understand, John? You now know how to find pleasure in an act you abhor. Please think about that. If you remember I told you that The Blackness appeared to thrive off of your horror.

"You needed a way to fight that and I think you have it now. As you're being forced to type stories of perverted acts of molestation, you now know where to go in your mind to find pleasure. That's what you need to do if you want to deprive The Blackness."

I sipped tea as I considered what Dr. Grayson had said. In a weird, twisted way it made sense. I could see using these experiences to thwart The Blackness. But there were a couple of niggling doubts still bothering me.

"Well, pleasure releases endorphins and endorphins raise your pain threshold. The more pleasure you feel, the less pain you'll feel."

"Oh. I see. But, now you've conditioned me to this horrendous shit, how will I control it in the future?"

"We'll go through a desensitizing treatment process that will re-adjust your perceptions and responses to this type of sexual gratification."

"Tonight, I want you to take a sleeping pill. You should get as much rest as you can. On Saturday don't take one. You need to face The Blackness. But remember, you've changed but it doesn't know that. You'll have to deceive it, make it think it's in control at first."

Pam had been warned by Dr. Grayson to expect John's uncommunicative mood. She had focussed on Linda, entertaining her and drawing her attention away from John. She felt a little fear when she'd see John looking at Linda. There was something in his eyes she'd never seen before and didn't know what it was. But she knew she didn't like it.

She was relieved when John simply rolled on his side facing away from her when they went to bed. She didn't feel capable of pretending to enjoy sex with him in his condition. Her sleep was restless, waking regularly to feel if John was next to her. It was the same on Saturday night. But this time she felt John leave the bed. She followed him to reassure herself he wasn't going towards Linda's bedroom.

It took me a long time to fall asleep on Saturday, partly because I was refreshed from a sound sleep on Friday and partly because I was nervous. But I must have eventually slept as the next thing I knew, I was sitting bolt upright in the bed holding my temples.

I felt the threat as pressure built at the back of my head. My hands moved to the keyboard. I started typing.

I felt a crash of pain as The Blackness expressed its displeasure, and wondered if I could really go through with this. I started typing again.

Real fear flushed though me. I hadn't anticipated this. I didn't know if I could handle it. Younger? But The Blackness didn't know what was scaring me, only that fear was there. I felt it retreat and the pain easing, but remaining, threatening. I started again.

I was momentarily blinded by pain, stars bursting behind my eyes. I moaned at the intensity. But a little voice inside, MY little voice said 'Got ya.' I continued typing.

I paused typing. I felt the pressure build, threatening, pushing me to continue. I didn't complain. I continued.

Awareness returned slowly. My forehead was on the keyboard, semen soaked my pajamas, and my penis throbbed weakly as I panted.

Something was wrong! I held rock still. Then it hit me. It had gone. The Blackness had dissipated, vanished. I was free!

I heard a soft little voice in my head, a different voice, whisper seductively, "Imagine."

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