Sick Eyes

Dear Reader:

If you enjoy mind-control fantasies about transgenderism, ruthless therapists, and broken men, then this story is for you.

If you don't enjoy such subject matter, then please move on. You won't enjoy this story.

Regards,

Adam Lily

****

"So, Thomas. At our last session, we had something of a breakthrough, didn't we?"

That was Veronica, my therapist. I was sitting on a large, firm couch. She was in a chair opposite me, slender and regal, legal pad in her perfectly manicured hands. Her office was dark, and warm, and cozy. Hint of perfume in the air; soft music at the edge of my hearing; cold glass of tea at my side, condensation beading on it. Just like always.

I'd started therapy two months earlier. I was 23. I'd just broken up with my girlfriend, but everything else was going well. I was a fine product of the public schools and a decent church and a university education and a career with a retirement plan and health benefits and 80 hours of paid vacation a year. My life, it was going great. Right as planned.

I felt awful. Trapped. I wanted out. I wanted to die, or at least I thought I wanted to die. And I didn't know why. And so, like all white people who can afford it, I started therapy.

I said, "I think we did have a breakthrough, yes."

Veronica smiled, slightly. Thin lips of fiery red. "Tell me what you think we learned."

'We talked about usefulness. How all people have one quality that defines, and that my quality is being useful. Useful to others."

"And do you still agree? That what defines you is being useful?"

"God, absolutely. That hit me like a truck. It explained so much. If I'm not being useful, it's like I'm nothing at all."

She nodded. "Good. So tell me, Thomas. Have you felt useful this week?"

"Sure," I lied. "You know. . . . at work, doing my job. That's useful."

Veronica waited. This is how we did the dance. I asserted, and she waited for more.

"Right? Work . . . well, I guess it's useful. I mean, I do things for other people at my job. They need me. If I'm not there. . . ." I shrugged.

The slightest arch in one of Veronica's dark eyebrows. I always closely attended to these cues. She was so hard to read. I gave so much, and she gave so little. That was normal for therapy, I guess. But it was fascinating.

"Finish that thought," Veronica said. "'If I'm not there. . . .'"

I chewed my lip, gazing at the lava lamp on Veronica's desk. White, oily, flowing blobs in a cone of ocean blue. Up and down. Soothing. Corny, but it worked.

I sighed. "If I'm not there, they'd just replace me. I know five people in the company who could do my job better."

I sipped the sweet, cold tea Veronica always provided. I'd never tasted anything like it. Veronica said she made it for special patients. Just like the music—that was special, too.

It felt good to be special. I was glad Veronica thought I was special.

She continued. "That doesn't sound like you feel useful."

"No. I don't feel useful."

"It sounds like you feel useless."

A flash of anger. The word "useless"—that stung. I took a deep breath, drawing the scent deep into my nostrils, into my head—and I relaxed. The scent was wonderful. Just like the tea, and the music, and the lava lamp, and Veronica's voice. So soothing.

"Yes," I agreed. "Useless. I feel useless." And despite the drowsy warmth of the room, I shivered.

Veronica noticed. "Did something just happen?"

I reflected. "I think so," I said. "Saying that word. It made me feel different."

"Different how?"

"I'm not sure—" I cast around for a word. "Lighter. Like something just left my body."

Another slight smile, which thrilled me. Veronica was stunning. Long, black hair falling around her slender, pale face. She rarely smiled. She was always so poised, so professional. Confident. I bet she didn't feel useless, like me.

"Did it feel good?"

"Yes. It felt really good."

"Why do you think it felt good?"

I watched the lava lamp. "I don't know."

"Try saying it again."

I paused. I was scared of how it might feel. Then I said, "Useless," and I shuddered again.

"How was that?"

"Even stronger. Like something awful is leaving me. Leaving me lighter."

She tapped her pen against her lips. "You're getting lighter."

"Yes," I said. "I'm getting lighter."

"Emptier?"

"Yes." I seized on the word. That was absolutely it. "I'm getting emptier."

She made a note. "If you're getting emptier, that suggests something bad is leaving you. And if something bad is leaving you, something better might take its place."

That made sense. Veronica made sense every time. So warm in here. I drained my tea.

Veronica pressed a button on an intercom on the table next to her. "Lena," she said, and my heart leapt. "Please bring in more tea for Mister Preston."

In moments a slim, pale brunette in a tight-fitting flowered sundress entered the office. Lena, Veronica's assistant. The scent in the room intensified. I'd noticed a while back that Lena wore it.

Lena smiled at me. Her smiles were so strange. They were genuine, but at the edge of a tremble. And her eyes were watery. Not sad watery, not crying watery. Expectant, waiting, attentive. Like a tamed animal's eyes.

I called eyes like that "sick eyes." Women with sick eyes were a little bit crazy. They were always insane in the sack. Sick eyes turned me on, and Lena turned me on.

Veronica already knew this. She'd noticed in our second session how I reacted to Lena. I'd admitted it then, and I'd shivered then, and something bad had left me then, too. Looking back, I now realized that every session with Veronica had left me lighter. Emptier.

And yet nothing had come along to replace what had left. I'd been hollowing out this whole time, but I didn't have a clue what might fill me up next.

Lena leaned down to set a fresh glass of tea on the end table next to me. Her cleavage strained against her tight sundress. Slender, but blessed with large breasts. Watery eyes smiled at me through her bangs and bob.

So of course an erection unfurled in my pants. I couldn't help it. Soon my penis would leak steadily. Even after Lena left, my erection and arousal would persist. And by the end of the session my underwear would be soaked in precum. So embarrassing. I was always grateful for the scent of Veronica's office to mask my scent.

After retrieving my empty glass, Lena turned and bowed her head lightly to Veronica—I'd always found that deference interesting—and moved to leave the office.

"Lena," said Veronica.

Lena gasped softly. "Yes, Miss Veronica?"

Miss Veronica. More deference.

"Please stay. And sit. Next to Thomas. You don't mind, do you Thomas?"

Of course I didn't mind. I was thrilled.

Lena took her place next to me on the couch, sitting attentively. So thin, so pale, breasts straining against the flowery fabric. Her perfume. Oh my god. My penis—no. No, only a dirty word would do. My cock. It was growing so large, I feared it would force itself out over my belt.

I needed to hide it. I uncrossed and recrossed my legs. Veronica noticed. "Thomas, are you okay?"

My heart had sped up. "Sure, I'm fine."

"You shifted. In your seat. And you look uncomfortable."

"No, I'm fine. I'm happy that Lena is sitting next to me." I glanced at Lena, and she at me. She shifted a little closer to me, and my heart sped up more.

Veronica smiled. "Good. And how do you feel, Lena?"

Lena was breathing shallowly. "I feel wonderful, Miss Veronica."

"Good." Another note on the pad. "Thomas. I would like to share your therapy with Lena. You have much in common. I think it would be useful. Do you want to be useful to Lena?"

Oh, God, yes. I wanted to be useful to Lena. "Yes."

Veronica bestowed on me the broadest smile I'd seen from her. I actually saw teeth. "Good. But I need your permission. Explicit permission. You have to tell me that you want to share your therapy sessions with Lena."

No hesitation. "I want to share my therapy sessions with Lena."

"You want to be useful to Lena?"

"I want to be useful to Lena." And my cock thickened so quickly it hurt. I made a little noise.

Veronica noticed. "Thomas, you're clearly uncomfortable. Tell us what's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong."

Veronica frowned. "Therapy is based on truth, Thomas. You know that. You agreed to it at our first session. Do you remember?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what you remember."

"That I agreed to always tell the truth."

"Yes, you did. Without the truth, we cannot continue your therapy. Do you still want me as your therapist, Thomas?"

"Yes."

"Good," said Veronica. "Then you need to tell me the truth. Thomas, tell me and Lena why you are uncomfortable."

My heart pulsing in my head, I said, "I have an enormous erection." And something shuddered out of me, again.

Veronica almost giggled. I was making her happy. That made me so happy. "You have an erection?"

"Yes."

"Why did you lie about it?"

"Because I was ashamed." Shiver. "Because it feels dirty." Shiver.

"I see." Veronica leaned forward, her black, flat eyes boring into me. "Why do you have an erection right now?"

"I—" I hesitated.

"Don't lie, Thomas."

I sighed. "It's Lena. I have an erection because of Lena."

Lena made a choking sound. But not a bad one. Our sides were now lightly touching.

"So Lena arouses you."

"Yes." Another sound from Lena.

"So, I've known for quite a while that Lena arouses you. Have you had an erection in all our sessions?"

Oh, god. "Yes."

"Very good. Why does it make you uncomfortable?"

It all spilled out. "It feels dirty. My cock, so big. I want Lena so badly. And I leak. I fill my pants. And it chafes. I have to hide it—"

Veronica shushed me. "That does sound uncomfortable. Hiding it, I mean. Therapy should not be uncomfortable. Therapy should be fulfilling. Don't you agree?"

"Yes."

"Thomas, repeat after me: Therapy should be a place of openness."

"Therapy should be a place of openness," I echoed.

"Therapy should be a place without shame."

"Therapy should be a place without shame."

Veronica looked at Lena. "I want you to join in, Lena. Repeat what I say with Thomas. Therapy should be transformative."

My voice and Lena's mingled as one. "Therapy should be transformative."

"Therapy should be a place where anything is possible."

"Therapy should be a place where anything is possible."

"Therapy should be a place where we reveal ourselves."

"Therapy should be a place where we reveal ourselves."

Veronica smiled. "Very good. Thomas, do you want to reveal yourself?"

A jet engine revved up in my head. My pulse was out of control. "Yes. I want to reveal myself."

Veronica smiled. "Thomas, I think I know what will make you more comfortable. Do you want to hear it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Thomas, I think your erection wants to be free. Do you want your erection to be free?"

God, yes. Please free my erection. Please free me. "Yes," I choked out.

"Then free your erection, Thomas. Reveal it to us."

I slumped back in the couch. I unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped, and forced my underwear down. My erection flapped up and thwacked wetly against my belly. As it did, it flung a string of precum into the air. . .

. . . which landed on the back of Lena's hand. She gave out a little cry.

"I'm so sorry," I said. "I—"

"No," said Veronica. "Don't be sorry. Therapy is where we reveal ourselves. You have only revealed yourself. Lena is happy for you. Isn't that right?"

Lena choked out the words. "Yes, that's right. I'm so happy for you, Thomas. So happy."

"Good," said Veronica. "Lena. You want to reveal yourself to Thomas, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Lena," said Veronica. "You were a patient of mine once, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"We had many sessions together, didn't we?"

"Yes."

"And what did we decide, Lena? What did we discover about you?"

"We discovered that I have an addictive personality."

"An addict, yes. But what kind of addict? What kind of addict did we eventually learn you were?"

Her voice trembling, Lena said, "We discovered that I'm a cock addict."

Oh god.

"Yes, a cock addict. You need cock, don't you, Lena?"

"Yes." Lena was squirming.

"You were ashamed when we discovered your cock addiction, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"But we decided that being a cock addict wasn't bad, was it? That in fact it could be good."

"Yes."

"Because you can be useful," said Veronica. "That's what you and Thomas really have in common. You both crave being useful. Useful to others. Without it, you're nothing."

"Yes," Lena said. I could almost hear her pulse. "If I'm not useful, I'm nothing."

Veronica smiled hugely. "Lena: Show Thomas how useful you are."

Lena moaned. She slid off the couch to her knees and gripped my cock with cold hands. She gazed at me with those wet, sick eyes as her mouth engulfed my cock, shuddering in bliss.

"Do you see, Thomas? Lena craves usefulness. Just like you. You crave usefulness, don't you?"

I heard myself say "yes." I could only stare at Lena bobbing up and down on my cock.

"What do you crave?"

"Being useful."

"Are you being useful to Lena?"

"Yes," I said, and my cock thickened, and pulsed, and Lena gagged a little.

"How are you being useful to Lena?"

"She's a cock addict," I said. "And I'm giving her my cock. I'm useful to her."

"Yes," said Veronica. "And Lena is being useful to you, isn't she? By sucking your cock? And making you feel good?"

I nodded. I couldn't talk. I felt myself dissolving. I was nothing but a cock and a body now.

"You are useful to each other. And that fills you, doesn't it? Fills the emptiness. Doesn't it?"

It rushed into me like a storm that breaks. The revelation. The transformation. Useful. Be useful. I was useful. I was useful to Lena, which fulfilled me, and Lena was useful to me, which fulfilled her, and it was an endless loop of perfect usefulness generated by my cock in Lena's mouth and her watery, sick, crazy eyes staring at mine.

Veronica stood. She was tall, taller than me, which always intimidated me. She turned up the special music, just a little. The music beat in time with my racing pulse.

Veronica placed a gentle hand on Lena's head. "Good girl." Then she put her other hand on my head. "Good boy," she said, and my cock thickened again, and Lena saidmmmmphhhh.

"Thomas, being useful defines you, doesn't it?"

I nodded. Lena's eyes. Her mouth. So wonderful.

"Thomas: Look at me. Good. I need to tell you something. You are being useful to me as well. Do you hear me? You are useful to me as well."

I gasped. My god. Useful to Veronica. Oh, thank you.

"You are useful to two people, now. Me and Lena. So as good as you felt, you feel even better now, don't you? Don't you feel twice as useful?"

I think I nodded.

Veronica leaned over. Inches from my face. "What if I brought in a third person? Would you feel three times as useful? Yes? Four people? Good. How about ten? Wouldn't you be overflowing with usefulness? Completely filled with it. The absolute purpose of you."

Yes.

Veronica smiled a toothy, full, triumphant smile. I moaned. And I moaned again. It wasn't just Veronica's smile. It was Lena. Her work on me. I was about to cum.

Veronica knew. She knew everything. "Lena," she said, "stop."

Lena and I both whimpered. No, please. Let us be useful, please, god.

"Lena: Sit back." And Lena did. Strings of drool and precum attached her lips to my cock. Her sundress was soaked through at her crotch.

"Lena: Stand up. Yes. Thomas, you, too. Good. Face each other. Closely. Now. Lena. Kick off your shoes. Yes. And now remove your dress. And tear off those constricting panties—rip them right apart. Thomas and I will both find this useful."

Lena smiled. I could smell my cock on her breath. She kicked off her shoes. Then she gripped her dress and began pulling it over her head. It wasn't easy. It was so tight, and pulling it up over her enormous boobs was a struggle. But she did it. The dress fell to the floor. With ferocious effort she tore off her panties and tossed them away.

Lena and I gazed at each other. Then my eyes moved down her body. So pale. Her boobs were lovely, round, firm. Her stomach tight. And at her pelvis—

—an enormous cock. Utterly hairless. Huge. Thick. Dripping. Veined. Dark, and purple.

Lena was a lovely, slender, pale, trembling woman with sick eyes. And she had the biggest cock I'd ever seen.

I recoiled. I'm not gay. I'm not a fag. This was sick, and disgusting, and a nightmare. And then Veronica said in as loud and as clear and as firm a voice as I had ever heard, "Thomas: Everything that is happening is useful to me."

And the usefulness blew away all my horror. What replaced it was bliss and gratitude.

"Everything we do together is useful to me. Say it."

"Everything we do together is useful to you." It was all just so wonderful, now.

"Lena: Stroke yourself." Lena took her huge cock in her tiny, pale hand and began pleasuring herself.

"Thomas: It is useful to me for you to stare at Lena's cock."

I stared at Lena's cock. I felt wonderful.

"It is useful to me for you to like Lena's cock."

Lena gasped. She began stroking herself faster. Precum strung out to the floor.

"Everything I say now makes you more and more useful, Thomas. You are happy about Lena's cock. You love Lena's cock. You want to please Lena's cock. Pleasuring Lena gives Lena pleasure. It gives me pleasure. Pleasure is usefulness, and usefulness is pleasure."

Yes. Pleasure is usefulness, and usefulness is pleasure.

"Then be useful, Thomas. Pleasure Lena's cock. With your mouth."

I dropped to my knees, my own cock thudding around. I'd never pleasured a cock before. I didn't know how. I started slowly. First I kissed the head while looking at Lena, up over her perfect boobs and into her watery, sick eyes. I knew most men liked being looked at that way. I assumed Lena, with her enormous, perfect cock, would like it, too. And she did. She groaned, biting her lower lip, her cock painting my lips with a flood of precum.

In my head came these words:It is useful for you to love precum.It was true. Loving precum was useful and so I loved precum and I loved the taste and how it slithered down my throat into my belly.

I worked on Lena's cock. I still didn't know what I was doing. With the point of my tongue I played with her slit. And then I swirled my tongue around her glans. Was it called the glans? I don't even know. I caressed her heavy balls. I tried everything I'd ever seen with my girlfriends, in videos, to pleasure Lena's cock.

In my head, a voice of absolute certainty:It is useful to suck cocks. It is useful to taste cum. It is useful to swallow cum. It is useful to wear cum. It is useful to love cum. It is useful to do anything you must for cum.On and on and on about cocks, and cum, and usefulness. How full of usefulness could I get? It was endless.

Then the voice told me to stop. I didn't want to stop, but I did, because it was useful, and usefulness was pleasure. The voice told me to take off my clothing. Then it told Lena and I to kneel together, side by side, facing the couch.

On the couch was Veronica, our therapist. Nude. Strong. Leggy. Tight, firm breasts. Smooth, white skin. Perfume. Perfectly manicured toes. My therapist, her pale hand gripping her own hairless, dark, horse-sized cock. Her purple testicles, the size of tennis balls, sat fatly on the cushions.

"Be useful, my pets," said Veronica. "Pleasure my cock."

Lena and I pleasured Veronica's cock. No, not Veronica—Miss Veronica. We worked on Miss Veronica's cock together for hours and hours, being useful to her, making her happy. I loved Lena, and Lena loved me, but we loved Miss Veronica most of all. And after a long time, when Miss Veronica came, she came so much, her horsey cock and balls pumping out warm globs of ecstasy on our faces, and in our mouths, so much cum, dripping off our chins, filling us up with rapture. Lena and I fell back on the floor, shaking and incapacitated by our usefulness and pleasure.