No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 09

"Not that way, you can't."

She kept her eyes down and began to unzip her dress, peeling it off revealing her bra. Still not looking at him, she unsnapped and removed it, dropping it to the floor. Her dress slipped to her feet, and she slipped her panties and stockings down. Stepping out of her shoes she stood before him, naked, her eyes still looking at the floor.

Marcie's eyes widened, her hand moving to her mouth to cover it as her jaw dropped. The way her past-self was behaving was foreign, and disturbing, but even more shocking to her was the dark black triangle of hair covering her mound. She hadn't seen her muff as thick since she her step-mother had forced her to shave. She moved her legs a little and realized how wet she was getting.

"May I enter your room, Monty?"

He answered by opening the door. It wasn't locked. She could have done it herself, but it was obviously a ritual they had worked out. He slid his hand on a light switch; the room was bathed in a dim yellowish light.

Marcie gasped at what the sequence revealed; her heart practically jumped out of her chest: The room was set up as a small theater – a stage facing rows of seats, and on the stage was the "dungeon" she had hallucinated about in the basement.

"God, Monty. NO! That isn't really in your bedroom next door, is it?" She stopped the sequence, the view of the manacles bolted into a rock wall frozen in front of them. As alarming as the image was, the feelings erupting inside her were even more so.

"No. Would you like to see how I've decorated it?"

She couldn't understand how he could be...amused...by what they were seeing. Her gut was boiling, her panties were soaked and her bra was irritating her nipples they were so stiff.

"I...I...I don't understand..." She wanted to turn away, but from what? Her own body?

"Should we stop? I can see how this could be disturbing to you. Is this similar to the 'dungeon' you had imagined when we were downstairs?"

She nodded. "No! I mean, yes – it is similar to the hallucinations I had, but I'm not sure I want to stop. This is just so weird...but what's weirder is...is how it's making me feel." She grabbed his hand and moved it between her legs where he could feel how wet her panties were. He looked up at her, his eyebrows furrowed a little in confusion.

"This is turning you on? Hmmm...that's interesting." He left his hand there, pushing on her slightly. She moaned.

"Why is this turning me on so much? I'm not like this. I...I'm not a pervert this way...Shit, how sick am I?"

He turned to her, putting his other arm around her, pulling her into a kiss. "You haven't learned anything yet, have you? If it isn't exhibitionism it's submission. If it isn't submission, it's a fetish. If not that, it's something else. What difference does it make what you do to seek pleasure? There are no rules when you wade in the river. It is about the life force and what you do with it. It is about being a human being." He held her, staring into her face. He moved his hand away from her vagina and sat back.

She could tell he was slightly annoyed with her, but that was overshadowed by the intensity of her arousal.

"Shall we continue?"

She looked down and saw his erection bulging in his trousers and smiled weakly. If this was turning him on half as much as it was her, it was enough for her to force the both of them to watch it. She took perverse pleasure in sharing her discomfort. "No...I mean, yes...let's see where this goes for another minute or so."

He started the sequence again, and they watched as she entered the room, stepping onto the stage. She stood with her back to the wall, clamping her left hand into iron manacle with her right and holding her right hand up to the other, waiting. "Please, Monty, could you help me?"

Marcie's eyes were glued to the black triangle of hair: it stretched practically from her waist down into a black slit between her legs. The hairs were so long she could see individual strands hanging in the gap at the juncture of her thighs. She thought she could see beads of moisture matting them together. Her own moisture seeped out of her.

He stood next to her, imprisoning her right hand and then spreading her legs wide, wider than looked comfortable, attaching matching bracelets to her ankles. He let his hand drift up her leg, his finger sliding into her slit. She moaned.

Marcie moaned, her eyes glued to the sequence.

He got up from the couch, freezing the image of her past-self imprisoned and exposed to an empty set of seats, lights shining on her, Monty's past-self standing close by, not threatening but ...dominating.

She moaned again. "God...what am I doing? What are you doing?"

He had moved behind the couch, directly behind her. "Would you mind if I tried a small experiment?"

She bent her head back to look up at him. From her angle she couldn't really interpret his expression, but she didn't feel threatened. "What do you want to do?"

"I just realized something about you, just this minute. You are not just concerned about being an exhibitionist, are you?" It was a rhetorical question, but he didn't say it as if he was psycho-analyzing her either. It was a statement of fact. "I think you are troubled by any sexuality you may be feeling that isn't 'plain vanilla.'" Again, he said it as a statement of fact without any invitation for her to discuss it.

A small annoyance at being dissected without her permission began to compete with the arousal: a bluish vapor subduing the orange glow.

"I don't know any of this as a fact, but let me explore this with you for a second. Patti is just upstairs; you can discuss my observations, or your annoyance with them with her. But I would like to explore something just for a second. May I?"

She wasn't so ticked off to stop him, the glow was still strong up and down her spine. She nodded, turning her eyes back to the screen, back to her black triangle, her body spread open, his screen image's hand just reaching for a part of her body. She felt cool air on her panties and realized she'd opened her legs wider.

He reached down with both hands and pulled her shoulders back, gently, slowly, but firmly. She didn't fight him – it was like a small massage, but it resulted in her pushing her breasts forward, her back slightly arched. He held her there for several breaths. She pulsed the muscles in her pelvic floor, pinching her labia together. She imagined her clit pushing out of its hood and mewled slightly.

He reached his left arm across her collar bone, below her neck, his mouth coming down as he bent forward slightly. With his right hand he began to unbutton her shirt. She knew she could stop him, either with words or with her hands, but she let him continue. She imagined she was imprisoned, his left arm holding her against the couch, her own arms held back.

"Sit on your hands for a second."

She lifted herself off the couch, one side and then the other, slipping her hands under her buns. Now she really was trapped. He had undone her blouse and pulled it aside, exposing her bra. He slipped his hand up to the clasp and twisted it, releasing the fabric from her breasts.

The air against her nipples was a relief, at the same time the exposure heightened her arousal further. She wasn't sure what he was driving at, but she was starting to wish Patti wasn't upstairs. She opened her legs further.

He reached across her for the control, momentarily releasing her. She didn't move, she didn't want to move. She wanted him to kiss her, to caress her, to use her, as he had used her the past weekend, as he was using her on stage.

"Let's continue to watch, until you can't take it anymore."

She wasn't sure what he was referring to: the images on screen or what he was planning for her on the couch, but she looked at him and nodded.

Her past-self stood, splayed open as his past-self reached behind the screen. He pulled out a bin that he placed at her feet. She looked down at it, licking her lips.

"What do you need tonight?" He asked her, pulling various objects out for her to look at.

Monty held her tight against the couch with one arm, his free hand first slipping into her mouth, then pinching her nipples, then sliding down to her navel, teasing at her waist band. His chest kept her head from falling backward; she just wanted to have him make love to her. She looked at the "toys" his past-self was presenting to her in the scene.

She saw the ball-gag she had been wearing in her hallucinations, and the riding crop, and the huge dildo. With each object she contracted her groin muscles and felt her panties soaking up her juices. He pulled out a long silver chain with clips on the end, a leather harness she couldn't begin to understand and a leather mask.

"The mask, please. But not the gag. I want to hear myself scream." She said it with a sense of need as if he was doing her a favor, like preparing a needle of her favorite drug.

Marcie wasn't sure how much longer she could stand where the sequence was obviously going. If his past-self was going to whip her, or make her scream for any reason, she knew she would have to stop. But it was like watching a train-wreck in slow-motion. She wanted to turn away but was fixed to the spot, hoping it wouldn't happen exactly as she predicted.

He reached down further, using both hands briefly to unsnap the hook on her skirt. She turned her lips to kiss his neck, lifting herself briefly to let him strip the skirt and panties down a little. Now her legs were cuffed, her cunny trapped even as it was exposed to the air. She could smell her musk wafting up.

He returned his arm across her collarbone, holding her back, his hand now playing up and down the front of her body. She moaned as much because of him as for him.

Her past-self's face was now hidden by the mask; it made her body look more vulnerable and exposed. Just the image of it forced her to push against his fingers as they made their way to her slit.

"Hmmm....please....could you....?" She didn't want to say anything, but the intensity of the feelings were stronger than her desire to avoid begging.

He held off, forcing a small cry of frustration from her. Her past-self was now moaning as well: he had taken the silver chain and clipped each end to her nipples, letting the heavy links drop. The loop was nearly to the floor suggesting he could do creative things with it.

He pulled the leather harness behind her, snapping it together in front. It was obvious to her now what it was used for: running up between her legs was a belt with a hole in it. Using a small strap, he inserted a vibrator through the hole and into her vagina, strapping it in place. As it entered her, she moaned, apparently as much from anticipation as the feeling of the dildo penetrating her.

He adjusted the remaining straps and pulled up a stool to sit next to her. "Let's see how long you can hold out tonight." He picked up a small remote control and played with some settings. The effect on her was immediate: she let a long keening sound as if he was playing her like an instrument. He sat and studied her eyes through the mask, lightly pulling on the chain. Her moans changed, now sounding like a small coyote yipping. Each time he tugged she let out a small clipped sound, when he stopped she issued a string of "thank-yous" and jerked her pelvis in obvious rhythm to the vibrator.

Marcie couldn't stand it any longer. "Please...Monty...please...I can't take it...please...make me come. Make me come. I need you to fuck me. Anything. Your finger inside me. Anything. I need to feel you rubbing me." She wanted to pull out her hands and pull down his neck to force his mouth on her cunt and gush him with her juices.

"Can you hold out a little longer?" He pulled his fingers up to her nipples, stretching them slightly, rubbing them between his thumb and index, feeling their silky knobbiness.

"I...I'm not...sure...I can take it...oh god, oh god, oh god." She was looking at her past-self, the intensity of the vibrator obvious in how she was moving and the sounds she was making. The images from the past, of being used in front of an audience came rushing back to her and she just wanted to tear her clothes off and feel the sweet release of an orgasm. "Please. Please. Please." Each word was exhaled after a long intake of breath as she tried to calm herself.

"Thank you." He said, letting her go and standing back up. "I can stop it now, if you want."

"Stop it? Stop it? No...can't you see how turned on I am? Please...don't stop!"

"It's your choice again. Perhaps we should stop and continue this after Patti is gone?"

She weighed his suggestion against her need. Her body was on fire, she was sure she was dripping onto the love seat, her nipples ached. But she wanted to 'wade in the river' again – the feeling was so utterly fantastic – and she wasn't sure she could do it without taking it slow. The thought of being on the edge of an orgasm only added to her excitement, sending a vibration up her spine. She closed her eyes and nodded agreement.

"We've been in here a long time. Maybe you should go talk with her and come back."

She was a mess – looking at her face in the mirror in the bathroom the reflection was flushed, her makeup smeared. She reclasped her bra and buttoned her shirt; her panties would be a completely different problem. They were soaked and she was certain Patti would smell her. She slipped them off and left them on the sink. Soaking a washcloth she gave herself a quick douche, hoping to at least remove the most obvious odors. She took a moment to refresh her makeup but she knew it was obvious what they'd been doing.

"So," Patti looked up from a magazine she was reading on the couch. "I see you had a very different experience tonight." She took out her notebook and sat up.

"Uhhhm, yes....I...I'm not sure where to begin."

"Well, first off, what did you decide to review?"

"Oh. Right. I thought it would be interesting to see the same two sequences again. It was such a powerful experience the other night, I had hoped to feel it again...."

"And?"

"Well, it was disappointing...on that level. I guess it's like seeing a magic trick the second time: the mystery was gone...but then...then." She stopped and blushed a deep red.

"What happened?" She looked up into Marcie's face to see if there was something else going on other than the obvious embarrassment she was feeling.

"He...Monty...suggested we continue to look at the anti-exhibitionist stream for a little while just to see where it would lead...and..." She couldn't get the words out; she couldn't accept she could be that way.

"And?"

"...and I...I ended up being his submissive...slave?" She blushed at the memory of asking to be attached to the manacles.

"And?"

Marcie couldn't believe she needed to say anything more. "And...it's not me! I've never done those...those things! It's....wrong." She didn't feel the conviction of her words in the last sentence and Patti picked up on it.

"It's wrong...tell me more."

"It's...not...wrong, exactly. I didn't mean to say that. I mean, it's not right for me. I don't need to do that stuff. Monty and I don't need to behave that way for us to be together." She squirmed again at the memory of the shackles, and then a fleeting image of him fucking her on the balcony, and the two of them reflected in the mirror as he took her from behind. She closed her eyes a moment to collect her thoughts.

"You feel it's not necessary?"

"Okay, shit. Look." Marcie was getting annoyed. "I got really, really turned on by what I saw." She stopped and realized she had confessed out loud what she had hoped to deny. "I...it's kind of upsetting to see yourself...letting go...submitting...I don't know...it was out of control." The sound of her past-self yipping in response to him pulling the chain on her nipples hit her again.

"It? Was out of control?"

"Yeah. It! The situation. I was out of control, I was acting like an animal...it was...embarrassing."

Patti made some notes in her book. "Was Monty embarrassed?"

Marcie thought about it for a few heartbeats. "No. Not that I could see. Neither the past-Monty or the one in the room seemed fazed in any way by what I was doing." She clamped her groin muscles briefly, feeling a pulse of pleasure along with the memory of his caresses.

"So...you submitted to being his 'slave.' What exactly does that mean?"

She decided it wouldn't do any good to beat around the bush, so to speak, and described the sequence. As she was working up to the part with the mask and the dildo she felt herself getting aroused again and she knew Patti knew what was happening. All the time she talked, Patti took notes, acknowledging what she was saying, prompting her to provide more details.

She wound down having described the intensity of Monty's "experiment," looking up at the other woman. "What is going on?"

Patti just shook her head. "It's...I'm...Hmmm." She paused to collect her thoughts. "Monty's suggestion about your sexual 'hangups' is an interesting idea, but I wouldn't jump to conclusions based on your reaction to what you felt happening in those scenes. Really...it was just one thread of an infinite number of threads, right? More importantly is: what do you feel about what you experienced and how you felt about his 'experiment?'"

She felt...powerless when he held her that way, when he forced himself on her on the balcony, from behind, when he had his fist inside her. She felt as if she was just an extension of his own power. She felt he was so powerful, so rich, so able to have anything he desired she was insignificant. "Power. It's about power. I feel...powerless." She rattled off a censored version of the stream of consciousness and sat back, exhausted.

"Hmmm. I think that's a remarkable set of insights, Marcie. You said earlier 'it's out of control,' and then a little later 'I was out of control.' It sounds like you are concerned about losing your control over the relationship, or perhaps over your determination to get better?" Patti put down the notebook and looked at her, glancing momentarily at her watch.

"Maybe. Maybe so." Marcie wasn't sure what all that meant, but she knew she wanted to visit the river, to continue her 'training' as she was beginning to think about it, and she needed Patti to leave as soon as practicable.

"Well, last time you spent 15 minutes with him and 60 with me. Tonight it was reversed, but I don't think the time was any less powerful. Whatever is going on in there, the progress you are making is very clear. I want to reiterate, though: Monty isn't a trained therapist – he has an agenda, whether it is in line with your needs or your best interests is hard to know, since he is obviously deeply involved with you. I believe he cares for you very much, but you both are exploring some uncharted ground here – on many different levels." She looked at Marcie piercingly. "I can't say this any more frankly: please be careful and look out for yourself. Call me at any time if you feel you need help. Any time, night or day."

The two of them got up, silently agreeing it was time for Patti to go. As Marcie let her out of the door, she considered the past minutes' discussion, weighing it against what she hadn't told her therapist – dipping into the life force.

Before returning to the theater she made a pot of tea, scrounging through his pantry for a box of cookies. When she re-entered the theater she saw the image of her past-self, splayed open on stage, the mask hiding her expression, still wrapped in the harness, impaled on the dildo. The images slammed into her like a body tackle, her knees wobbled a little forcing her to set the tray down on the bar.