Camilla Ch. 078byMawrGorshin©
As of that Thursday, it had been almost a week since Camilla had last fucked her father, and while she knew it was getting harder and harder to convince him that he, in his stoned inebriation during every lovemaking, was only dreaming about sleeping with his girlfriend, Camilla's addiction to his dick was only getting stronger. To stave off her next encounter with Agape until a later time, Camilla would need other men to satisfy her mammoth lust...for the time being.
At York, she again was using Nigrovum to make her hair and eyes their original blonde and blue, and her skin its original peach colour; she was wearing white high heels and a dainty but revealing white dress that came down halfway between her thighs and knees. She was walking down an empty hall in a building where her next class would start in a half hour. That class would be her world mythology class, in which the very asexual and misandrist Dr. Sorensen was replacing her original sexy prof, the late Dr. Alex McVie; because of this disappointing replacement, she was not looking forward to the lecture.
Suddenly, she felt a hand gently caressing her buttocks. She looked behind and saw Dr. Lawson, the prof for her erotic literature course.
"Oh, hi sir!" she said with an ear-to-ear grin. "How are you?"
"Oh, just great," he said, patting and lightly squeezing her behind. "Even better now that I'm with you."
"You're so sweet," she said, getting wet at his most sensitive touch. She pointed down the hall ahead of them. "There's a one-person washroom over there. Wanna go inside and fool around?"
"Do I ever," he said, his hand roaming along her anal cleft and gluteal sulcus. They reached the washroom and went in. She locked the door.
He sat on the toilet, and she stood before him, swaying her hips slowly while unzipping her dress from behind. She pulled the shoulder straps off her shoulders, and let the dress fall to her feet, revealing her pink bra and panties, both of which had pretty flower patterns on them. A bulge was rising in his pants, and he was stroking it with his hand.
"My pussy isn't shaved today, sir," she said as she took off her bra with a wiggle of her tits. "I hope you don't mind."
"That's OK," he said as he ogled her tits. "It'll be a nice change."
She pulled down her panties to reveal her jet black pubic hair. The underwear fell to her ankles, and she pulled her shod feet out of the leg holes.
"Do I look OK?" she asked.
"Lovely," he said, still feeling himself.
"Thanks." She turned around, spread her legs out wide and bent over so he could see her pink-purple pussy and dark brown asshole. He leaned forward to get a closer look; he put one finger in her wet pussy, tickling her G-spot, and the fingers of his other hand opened her asshole wide. He licked her anus, slipping his tongue inside an inch or so. As he tongue-fucked her ass, his index finger continued stroking her G-spot. He slipped his long finger deep inside her cunt and reached for her A-spot, gently prodding it.
Still bent over, she moaned and sighed at his talented hands and tongue while stroking the bulge in his pants. She unzipped his pants and put her hand inside. She pulled out his cock.
He stopped tonguing her asshole, and his mouth and fingers switched positions. Now he was sucking on her labia while pushing his index finger inside her asshole. He sucked on her clitoris as she jacked him off.
"I'm gonna come," she moaned. "Wanna eat it?"
"Sure," he said, opening his mouth wide in anticipation. He fingered both her clitoris and her anal walls, and she spouted.
"Ah!" she squealed in whistle register. Some people in the halls were startled to hear that, but continued walking down the hall to their classes.
Most of her come went in his mouth, though some was dripping down his cheeks. He wiped the remainder off with his fingers and then sucked on them.
"OK," she said. "Now it's your turn." She turned around, knelt between his legs, and unzipped his pants. Looking up in his eyes salaciously, she kissed and licked his knob, then put his cock a third of the way inside her mouth. He looked down into her lustful eyes and moaned his thanks for her services. His cock would go in her mouth two-thirds of the way, then come out three-quarters; she always looked up at him, always pleased to be pleasing him. Her hand gently scratched, tickled, and jiggled his balls.
He was quickly approaching orgasm, and she could sense it even without the aid of Nigrovum, his cock was so hard and tingling with excitement. Her mouth went up and down on his cock faster and faster, and then she pulled it out with a popping sound. She pointed it at her face while briefly jerking him off. He spouted his come on her nose, right eye, lips, and left cheek. He looked down at the come dripping off her face and smiled. She looked up at him and giggled.
This moment of pleasure served its purpose well: she'd be able to resist another night of incestuous sex with Agape for at least a few days.
After washing the come off her face, getting dressed, and saying good-bye to Dr. Lawson, Camilla hurried off to her mythology class, for which she was about five minutes late. Dr. Sorensen had been discussing the difference between 'matriarchal' and 'patriarchal' myth, clearly preferring the former to the latter. She invariably described the ancient goddesses as loving and compassionate, while conveniently ignoring their wrathful sides; similarly, gods such as Zeus and Yahveh were characterized as nothing other than warlike rapists.
After lecturing for about a half hour to students who were two-thirds female, one-third male, the prof said, "OK, women; I've spent the past half hour doing things the patriarchal way, dominating class time using the teacher-as-master and student-as-servant paradigm. For the rest of the class, I want to do things the matriarchal way, allowing for a free exchange of ideas from all of you. You may now share your thoughts with the class."
The vagina dialogues thus began.
"It's pretty obvious that a society ruled by women is better than one ruled by men," said an obese female student with spiked hair. "No wars, no class struggle, and certainly no sexism: just peace and love, all from the one gender that actually understands those two ideas."
No sexism, eh? Camilla thought; Gee, no hypocrisy, either, apparently.
"Some interesting points," Dr. Sorensen said. "Thanks for sharing them."
"I totally agree," said another overweight female student, one with a nose ring. "No offence to the guys in our class, but I don't think there's anything controversial about saying that most men are pigs." Almost half the students applauded: more than a few of these were male. Dr. Sorensen also clapped.
"No offence taken, I'm sure," Camilla whispered sarcastically.
"I also agree," said a third girl, who was pretty and thin, the one who said she didn't like the 'misogynist' Alex the week before. "Women's ways of knowing, of feeling, and of empathizing, beat out men's cold, competitive, mechanical thinking every time. Men can learn from us, though: I've been drilling femininity into my boyfriend's head over the past year, and he's making some progress."
"You mean there's hope for men?" a fourth woman, also pretty and thin, said. "Wow, who'd have thought?" That same half of the class laughed. "I tried pounding the female perspective into my ex-boyfriend's head, but he, like all men, never listens."
"Well, maybe if you hadn't been pounding so much," Camilla interjected angrily, "he might have listened."
"Oh, Goddess," the spike-haired student said, ogling Camilla in her provocative dress. "Patriarchal woman just did the impossible: she broke the silence." More chuckles from that same half of the class.
"First of all, I fail to see what's 'patriarchal' about me; I do whatever I like, regardless of what men think. Second, what is so silent about your belly-aching?" Camilla asked.
"Um, what's your problem?" the girl with the nose ring asked.
"Ladies, there are a dozen men in our classroom," Camilla said, "and your man-hating remarks are making them very uncomfortable, I'm sure."
"Do you think we even care?" the spike-haired girl asked.
"How many times have men's attacks on our gender made us uncomfortable?" the one with the nose ring asked. "With all the misogynist things they've written in their vicious books throughout history--never her-story--as well as all the suffering they've caused women, why should we care about men's petty problems? Men can rot, for all I care."
"So much for women's ways of empathizing," Camilla said.
"We care about real problems," the third girl said. "Half of women are either raped, or are victims of attempted rape, sexual harassment, or child molestation."
"Oh, not those exaggerated statistics again," Camilla said.
"They are not exaggerations!" the girl with the nose ring said. "Take back the night, I say. We all know what men are thinking when they look at us. I'm sick of walking home at night, terrified of being raped."
Camilla looked up and down at the chubby girl with the nose ring, and said, "I don't think you need to worry."
The spike-haired girl ogled Camilla and said, "I think you do need to worry. If you wore a shirt that said, 'Come and fuck me, boys,' it would be less obvious than what you have on now. But you, no doubt, are too stupid to realize the danger you put yourself in every day."
Remembering her confrontation with Sam and his friends outside of Club Ritz the previous week, Camilla said, "I'm strong enough to know I can easily handle the kind of men you're so terrified of. But those kind of men are the minority, anyway."
A huge explosion of contemptuous laughter echoed off the walls of the classroom as soon as she finished that sentence.
"You see?" the spike-haired girl said. "A dumb, patriarchal tart."
"What is your problem?" Camilla asked angrily. "Lots of men are perfectly decent people." More laughter. "Not all men are monsters!"
"No, but too many of them are!" the third girl shouted. "You may like men looking at you, you vain hooker, but smart women don't."
"Smart women don't have to be man-haters!" Camilla said.
"I wish that were true, but men always gawk at us women, degrading and humiliating us, treating us like sex objects, because that's all we are to them," the fourth girl said with increasing excitement. "They rape us with their eyes, I'm sick of it. I wish they'd all go away! Men, I need to have space!"
"Man, you need to get laid," Camilla said. "All you girls do."
"I already have a lover," the spike-haired girl said, looking fondly at the ring-nosed girl. "Love you, Rose."
"That's not what I meant," Camilla said. Groans of disapproval followed.
"Oh, so you have a problem with lesbians as well as with feminists," Rose said.
"I have no problems with either," Camilla said. "I just don't have a problem with men. My only problem with them is wondering when my next lay is going to be." More laughter.
"Every time you sleep with men, you give them power," the spike-haired woman said. "They control your body. With lesbian love, men can't control you. You should try it, honey: sex and love."
"First of all, I control the men during sex one hundred percent of the time," Camilla said. "The only power they have is the power I make them think they have, as any smart woman does. And by the way, I've probably slept with at least four times as many women as you have, chunky."
"Show off," Rose said. "And I like BBWs, don't I, Serena?" They kissed.
"I like sleeping with girls a lot, but I prefer men," Camilla said. "You two should try them: sex and cock." Loud laughter.
"Sex and yuck," Serena said, kissing Rose again.
"The point is, I make love with women for the passion; I don't do it as a political statement," Camilla said. "And I also like to do it with men. You don't know what fulfilling is till you've felt a cock pumping inside your pussy or ass." Oohs, ahs, and hysterical laughter came from all corners of the classroom now; several men leered at her in hopes of a lay. Insouciant of the reaction she'd caused, Camilla continued: "Strap-on dildos are a joke, girls. Try the real thing."
"No thank you," Serena said. "I refuse to give a man pleasure."
"I don't think you can," Camilla said. More laughs.
"Well, I did once, actually," Serena said, fighting back sobs. "My father...raped me when I was ten." She started crying.
"Well, I'm sorry to hear that," Camilla said. "But my daddy's the sweetest man ever." She shone another wide-mouthed, ecstatic grin.
"Daddy's little princess," the third girl said sarcastically. "How sweet."
"My mom was the nasty parent in my home," Camilla said. "She falsely accused my dad of doing what happened to Serena, so she could get custody of me. Bitch!"
"There's no such thing as a mother who's a bitch!" the fourth girl shouted.
"Yes, there is!" Camilla shouted back with that eerie, low-pitched, hoarse voice. Her eyes started turning black, as did her hair, wisps of which also flew out in a disordered mess.
"I'll bet your 'daddy' did molest you," the third girl said. "It's just repressed memories."
Camilla got so angry from hearing those words, she visualized tiny stars in everyone else's ears, as she had with Mrs. Holland, causing that same piercing ringing in all their ears. Everyone, including the prof, buckled to the floor as Camilla, now with completely black, dishevelled hair, got her things and stormed out of the classroom.
Several seconds later, the ringing stopped.
"What the fuck was that?" a male student asked as everyone got up, recovering from their daze and the pain.
"Did you hear a story about a girl who fucked profs on campus, and nobody watching could move?" a girl asked.
"Yeah, I was there," another girl said. "She had blonde hair, and the other time black hair. Was that her?"
As Camilla was walking out of the building, she said, "I've had enough of that class. I'm dropping it."
On Thursday, Camilla watched her father lecture on Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus.
"An angel appears to Faustus, urging him to repent and receive Christ," Agape said. "He ignores the angel, being completely blind to his salvation, and set on his soul's damnation. Then Lucifer shows Faustus personifications of the seven deadly sins. Faustus again fails to see the warnings and ignores them."
"You're so great, Daddy," she whispered in sighs from the back of the room. "I want you."
"The devil presents the personified sin of Lechery before Faustus," Agape continued. "Lechery says, 'I am one that loves an inch of raw mutton'. By 'mutton', he means the penis."
I want every inch of your raw mutton, Daddy, she thought. She began fingering herself.
"'O, how this sight doth delight my soul!', says Faustus of Lechery," Agape said.
As you delight mine, Camilla thought.
"'In Hell is all manner of delight', says Lucifer."
"I certainly hope so," Camilla whispered. "I hope the incubi are lying when they tell me about how I'll suffer."
"'O, might I see Hell, and return again safe,/How happy were I then!' Faustus says."
"Exactly," Camilla whispered.
"Later, Faustus wastefully uses the powers Lucifer gave him, playing childish pranks on the Pope, and delighting in how he can apparently do anything," Agape said.
"Why not?" she whispered. "Fuck the Church; and I can do anything, thanks to Nigrovum." Then she checked her watch. "Shit." Dr. Lee's office hours are coming soon, she thought; gotta blow him. She left the classroom, no longer able to hear what her father was saying.
"Now we come to the end of Faustus' life, and his futile efforts to avoid being taken to Hell," Agape said.
On Friday night in Club Ritz, naked Camilla was giving a customer a table dance in the main area of the bar when a handsome, blonde-haired man in his late thirties walked in and saw her frontal loveliness. She'd used Nigrovum to bring back her original blonde hair, blue eyes, light brown pubic hair, peach skin, and pink nipples.
She smiled at the man as he ogled her, then she turned around so he could see her pretty round buttocks. He walked over to a table further to the back of the strip joint, and sat down. As she continued doing the table dance, she did a psychic scan of the man's sexual tastes: he fetished the female anus, liked to watch girls pee, and thought dumb blondes were sexy. She knew which persona to do for him: ditzy 'Dolly'.
She finished the table dance, put on a white T-shirt, some cut-off jean shorts, and high heels, and walked over to where that man went. He saw her, and flagged her down to come over and sit with him.
"Hi," 'Dolly' said as she sat on chair facing him. "I'm Camilla," she said with a giggle, shaking his hand. "You saw me bare-naked over there." She giggled again.
"Yes, I did," he said. "You have a really beautiful body."
She giggled again, like a little girl.
"My name's Patrick," he said.
"What do you do, Patrick?" she asked.
"I'm a banker," he said. "I work in First Canadian Place, the headquarters of the Bank of Montreal."
"Wow! That's impressive."
"I watch over one hell of a lot of money, keeping all the rich people happy."
"Yeah, I'll bet." A new song began. "Wanna see me bare-naked now?"
"Absolutely," Patrick said.
She got up and started swaying her hips slowly left to right as she unzipped her jean shorts. As the undone shorts slowly slid down her sinuous hips, she pulled off her T-shirt with a wiggle of her breasts. Her eyes were agape and her lips pursed as her shorts fell to her feet. She kicked off her high heels, and was now fully naked.
She put her knee on his chair, pushing it against his hard-on while pressing her left breast against his face. He felt the nipple tickle his lips, then he opened them so it would go inside for a brief suck. She took his hands and put them on her hips, sliding them up and down; he couldn't believe how indulgent she was being for a mere table dance! After rubbing both of her breasts against his face for the next several seconds, she turned around and sat on his pointy lap, briefly rubbing on it. She was most pleased with the size of his member, and had high hopes of feeling it inside her pussy that night.
That thing will definitely keep me satisfied for a while, she thought; then I'll be able to wait a little longer before risking things with Daddy again.
She got up and sat on her chair. She spread her legs wide open so he could see her pussy; then her fingers opened her labia out wide. Her vaginal hole was shaped like a black egg. She looked back at him with an open mouth and eyes that invited him inside her dark cunt. Patrick wished he had a flashlight to see inside it.
Sure, I'm a sex object to Patrick, she thought; but I'm not the degraded one, just because I'm naked and he isn't. He's the degraded one because I'm turning him into an animal, him paying me through the nose and satisfying my lust, as I make all men do. He doesn't have the power: I do. Those radical feminists are just too stupid to see that.
Towards the end of the song, she was standing with her back to him. She almost forgot to show off his fetish, her pretty asshole, so she spread her butt-cheeks wide open so he could see. He bent forward to get a better look; she looked back at him to make sure he was getting a good eyeful. The smile on his face as he stared at those pretty dark wrinkles put a smile on hers. Then the song ended.