This story is set a couple of years into the future, the pandemic has passed, a vaccine is widely available. The isolation, suffering and hardships that many endured has largely become a thing of the past for the vast majority of people. Life has returned pretty much to normal for most, but for some, the scars will take longer to heal, if they ever heal at all.
This story is dedicated to the real Tracy (and others like her) and the real loss she and many others throughout the world suffered. My dearest hope is that she finds happiness, maybe not in the way of this story, but in some way.
Julie (Nov 2020)
Rebecca Carson sat in her office and discretely but carefully studied the woman sitting quietly in the chair in front of her. As a professional therapist, she noticed everything about her from the way she wouldn’t maintain eye contact, the resigned sadness that filled her voice and the twisting of the end of the chiffon scarf that decorated her neck. Her full figure was neither accentuated nor concealed under the smart tailored jacket and skirt she wore, with a white formal buttoned-up blouse under it showing a hint of full breasts, but nothing more than a hint. She was well presented and dressed smartly though not flamboyantly; she had a cute round face that was framed by a neck length bob of straight blonde hair, but the thing that struck Rebecca in the pit of her stomach was the accent. That West Country twang, when coupled with the looks, bought back bittersweet memories of her Joanne, so much so that Rebecca could feel a moistening in her panties.
“… and my friend Lisa bought me four sessions as a Birthday gift to see if it could help lift me out of my depression.”
The words her new patient was saying snapped Rebecca out of her daydream and she quickly bought her thoughts into focus.
“Let me explain how it works,” smiled Rebecca reassuringly, “my work falls into two distinct parts, Psychoanalysis and Psychotherapy.” Seeing the look of confusion crossed with concern on Tracy’s face, Rebecca laughed softly, “First we establish what is troubling you and then second we see what we can do to stop it troubling you.”
“I record all our sessions,” said Rebecca though Tracy could see no evidence of any recording devices, “so why don’t we start by you telling me what you feel is troubling you.”
Tracy looked at the woman in front of her and felt herself relax for the first time in ages as she was soothed by her reassuring tone. She would have put her at slightly older than herself and had the relaxed poise of someone full of self-confidence. Her blonde hair seemed to fall so naturally, tumbling in curls to her shoulders and she had a faint trace of something in her accent that she couldn’t quite place but almost sounded American or Canadian. Her eyes were open and sparling a bright blue that seemed to scream ‘it’s OK to trust me.’ When she had greeted her at the door she had stood a few inches taller and her slender frame seemed to bend like a willow in the wind as she moved gracefully to the comfortable sitting area away from the desk.
Tracy found herself talking about her ex-husband Stuart and how he was snatched from her at the start of the pandemic in the early part of 2020. She found herself talking about their life together, the fun they had walking and holidaying, the plans they had for the future that all changed in a few short cold days of March. Since then, life had been without meaning for her, like eating a meal that had no seasoning, no taste, just bland.
Rebecca studied Tracy as she talked and the thing that struck her the most was the complete lack of emotion in her voice. No anger, no sadness, just the dull monotone resigned tone of someone who has lost the joy of living.
“Do you have children?” Rebecca asked as this was a key question for an emotive response.
“One daughter, Lucy, but she left home after the pandemic ended, guess she couldn’t stand living in the place where her Father lived and being reminded of him.”
Tracy had not told the whole truth as in fact her daughter had left home with a lot of anger on the first anniversary of Stuart’s death screaming at her, “For fuck’s sake mother show some emotion, Dad is dead, scream, cry, break things just show some emotion. It’s like living in a morgue.”
Then her daughter shouted the words that burned into Tracy’s soul, “Just go out and get yourself laid, at least prove to yourself that you are still alive, it’s what Dad would have wanted.”
The next day Lucy moved out announcing she was going to live with a friend and since then, they had spoken on odd occasions on the phone but their relationship was strained, with neither wanting to bring back up memories of that day. Lucy was steadfast that until her mother was prepared to move on she didn’t want to be reminded and have salt rubbed into the raw wound every time she felt the loss of her bursa escort bayan father was starting to heal. Tracy knew she should try to change but she lacked the drive and purpose to change and instead carried on doing the same things as she always did.
Rebecca saw Tracy grip two of her fingers together in the palm of her other hand and knew she had found her ‘tell.’ This skill was often used by card players to see when another player was bluffing but Rebecca had found detecting the ‘tell’ useful when determining if a patient was hiding something.
“So your relationship with your daughter is good then?” Rebecca said, noting again the tightening of fingers as Tracy mumbled about it being great.
“How was your relationship with your husband before his passing?” Rebecca always used a vague manner when asking this question to allow the patient to take it where ever they felt most comfortable with, sometimes with surprising results.
“It was great,” Tracy said, “we shared everything and there were no secrets between us,” then with a nervous laugh Tracy went on, “I even told him about the woman forcing herself on me when we both students at university.”
Rebecca kept her face impassive but again the finger squeezing showing she was hiding some emotion that seemed to be linked to the way she had phrased the university incident and that seemed to be the trigger to her concealment.
Deciding to leave things alone for the moment Rebecca asked an innocuous question about what Tracy did to occupy her day and listened to her responses as she visibly relaxed onto safer ground. The rest of the session went pretty much without incident until right towards the end after they had agreed on the date of the next session. As Tracy turned as she was leaving and shook Rebecca’s hand, she gave a shy smile and said softly, “Thank you for your help Rebecca I really feel like this has helped.” It wasn’t the words that tore Rebecca’s heart apart but the shy smile that mirrored exactly how her Joanne would sometimes look when she was thanking her for some small thing.
After closing the door behind Tracy, Rebecca allowed her mask to slip and the pain and grief were etched across her face as a tear trickled down both cheeks. Rebecca knew that tonight would be a trip to the “Pink Ladies” club to scourge her soul as she felt the pain of loss mixed with the guilt.
Six hours later Rebecca sat in the back of the cab that sped through the already silent streets, it was late enough that the workers had hurried home for the evening meals but not yet early enough for the drinkers to come piling out of the pubs so bringing the streets to life.
Rebecca closed her eyes and transported herself back nearly 11 years to that fateful day when she had been caressing her lover’s breasts after hours of lovemaking and by accident found the lump. Their lovemaking had been very energetic that night until that point as Rebecca had been away for a few days on a conference and as Joanne kept telling her, “she had missed her touch with only her toy to keep her company so needed to make up for the lost time.” Rebecca had put an extra effort in, much of it from guilt as the night before she had seduced a young delegate who before that moment was a 100% straight. That night Rebecca had bought the young girl to the heights of sexual ecstasy she had never experienced with the tongue and fingers of any male and sent her away knowing her boyfriend would not be able to satisfy those needs.
Rebecca knew that she had to tell Joanne the truth, they had been together for 6 years and always agreed there should never be any secrets between them. Joanne had been married when Rebecca prised her away from her husband, carrying on a torrid affair in secret until one day it became too much and Joanne left her husband to be in Rebecca’s bed. Since that day Joanne had never looked at another man, nor woman for that matter. Rebecca was the same as they had agreed that although not married, they would forsake all others and made a solemn vow that they would always tell the other the truth.
The lump changed that as what started as a playful caress became a moment of more concern and everything else faded from view. Rebecca remembered quite clearly sitting in the plain room gripping Joanne’s hand as the Doctor tried to explain Joanne’s condition and the possible treatments but all Rebecca kept hearing over and over was the word cancer.
Time passed so quickly as Joanne moved from her healthy vibrant self to losing her hair as the chemotherapy treatments ravaged her body and sapped her health and vitality. Rebecca felt the tears slide on her cheeks as she remembered how tiny Joanne had felt in her arms when she breathed her final breath and slipped away just a few short weeks after that fateful caress when she had found the lump.
Even as she had stood over Joanne’s grave and the last bursa anal yapan escort of the mourners had gone giving her the few moments alone she had asked for; Rebecca couldn’t find the courage to tell Joanne’s departed soul about her fling, how she blamed herself and she should be punished for her sin. From that day onwards whilst outwardly Rebecca appeared normal to observers, on the inside, she would often berate herself telling herself she should suffer because she was evil.
Rebeccas was jolted from her memories by the taxi pulling to a halt and the driver, and older grey-haired man, turning to her as the pink neon sign saying ‘Pink Ladies’ intermittently illuminated the inside of the cab.
“We’re here love but are you sure you want to go into a place like this, it gets pretty rough so I have heard and you seem like a nice lady.”
A year or so later Rebecca had wandered into the bar by accident, which despite its fluffy sounding name was in fact a bar frequented by some of the roughest butch dykes in the neighbourhood. She had left two hours later aching from head to foot as she had been pulled, mauled, pinched, and slapped but had obtained a sexual release for the first time since Joanne had passed.
“I will be fine,” Joanne said grimly as she handed over a twenty-pound note, “and keep the change.”
The grill in the door opened and a pair of eyes stared at her for a moment before it slid shut and the door opened.
“It’s you again,” said the bouncer smiling at Rebecca with eyes that were devouring her body, “it’s been a while… you still meat?”
Rebecca nodded as she remembered the first time she had been asked the very same question as to whether she was meat or hunter. The former being the women who went there to be picked up and used as the other saw fit and the latter the more dominant of the couple, the ones who relished in causing pain. Rebecca had found out later that she could have replied with ‘just shopping’ which would have left her free to wander but instead had answered ‘meat’ and that word had changed her life.
As Rebecca opened her own coat to be checked she had to suppress a giggle as the tee-shirt the female bouncer wore almost seemed to be sprayed on and a picture popped into Rebecca’s head of a female hulk with her breasts springing free like two enormous melons as the tee-shirt ripped open.
“Still gotta check,” said the woman as she ran her hand up the inside of Rebecca’s thighs towards her groin. Rebecca had made sure that this time she had gone without panties as always when visiting the club as opposed to the first time when they had been torn from her body with the gruff, “meat don’t need covering.”
As the woman’s hand encountered her naked pussy, instead of moving away, she caressed it as she stepped very close to Rebecca, so close that Rebecca could smell the pungent garlic on her breath.
“Leyla is in tonight and she will be glad to see you.”
Before Rebecca could reply the woman jabbed two of her fingers hard and deep into Rebecca’s pussy causing her to winch at the brutal invasion, then the woman pushed the fingers deeper drawing a groan of pleasure and pain from Rebecca as she lifted Rebecca onto her tiptoes.
“Good to see this cunt is still wet and willing,” she laughed before pulling her fingers out and sucking them into her mouth.
Rebecca made her way into the dingy interior and moved towards the bar to order a drink. At the tables sat the hunters with their uniform of cropped hair, jeans and boots while the ‘meat’ stood at the bar or sat on barstools waiting to be invited to a table. As Rebecca glanced around the dingy interior she could see that some pairing off had taken place. At one table a young girl was being openly fingered by her partner who was drinking beer from a bottle as she chatted to another dyke sitting at the table. not paying any attention to the woman writhing on her fingers.
As she squeezed past the small tables one of the cropped hair women sitting at them would lean out and grope at her making lewd offers but before she got to the bar a Demin clad leg blocked her path as a booted foot was placed on the seat opposite forcing her to stop.
“I’m Leyla,” said the woman without even looking up, “you must be the meat I just got a text about with the sweet-tasting cunt.”
Rebecca stopped and stood silently as the woman appraised her body, making tutting sounds and then sucking her teeth like she was inspecting an animal to be bought at a market.
“Seems a bit skinny to me, I do like ’em with a bit of meat on their bones and a nice bit of padding when I am banging away with ‘old faithful’ here.”
The woman smiled lewdly as she slapped the bulge in her jeans, like so many of the bull dykes at the club they were already wearing their fem-cock.
“Best we inspect the goods.”
Before bursa rus escort Rebecca could respond the women stood and with a swift movement of her powerful arms, ripped open Rebecca’s blouse sending buttons spinning across the room. Rebecca’s breasts were unfettered by a bra, though they were of a size that hardly needed extra support, and instead of objecting she shivered and waited for the next move. Leyla ran her finger over and around each nipple in turn then like a striking snake took one between her finger and thumb, twisting viciously causing Rebecca to make an audible wince as Leyla increased the pressure and rotation.
Leaning forward she whispered harshly, “So meat have you come here to be fucked like the dirty little whore you are, the posh bitch that craves a bit of rough?” Rebecca just nodded as Leyla went on, “Well, dance for me slut, show Momma what you’ve got.”
Rebbecca started to rotate her hips under Leyla’s steely gaze, her blouse flapping as she gyrated gently to the rock music that was pounding through the bar.
“What the fuck is that?” snarled Leyla, “Seen corpses dance better, now lose the skirt and dance like the whore you are or fuck off and leave me alone.”
Tears of shame stung Rebecca’s eyes as she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor, over and over in her head she kept telling herself that this is what she deserved for being such a bad person. Rebecca closed her eyes and tried to shut out the catcalls from the other dykes as she started to grind her hips towards Leyla and she knew that others had moved to the table as she felt a variety of different hands touching her body and pawing at her flesh.
A painful slap on her ass stopped her dead still as Leyla said cruelly, “time for the slut to do the palm dance.”
Rebecca knew exactly what this meant and opened her eyes to see Leyla sitting with her elbow on her knee and her forearm held out horizontally, her palm facing upwards with her second and third finger at 90 degrees pointing up to the ceiling. Rebbeca shuffled forward and to the jeers and shouts of encouragement from the other women. straddled Leyla’s hand before lowering herself towards the two upturned fingers. Glancing down Rebecca could see the unkempt fingernails and then altering her gaze saw the cruel look of encouragement plastered across Leyla’s grinning face, as she lowered herself fully onto the fingers, feeling them slide into her body which was greeted with a triumphant roar from Leyla.
“Fucking slut is as wet as an otter’s snatch.”
Rebecca knew what she said was true as this humiliation was now the only way she could get off as she had convinced herself that she deserved all the pain and humiliation in the world. As she started to bounce slowly on the fingers other hands were mauling and twisting her nipples and one even managed to grasp and twist her clit cruelly. Leyla sat unmoving as she maintained her stare with Rebecca, contempt etched across her face as Rebecca started to grind onto the hand faster and deeper until with a guttural groan came onto Leyla’s hand, filling her palm with her juices. Leyla stood and almost tore her fingers out of Rebecca’s pussy and instead of licking her palm or even offering it to Rebecca to lick, she smeared it across Rebecca’s face contemptuously.
“Time for this one to pull a train,” Leyla said as she fished her strapon out of her jeans and pushed Rebecca face down over a table sending bottles and glasses flying.
For the next hour, the women took turns in violating Rebecca in every way they knew how. Not content in using her pussy, some penetrated her ass and from time to time a plastic cock was shoved so hard at her face if she hadn’t opened her mouth surely her teeth would have been broken. She could taste her own juices on some of the plastic fem cock and on other occasions the musty taste of her own penetrated ass. After they had finished and grown bored they moved away, standing at the bar, ignoring her like she was a piece of trash or a broken toy they no longer wanted.
Rebecca stood on the kerb waiting for her taxi as she pulled her coat even tighter around herself to hide her near nakedness underneath. Her blouse was torn beyond repair and her skirt had been kicked to some dark corner of the bar, only fit to be used as a cleaners rag. The black cab pulled to a halt and it was the same driver as the one that had dropped her off but one look told at Rebecca’s face told him to say nothing. From time to time he glanced in his rearview mirror at the woman weeping quietly in his back seat and wondered what made people go to places like that to be treated in that way.
Rebbecca didn’t bother wiping the tears from her face as she knew she would now doubt look a total mess anyway, like a demented panda caught in the rain. The tears that poured down her mascara stained cheeks were not just tears of attrition but also of shame as while she had been brutally fucked she had orgasmed at least six times much to the delight of her tormentors. Swearing to herself, as she always did, that she would never go there again and would try to forgive herself, she knew deep down that it would not happen and she would return to be used and abused as her body and soul craved.