'How often today?' her diary silently demanded as she prepared to write an entry. It was the same every night, it had gone on like this for two years. She would open the diary to the the day's page then sit and stare for many long minutes, the questions repeating over and over, 'How often Beverley? How many times today?"

She laid the pen down, closed her eyes and thought hard. Once when she woke up, again in the shower and on the bus to work as that handsome young man stared at her. Once, no twice while on the phone speaking to the hypnotic voice of Gunther, the German Section manager. Twice during the meeting with the section head as he droned on and on about figures and returns and performance. Again when hot, young Lyndsey from accounts came down and perched on the corner of her desk, her stocking top showing through the split in her skirt. Twice in the toilets after Carol sent her that picture of the couple fucking in the train. Ten times before lunch. No, eleven, another while standing in the queue for lunch. Then again as she overheard a conversation between Jenny and Ted when she was telling him about the size of her latest lover's cock.

Three trips to the toilet in the afternoon, another chat with Gunther, two more meetings, once while waiting in the Production Managers office. Again on the bus, this time while standing in the aisle and brushing against the woman with the expensive perfume. Once, no twice while eating dinner, she had semolina pudding followed by a banana. Three times while watching TV. Fourteen times since lunch plus eleven in the morning, twenty five in total. Correction, twenty six, again while sitting there counting all the other times.

She picked up the pen and wrote, 'Today I have masturbated 26 times and my clit is demanding more attention. I am incapable of resisting it. When it starts throbbing I can do nothing until it is satisfied.'

It had started as a joke. Beverley and Carol had given each other five year diaries on their eighteenth birthdays and both had promised to make a daily record of their sexual exploits. The idea being to exchange diaries when all the pages were full so they could read what each other had been doing. Beverley looked back at the entries she had made. Too many pages had only one entry, the number of times she'd masturbated. She turned the pages backwards looking for a day when there was more than just a record of her playing with herself. "Oh my God," she said aloud. "Is it really eight months since I had that drunk guy at Cheryl's party!" She looked back further, rapidly flicking through almost blank pages until she found another entry worth reading. "Ah, Julie, how could I go for so long without a taste of your delicious pussy."

'Because you spend too much time playing with me!' said a voice in the back of her mind.

She started at the front of the diary, peeling off post-it notes and sticking them to pages where she'd done something more than masturbate. She counted the little pink slips sticking out. Five! Only five in a little over two years. "Why is my love-life so boring?" she demanded of the world at large.

'Because you're in love with me!' said the sqeaky little voice of her clit. 'Nobody else can please me like you do.'

Beverley opened her robe, spread her legs and screamed at her clit, "I hate you! I ought to cut you off!"

Her clit start to throb again and her hand moved towards it. 'That's right, ' said the voice, 'treat me bad. You know we love it when you hurt me.'

"No!" she screamed, bringing her hand down with a resounding slap on her stiffly throbbing clit.

'Yes, ' the voice squealed, 'that's it, hit me, punish me, hurt me.'

Beverley hit her pussy again and again but still her clit throbbed, growing bigger and stiffer, poking it's head out to nod at her as she raised her hand for another slap. "Oh God!" she cried out, bringing her hand down and grabbing her sex, crushing the clit between her thumb and forefinger as her legs began to tremble.

'More!' her clit demanded urgently.

She stood up and tossed off her robe, threw herself on the bed and scratched the projecting head of her clit with a fingernail even as she crushed it. Still it begged for more and, as she had done thousands of times before, she succumbed to its demands. Satisfying it was becoming harder and harder. She pulled the short leather belt out from under the pillow and began to thrash her pussy with it. Every time the belt caught her clit, her back would arch and she'd scream with pleasure. Again and again she brought the belt slashing down, feeling the pain and pleasure mount, side-by-side until they reached a peak, merged and blossomed in a cunt wrenching orgasm that left her weak and trembling.

Sleep took her quickly as she lay in a stupor, her swollen clit numb from the abuse.

She woke up at the sound of a scream. It was herself screaming in joy, in relief, in liberation. She'd been dreaming; dark, forbidden dreams. To anyone else it would have been a nightmare but to Beverley it was freedom, freedom from the wicked tyrant that ruled her every waking hour.

In her dream, her clit had been bigger than the biggest cock she'd ever seen. Everywhere she went it controlled her, made her touch it, stroke it, play with it until she quivered in orgasm, thousands watching and laughing and pointing to her and her giant clit. A little old lady walked up to her, calm as you like, handed her a knife and said, "Here you are dear, this is what you need for something like that." In her dream, Beverley had taken the knife with grateful thanks and started hacking at the clit, slicing it into chunks and shreds and then cutting off all the pieces until there was nothing left but a deep gash.