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No More Doctor Nice Guy Part 7 free porn video
No more Dr Nice guy Part 7
I strongly suspect there was certainly a moment, even if it was just a
brief one, where Kevin actually truly believed my Bartholin's glands
were secreting some sort of tetrodotoxin, like a puffer fish.
When I explained the true nature of his anaesthesia it was only then
that he finally appreciated the extreme depth of my neurotic insanity
and my newfound sexual hang ups.
"God Alex. You are so fucking mental!" He exasperated when he finally
regained the ability to speak normally.
"I know. I'm sorry." I was.
"It can't go on like this though. You're doing my fucking head in!"
"I am trying. It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"It seems your male brain so completely refuses to adapt to the fact
that you're now a woman that you think putting your genitalia to sleep
is the solution? I think you need to grow the hell up!"
"I think my brain is adapting. Mr Black is ensuring that. But my soul
isn't." I feel stung by his venom. "It hasn't even been a week yet
though Kevin. You can't be mad at me. You've had six months to accept
your changes."
"Six months? A week into the curse I was fully committed to hunting and
fucking women. So don't talk to me about an adjustment period."
"But you said... it came after you were transformed."
"It did. A few days after. And it kept building up for quite a while.
But I barely had time to process it."
"Well clearly it's slower for me. Maybe by design. A lingering, more
painful, stripping away of the layers." That seemed a possible
explanation.
"You just have to think you're special don't you? But what if you were
right the first time? When you were soaking in self pity? That Mr Black
has forgotten all about you and moved on. You really need to assume
that's the case and just get on with it. Sort yourself out for fuck
sake."
"Please don't be angry with me," I protest meekly. "I really don't like
it."
Which was something he clearly knew. I'd spelled it out pretty bluntly
previously.
"You're so damn infuriating! It'd try the patience of a saint not to be
royally pissed off with you!" He doesn't seem to care though.
He leaps from bed, grabs his clothes and storms for the door.
"Where are you going?" I ask anxiously.
"Out!"
"Out where?"
"Out for a walk. So unless the person who delivers our junk mail is a
hot bimbo you don't need to worry about my fidelity." He had identified,
at least in part, what I was worried about.
"Don't be like that."
I hear the door slam loudly.
He's such a typical man.
Rather than stay and try to discuss things calmly and rationally he just
blunders out.
How is this relationship going to work? Him perpetually livid with me,
and me continually scared of him. Alex Turner knew well enough that
emotional abuse was still abuse. And I'm dependent on Kevin. I'm trapped
in a potentially abusive relationship.
I dare not say it; even to myself, for I feel like I know what Kevin
would think; but I can't help but wonder if this is not exactly what Mr
Black had hoped for me.
I slide myself out of bed. I feel the urge to void and it seems feeling
has mostly returned downstairs as I clean myself up.
Later I start fixing dinner for us. Hoping he will return.
Given that I had worked and he had been off all day I had been curious
as to whether he would have made some effort to prepare a meal for me;
but he hadn't. Against my better judgment, and perhaps as I had
macabrely predicted, we were sliding into traditional archaic gender
roles and I was doing nothing to stop it.
It seemed Kevin Moore had scored himself a subservient housewife, even
if she was pretty shit in the sack.
*****
My finger hovered over the send button.
It was an innocuous enough text.
'Please come home, your dinner is ready.'
But to a petulant immature male in the midst of a storm off it may hark
as a red rag to a bull.
He might just stay away longer to spite me. And himself.
Mercifully my agonizing was short lived; I heard the front door open
sans the need for a text.
"Hi." I adopted the stance of cheeriness, pretending the fight had never
happened.
"Hi," he replies. But it's churlish. Clearly he doesn't want to play
along.
"Your dinner's ready. It's eye fillet. Rare. Just how you said you like
it."
He seems moderately appeased.
So the way to a man's heart really is.......
Oh for fuck sake Alex! Are you really going to start citing old adages
now? I chastise myself.
I sit opposite him as he carves into it.
"Are you having any?" he enquires when he sees me watching him.
"I'll just have a salad." My intent, I suppose, was the hope of
gratitude and praise for his meal and a more favourable demeanor towards
me.
"Watching your figure?" he scoffs with a mouthful of food. It was not at
all what I hoped for.
I don't reply.
If I were to, it would consist of me saying how all the stress of my
current life and the feeling of being under constant personal attack has
left me with absolutely no appetite to speak of.
"Or perhaps you've just gone off it," he considers. "But I wouldn't
worry. I imagine you'll be craving a different sort of meat soon
enough."
I make it my mission not to react but he laughs heartily at my perceived
discomfort, and some of his chewed up food escapes his oral cavity
whilst he does so.
"I suppose I was a bit the same," he goes on. It seems he's at his most
chatty when he's persecuting me. "Never touched red meat. Before. But
when I became a man; absolutely loved it. Couldn't get enough. I suppose
you've done the reverse."
"I imagine it's your greater muscle bulk. You need much more protein
now." I try to put the science into it.
"And you need much less." He makes a point of looking at my slender
arms. And making sure I see him do so.
"But you should know, as a woman, how much iron you lose, every month.
So if you won't eat meat you better get stuck into your silverbeet and
spinach, rabbit," he goads.
I watch as he slices into the meat yet again and fresh blood oozes out.
I feel transiently nauseated, and my mind takes me to an unexpected
place, in response to his insinuation.
"What will we do?" I ask briskly. As the thought has only just occurred
to me for the very first time, and I'm a little alarmed. "About your
condition; when I'm......, when I have my period?"
He stops mid chew and downs his cutlery. He surveys me for a moment
before formulating an answer.
"Well seeing you've banned all other women it'll still have to be you.
Luckily it's not the only hole you've got. And you know what they say.
Any hole's a goal."
This time I can't contain my reaction. And he laughs even heartier than
before.
"Poor homophobic Alex Turner," he continues with glee. "He can't
possibly be fucked up the arse or it'll make him so much less of a man.
Well guess what? It's too late for that honey!!"
It's one of those things, being called a homophobe. Like being called a
racist when you aren't. The sheer act of defending yourself from the
allegation is like a concession of guilt.
So I am silent.
As a former heterosexual male I'd never given any real heed to anal sex.
It just wasn't something I was into. I understood it was a necessary or
optional source of pleasure for many and that was great for them. I
don't think I was particularly weird about it. As an intern a mean
surgical Registrar had put paid to any career aspirations in that area
by making me repeatedly manually disimpact the constipated oldies with
my hands. Just one of the many long standing bastardisation rituals that
existed in medicine. But it hadn't caused me to be particularly anal
about anal if I were to pun. It just wasn't for me.
Now as a woman though, anal sex seemed a much more fearsome option.
Colonic flora contained some nasty bugs. That was the whole reason we
always wipe front to back. That sort of bacteria in your vagina or
urinary tract makes you super sick. And everything was in such close
proximity.
The thought of Kevin's large cock in my bum leading to a fissure,
followed by bacterial vaginitis and pyelonephritis was a nightmare of
unfathomable proportion. But by the time I'd mulled all this over Kevin
had already proceeded to another prong of his attack.
"And why am I not surprised that you were the sort of guy who wouldn't
go anywhere near a woman on her period." His tone is all accusation.
"Were you even a real Doctor? Afraid of the sight of blood? Is that why
you chose psychiatry?"
"It's not that. It's just the women I've been with didn't tend to want
me touching them when they had their period. With the pain and the
bloating and feeling blah."
"Some women get horny with their period. And sometimes sex helps with
the symptoms. And with you we could use the blood as lubrication, seeing
as you have so much trouble doing that on your own. But the bleeding
tends to slow when you're at it, if that helps you feel better about it
psychologically."
I felt like this was stuff I didn't really know. Should I have? "Did you
like sex with your period?" I enquire openly.
"God No! I kept those fuckers away from me." He seems unrepentant about
the self contradiction.
"Then how do you expect me?" Which I think is fair.
"Well that's totally your problem. Not mine. You're the one with the
vagina. It sounds like you're reneging on our deal already." It's
probing.
"No. I'm not. If you're fine with it I'm sure I'll be," I say with more
confidence than I feel. "But does blood go everywhere?"
"We'll put a towel down moron," he says snidely.
"Okay," I concede meekly.
And then, out of nowhere the tears form. I try to silently fight them at
first but they just keep coming and soon they are streaming. My
sniffling is the prompt for Kevin to look up at me from his near
finished meal.
"God!" He says but dispassionately. "What's up with you? Is that why
you're asking? Has your period started?"
"No," I weep. "I don't think so."
"What then?" He's impatient.
"Because all I seem to be able to do is make you mad." I know I sound
pitiful as I say it, but I'm not sure I can stop. "I am trying, but I
can't seem to do anything right. And just when I think you're starting
to be nice to me, you turn around and are more beastly than ever
before."
"And why do you think that is?" he hisses.
"I honestly don't know." I try to stop whimpering, but I can't.
"Perhaps it's because you're doing such a crap job at passing yourself
off as a woman."
"How do you mean?" I ask, puzzled. "Do you mean appearance? Like hair
and make-up and clothes and stuff? I'm trying to adapt. But it's really
complicated. You could help me."
"No one helped me adapt to being a man."
"But it's incomparable. All you have to do is remember not to get your
dick caught in a fly zipper and act all arrogant and entitled, like you
have been, and you've got being a man down pat."
"Well that's feisty from you! But that's not what I meant. I don't much
care how you look. Do you think that maybe it's because I'm so sexually
unsatisfied."
"But I thought you were. I mean you orgasm every time." And pretty darn
quickly might I add. But this is a statement, if aired, would surely
just bring me more trouble.
"Yes, and that would be great, were I a necrophiliac. Because all I'd
require is for you to behave like you are now. Just keep pretending
you're a corpse."
"That's not fair! I've been so tired by working every day; in a job that
mostly overwhelms me; and I'm still working on all the mechanics of it."
"Well you're just not trying hard enough. You're the one with all the
big speeches about being a team and helping each other. You're full of
shit."
"I'm not. I am doing the best I can. I meant what I said."
"Then prove it." His aggression seems to heighten, were that possible.
"How?" I genuinely want to know how he thinks I can.
"Suck me off! Right now! Here at the dining table." It's deadpan.
"No. Don't be gross."
"I'm not being gross. I'm being serious. And therein lies the problem.
You behaving like a ten year old. I mean I went down on you. And I got
a completely numb face for my trouble. Are you saying you're not willing
to do the same for me?"
I didn't think at the time he had an ulterior motive. It was now clear
he wanted reciprocation. I wasn't ready for this. No readier than I had
been the other day when I first came eye to eye with his Johnson. But he
was questioning both my commitment and loyalty. I was being coerced into
it, but maybe he had the right to demand it.
My tears did not ease though. It felt like forced subjugation rather
than any voluntary pleasure giving. I hadn't asked him to attempt to eat
me out, and it was a dismal failure any way. But he was demanding this
from me.
My former identity too, was screaming in protest at the notion.
"Okay. If that's what you want." It seems I don't have a choice.
"Oh it's what I want. Now come around here, get on your knees and undo
my pants bitch."
"Please don't call me that." But I comply to his instruction. This seems
like how it's going to be. Me, cooking and cleaning and performing
sexual acts on demand. Like some sort of sex slave. If not an actual
slave slave.
Its seems Kevin's disrespect for women, or maybe just for me as a
person, is a far bigger issue than I anticipated.
I feel so forlorn as I undo his trousers. I know I have to condense my
revulsion into a corner of my brain and just do what he wants. I want to
use a condom so I don't have to endure having that stuff squirted in my
mouth, but it's pretty clear that's not happening. I imagine he expects
me to swallow it as part of his power trip.
Is this the lowest ebb I've felt since my transformation? Perhaps. Is
worse yet to come? Perhaps.
But then I think of Mr Donald. And the De Silvas. And all the other
people in various states of pain and misery whose lives I have
transected in the last week. And I realize my self pity is not in the
same league of how bad things can be for some. So I should just continue
to resign myself to my lot.
I slide down his underwear.
His penis is flaccid.
I would have thought the promise of an impending blowjob, given he is
obtaining it virtually through force of coercion, would be a turn on.
Do I rub it first to get it hard? Or do I just stick it in my mouth as
is and let my tongue do the stimulating? Whatever I do it's just going
to mean my agony is prolonged.
I decide I'll start with my hand until it's somewhat solidified, then
I'll use my mouth. I suppose this sets the tone for my future of
submission, and perceived degradation. I guess I'll remember this moment
always. For all the wrong reasons.
I reach for his dick tentatively. It flickers to my touch.....
****
"Alex! Stop!"
I had barely starting rubbing his penis. In truth I was more
specifically gently caressing it. I can't have been hurting him. Maybe I
hadn't been vigorous enough. It wasn't hard to imagine he'd like it
rough. This was going to take a while though, if he was to stop and
critique my performance along the way. In part I was glad. Anything that
prolonged inserting it in my mouth. But maybe really it would be better
if I just got it over with.
I look up from his groin, which I was still kneeling in front of. I
cower a little at the thought of another outburst from him, so I
instinctively and preemptively apologise. "I'm sorry. I was just trying
to make it a little harder before I put it in my mouth. So it.. you
know... doesn't just flop out."
"Just get up will you." He pulls his underwear up in front of me and
puts his penis away. I stand as instructed. He is seated before me but
props himself out of his chair to slide his jeans back up before
nestling back into it.
I feel awkward standing before him as he re-arranges his clothes. He
notices.
"Sit down!" he barks at me.
I do, into the dining chair nearest his. "Kevin I'm sorry. I don't know
what I did wrong..." I begin.
"Just shut the fuck up for half a second Alex!"
I fall silent. My crying had stopped once I'd focused on his hand job
but I could still feel some wetness on my face. I divert my eyes and
look to the ground, in another act of contrite subservience, so as not
to anger his domineering male persona further.
"I thought I would enjoy it more," he begins. "Seeing you reduced to
this. But it seems my conscience and my body betrayed me. I expected
seeing you give yourself to me that way, and how humiliating and
emasculating you perceived it, would give me a raging hard on. But
instead I can't even get it up."
"I don't understand." I'm still flustered and more uncertain than ever.
"You honestly have no idea what you did to me Alex, do you? Whilst you
were off playing Doctors and nurses all weekend and I was here alone
with just my thoughts."
I don't answer him. I know it is a dangerous trap.
"It's been over ten years since my day of financial independence. No
more foster families. No more psychiatrists telling me what a faulty
broken human being I was. I got on with life my way. Dealt with my shit
my way. Put the horrors of my past behind me. And even after the curse,
where I did become exactly the sort of man I hate, I still didn't have
to revisit the torment that little girl went through. Until you come
along, and catch me in my most vulnerable moment, post sex, and bring
all that shit back into my life. It's like you tossed a fucking hand
grenade into my brain and then trotted off to work, abandoning me to the
explosion. I hate that you did that to me." It was stern enough. But his
next words were an explosion. "I hate you!"
"Kevin..." I implore.
"Just don't!"
I feel welded to the chair in a sense. So tensely braced for what is to
come next.
"I know every word you're itching to spill right now. 'I didn't mean
to.' 'I was trying to help.' And loads more whining, bitching and
moaning. But you aren't helping. You're not a psychiatrist any more. And
even if you were there's nothing you can say or do I haven't heard
already. So yes. I am angry with you for doing this to me. And I wanted
to punish you. The thing is though, you are so genuinely committed to
us. I mean you just proved it. You look at me with your sad confused cow
eyes and it's like torturing a fucking kitten."
I feel foreboding as he continues to build upon his rant.
"I want to see Alex Turner when I look at you. Because it would be so
much easier to unleash my fury on you then. But he's hardly there at all
now. Sure maybe some of his heterosexual male phobias persist. But you
are so willing to try and overcome them to convince yourself you can
make your absurd fantasy notion work. I can't question your dedication
and devotion; that's for sure."
He's silent. And so am I.
But whilst both activities are soundless, he is seething as I fret.
"Alright." He says after a prolonged quiet. "Say whatever it is you're
champing to say." It's lacking the viciousness of his earlier words. It
feels as if he has been able to expel some of the anger out.
"I really am sorry Kevin. That I caused you hurt. I promise I won't ever
bring it up again. Anything about the past you. And I won't use any of
my psychobabble on you any more either. My intentions really are coming
from the right place. I think I'm just trying to hang on until skank
mode kicks in."
"Do you ever consider the possibility of what will happen if it
doesn't?" His demeanor has definitely softened though.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"You've been so sure since the beginning that it was just a matter of
time before you involuntarily turned into a cock hungry whore. And you
based that notion on what happened to me. But our curses are different.
We were cursed for unique reasons so I'm not sure that a complete change
in your sexual orientation is on the cards for you. And if it isn't, are
you certain you can spend the rest of the days doing something that
generally seems to physically repulse you."
I reel a little at his blunt revelation. Mr Black had changed me. Not
just physically. But perhaps Kevin was right. At least to a point. I may
not be destined to be a man eating nympho. I was however certain I was
going to change enough that I would reach a point where the notion of
sex with Kevin was no longer abhorrent. I just didn't know when.
"Yes." I steady my nervous voice. "I made you a promise."
"Alex. This is me saying you don't have to honor it. I nearly forced you
to suck my dick for God's sake. Even though I knew how much it was
killing you." His admission clearly troubles him.
"But I would do it for you if that's what you really needed." I
hesitate, but then continue softly. "I wish you'd talk to me before you
decide to get all punitive. We could work through things that way."
He doesn't escalate again. His outburst has seemingly placated him
thoroughly. Even though he said it so bluntly I don't actually believe
he does hate me.
"But it's not in my nature," he states. "I told you that already.
Certainly not now, and probably not ever in the past. I can't feel
things like you do. You and all your conglomerate of emotions are a
confounding mystery to me."
"It's called the feminine mystique," I joke.
He grunts.
We fall back into silence then. Not as icy as before. I look up at him
and our eyes meet. I offer a little smile, which he reciprocates, before
arising from the chair and walking to the bathroom.
I watch him leave.
I don't dare tell him that all the negative feelings he has towards me
is a direct contradiction to what he holds as a core belief. I'll just
have to show him. It may take time, but I'll prove to him he's nothing
like the person he thinks he is. He has shown hate, spite, guilt,
remorse and even a little compassion. But there is one sensation he
hasn't felt since he was a little child. It's not so much that he can't.
He just doesn't know how. Finding a way to make him feel that specific
emotion, particularly for himself, may take more skills than I currently
possess. Especially when he seems so reluctant and resistant to any sort
of assistance or support.
And poignantly furthermore, his cruel behavior towards me was
precipitated by his perception of my meddling; which should alone be a
completely effective deterrent to such endeavor from now on.
But it isn't.
Folly maybe, but all his repression is far too great a poison to go
unchecked.
I just know I have to try and help him.
No matter what.
TBC
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