The Second Degradation of Alice
Copyright© 2025 by tiffany58
Chapter 7: Dylan’s Diagnosis
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 7: Dylan’s Diagnosis - A young woman is recovering from years of degradation at the hands of a group of mature men. But an invite to a school reunion triggers emotional flashbacks and leads her towards a second degrading life. How will she survive?
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Coercion Consensual BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Gang Bang Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism First Fisting Masturbation Oral Sex Squirting Public Sex Teacher/Student Prostitution
My five video counselling sessions, one free and four paid, although Dylan Jones had not yet asked for any money, were now at an end and according to the planned programme we were due to meet face-to-face next time for Dylan’s feedback and proposals. At the end of the last session, he asked me if I was comfortable about coming to his clinic for that planned meeting with him in person. I asked him if he had come to any conclusions and did he think there was a way forward? He replied yes to both but said I might not like what he had to tell me.
I was encouraged by his honesty and agreed to go to the next stage of our relationship. We arranged to meet in two weeks at his office in Wardour Street, in Soho, the old centre of London’s red-light district, but much changed today.
As the day arrived, I was nervous, excited, and intrigued to hear what he might have to say about me, and not sure what I would do with whatever he proposed. I was still active online, sharing intimate and erotic thoughts and memories with total strangers, and I was still masturbating nearly every day, albeit perhaps not in such a frenzied way as I was before starting to talk to Dylan. I chose a simple black, silk, shift dress that ended mid-thigh and a pair of four-inch-high black stilettoes to match. I carried a simple black clutch bag that had my keys, my phone and my cards and cash. I took nothing else with me, not even a coat.
I took an Uber to his office, stood looking up at the building still wondering if I was doing the right thing, and then entered and climbed the two flights of stairs to his floor. His office was at the end of the corridor and, as I walked along the vinyl floor, my heels clicked loudly and announced my presence to anyone in the other offices. I reached his door, a simple plaque saying Dylan Jones, Counsellor, giving the only indication of who was behind that door.
I knocked on the door, expecting a receptionist to open it, so was surprised when Dylan opened it himself. He was just as in his profile pictures: tall, overweight with a sagging belly, a bit like Professor Aronson, thinning grey hair pulled back in a small pony tail, a goatee beard and dark framed glasses perched on top of his head. His face and smile were warm and friendly and I instantly took a liking to him. He was wearing a set of hospital scrubs, baggy tie-waist trousers, and a short-sleeved top, with a pair of Crocs on his otherwise bare feet.
“Alice, I am so pleased to see you in person. Do please come in” he said in a soothing voice, as he held the door wide and waved me in. “I will put the lock on as this is the only way in and we do not want to be disturbed, although it is very unlikely that anyone will bother us. You just flip this catch up if you want to escape from me” he laughed.
His office was a large corner one with windows on two sides, although not with much of a view through the slatted blinds. In one corner was a set of two easy chairs and sofa around a coffee table, and in the corner, between the two windows, a large old desk with a comfy leather swivel chair. Filing cabinets sat in the corner the other side of the door. Another door off the office led into a plush shower room and toilet. Finally, between the bathroom door and the other window corner of the room, sat a cliched psychiatrist-style black couch, which I nearly laughed at when I saw it.
However, he took me to the easy seats and offered me a cup of coffee, which I declined but accepted a bottle of water from a fridge behind his desk. He started the conversation by telling me I looked very elegant and asking if this was typical of my normal working attire. He then said I looked very professional which must be important when dealing with clients and their clients for them. A few more harmless questions followed about where I lived, my apartment and how long I had been there. Then some questions about where I had grown up and gone to school, which began to raise some niggling anxieties in my stomach and when the questions followed about my time at university I was quite visibly stressed.
I then cut in to his questions sharply and asked him if he had come to any conclusions about me, and if so, when was he going to tell me. He smiled at me in a friendly reassuring way, and told me yes, he had come to some conclusions. But he could see I was already stressing about our chat so he did not want to rush me – we had the whole afternoon to talk.
He then said that although it was a bit of a cliché (my thoughts on seeing it) his couch was actually a big help in relaxing people and getting them to take in what he was saying to them. He suggested that we move to the couch and invited me to lay down on it, and suggested I take my shoes off to relax more. As I lay down my dress rode up an inch or two to expose a bit more of my slim legs.
He drew up a chair beside the couch and sat down facing me, about level with my knees, and gave me a reassuring smile as he took in all my slim body and legs laying before him.
“Now Alice I am going to ask you some very direct questions. I already know more about you than most people so do not be embarrassed to answer, and I do assure you that the answers are important. “So, Alice, what is Rule Number One?”
Stunned silence and then in a whisper I said “I am a slut and a whore.”
“And do you believe that?”
Again, silence from me before another whispered answer “Yes, or at least I was”
“Yes to which? Were you a slut or a whore?”
“I was a slut for John but he made me a whore for the others.”
“Which did you prefer to be, a slut or a whore”
“A slut”
“Why?”
“Because a man just wants a slut for fun, but being a whore is a transaction – its humiliating.”
“But you like being humiliated, don’t you?”
“Yes, because it is wrong if I enjoy what they do to me”
“Do you miss being a slut and a whore?”
“Yes” I replied without hesitation.
I let out a low sob as I said that word. My mind was in turmoil. After just a few minutes of Dylan’s gentle questioning, I had already confessed to missing my previous life.
“Ok Alice, next question. What is the dress code you had to abide by?”
Again, I was silent as I tried to frame the right answer, but gave up and just told it as it was.
“Only to wear skirts and tops and dresses. No underwear at any time. No clothes that cover or encase my legs or my body, so no stockings tights socks, no lingerie of any kind including bras, no trousers or jeans, shorts, sportswear, swim suits – basically, what you see is what I must wear.”
“When did you start living by these rules?”
“With a few amendments the rule was imposed when I was 14”
“What was the purpose of the rule:”
“To make my sexual parts easily available to any man at any time”
“You used the present tense when you described the code. Do you still live by this rule?”
“Yes.”
“So that little black dress is all you are wearing today?”
“Yes”
“Why are you still living with that dress code?”
“I do not know – it just seems right. I like the feeling it gives me. It seems so free and makes me feel available to anyone. I enjoy people looking when my nipples are showing or my skirt rides up too high. Maybe I am a secret exhibitionist. That is how it has been for twelve years, ever since John told me a slut and whore is always available to a man.”
I drew in another deep breath and considered what I had just said. I had confessed to missing being a slut and a whore. And now I had admitted that I still dressed as a slut and whore because that is what they had to do.
“Right Alice, you are doing very well, here is the next question. When you were talking to me on the video calls were you masturbating at the same time? It was a very erotic conversation at times, and it must have brought back many memories. So, did you masturbate? Your frequent masturbating was one of the reasons you started to talk to me, after all.”
This time the silence went on for ages but then, with a sob, I said “Yes. I did. Every time.”
“Did you remove any clothing to do that? Were you making yourself available as you confessed to being a slut and a whore for all those years?”
“The first time I just pulled my dress up because it was so unexpected to feel like that, but the other times, I was naked from the waist down as I knew what to expect. Could you see me?
“No, but I could tell from your demeanour and body movements that you probably were masturbating as we spoke. There were clearly parts of each conversation that aroused you the most and that is when I could tell you were masturbating. Did you cum while we were talking?”
“No, but I did as soon as you disappeared from my screen.”
“If this session, or any future sessions here, starts to raise similar levels of arousal, would you like to masturbate as you lay there? If you do, would you like me to watch you so you can feel properly available like a good slut and whore?”
I gasped in shock at the question and began to cry, not just sob, until I told him yes, I wanted to masturbate when it felt right and yes, I wanted to be a good slut and let him watch me.
“And if I become aroused too, will you mind if I masturbate in front of you while you are doing it for me? Perhaps even cum on your bare legs as that is what a slut would enjoy isn’t it?”
Through great heaving sobs and a stream of tears I cried out “Yes. Watch me. Masturbate as you watch me. Cum on me like the dirty little slut I am!”
We stopped there for a few minutes as he gave me tissues to wipe my eyes and blow my nose. Then he sat down again facing me.
“Ok Alice, now I am going to tell you what your problem is and when we have agreed on that, we can discuss how we can deal with it going forward. But as you may be going to masturbate as we talk, I suggest you pull that expensive dress out from under you and push it up to your waist. We both know you have a history of getting damp patches on clothes and seats, and the whole point of your clothing code is to make you easily available to any man, and for today I am that man so I need to see you.”
I placed my hands on my dress and then hesitated, before reaching a decision. I wanted this man to see me masturbate, to look at my glistening wet vulva and see my fingers dive inside my open pussy. I wanted to see him masturbate looking at me and I wanted him to splash his cum all over my legs and maybe even my vagina. All that went though my head in seconds and then a little voice inside me said “Do It slut. Make yourself available to this man. Debase yourself like you have done so many times in your life.” And with no more hesitation I pulled my dress up to my waist and lifted my hips to pull it up behind me, I was now naked from my navel down for this man to look at and admire, a slut for him to lust after.
As he sat there looking at my naked body, he lifted his own hips and pushed his medico’s scrubs down to his knees, his saggy belly peeping out from under his top and a relaxed cock rested between his thighs. Now we were both available if we needed to be.
“Now is the time to reveal my conclusions about you Alice. We are both ready and available. All it needs is for me to talk, you to listen and for us both to do what comes naturally to us.” This is what he told me:
“Your Uncle John was a perceptive man. He obviously spotted some potential in you at an early age and decided to explore and exploit that potential. I think he spotted immediately that you were a naturally submissive girl and sexually you would be vulnerable to him. The lack of strong parental closeness to you, your father’s submissive behaviour in being led by John and your mother’s own sexual dependence on John, all made it easy for him to become your physical and emotional master, before you even realised that was what you needed.
“And there was another perceptive thing that John recognised in you. Even on that first day when he took your virginity, you never told him to stop, or said No. And even the very next day, you willingly did what he wanted. He recognised that you had it in you to be a submissive slut, with the potential to be a whore too. And he knew because you so obviously enjoyed being used by him and being told that you were a slut and a whore.
“When he introduced the other men, again you never said no or stop. Each in turn got to use you as he wished and you willingly let them abuse you. John shaving your cunt, arranging contraception, introducing the dress code, fucking you straight after school for years, you willingly accepted it because you loved being his slut, right from day one.