No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 11

"I know you are preparing me for the time when you can release yourself into me, right?"

He stopped whatever he was doing and took a seat next to her; it seemed she was getting serious about something. "Yes, that's part of it. Partly I want to share with you the incredible feelings I and so many others have had."

She realized it was as close to a religion as he believed in, but she wasn't finished – she braced herself to ask him what he had meant, whether he really wanted her to give herself to him...completely. She put her hand on the bulge in his crotch, stroking it absent mindedly. "And I'm only too happy you have. It's been nothing short of fantastic."

"What's the matter?" He reached over and traced a pattern on her right nipple, watching her aureole pucker in response.

"I...I don't know how to ask this, Monty." She saw herself again, kneeling on the floor, her hands bound behind her, her face looking at his cock and waiting for his command. "I...I'm thinking about what you said the night you proposed...about 'exploring new territories.' That night...right then, when you said it...and now...right now...I...oh shit. I don't know how to say this. I'm being such an idiot."

He stopped and looked at her. Naked, exposed and now shy like any of the employees at his office, too awed by his status to even complete a sentence. He breathed through the growing irritation, waiting for her to come to whatever it was she was struggling with.

"You know how at Grey's Pointe, how you took me before the party, how you forced me across the chair, exposed in front of the vanity mirror? Remember the other night, here, where I needed your help...?" She didn't know how to say it and hoped he could guess what she was thinking. It was no use, he sat there, his face impenetrable. "Shit. There's nothing for it but to just get it out. Monty, do you want me to be your submissive?"

Before she could react, he leaned into her and pressed his lips to her mouth, forcing his tongue against her, his hand gently stoking her breast. She inhaled sharply through her nose, his response startled her. She responded, pushing her lips against his, wrestling his tongue with hers. And just as suddenly, he pulled away, a gleam in his eye.

"Really? That's what's been going on here?" He waited until she nodded. "Before I answer that question, let me ask you a question first. Do you think you are making progress with your therapy?"

It was a fair question; she spent a lot of time considering it herself. "Yes. I do. Why? Do you?" She suddenly felt truly exposed, her inner psyche as open to his inspection as her body was to his eyes.

"It's not for me to say, Marcie. I've enjoyed you since the day we met, before I knew your past, your concerns, the work you've been doing. Do you seem happier to me? Yes, definitely!" He leaned in and kissed her again. "But then, you say shit like this and I either want to laugh or call Patti."

"What...what do you mean?"

"Submissive? You be my submissive? Is that what you want? Is that what exploring new territories means to you? I want to go where you haven't gone before. Why...why did you think I meant you should be my submissive? Why...shit...why didn't you think I should be your submissive?"

The thought of him kneeling before her, naked and bound, asking permission of her for his sexual release was so ridiculous, so foreign to her expectations that she started to laugh. And she kept laughing. The release of weeks of tension, the silliness of the image, the delight at the possibility, the very fact he could even imagine such a scenario tickled her. Her stomach cramped and tears squeezed from her eyes.

"Do you remember the end of that weekend, when I lectured you on pigeonholing? Being my prostitute? The labels, Marcie. The labels don't exist. If being submissive to me is a turn-on for you, let's explore that! If having me tied up and at your mercy is a turn-on for you, let's do that. It isn't what we call it. It's what it is."

His hands reinforced his words. He spread her legs and put her arms on top of the sofa, bending down to lick her nipples. "What do you want me to do?" His fingers played down her belly, teasing her just above her labia. She moved her hips unconsciously, staring at him and trying to recover her breath.

Although they hadn't made love after every session, she had crested the waves at least a few more times since the night before his proposal. That night seemed to be the turning point for her and every time she'd immersed herself it had become easier, less novel, but no less intense. She felt she was getting better control over it, that she needed less stimulation to get there. Now, with him spreading her open to his eyes, she could feel the white flames licking up her spine and she thought she might crest without any further effort. She wanted to go there...but there was another question, an earlier question she had wanted to pursue. She took a breath, closed her eyes and held his hands away from her body for a moment. It was related – the idea of being his submissive....she breathed, concentrating on the prior thought.

"What if...what if you had slipped up somehow...what if, in some alternate past you hadn't stopped yourself from coming...like a few weeks ago in the hotel room at Grey's Pointe. Do you think there is such a past?"

She could see by his reaction that it was a stupid question. Of course there was such a past – there were infinite possibilities at every moment. Surely, there was such an alternate. She rolled her eyes to let him know she realized how stupid it was to ask that way.

"What I guess I'm asking is, can we see a past where you come?"

He raised his eyebrows and glanced over her shoulder for a moment checking the time. "Would you really like to see one of those?" He seemed uncertain. His eyes returned to her body. She saw his cock pulse slightly inside his slacks.

"I was just curious. Yeah, I guess I would. You don't have to watch with me, but I'm not sure how I would bring it up. Is it something where I can just type it in, like Google?" She reached for his cock, petting him again.

He shifted position and smiled, adjusting his legs to let his erection move inside his pants. He let her play with him for the moment. "That's the hope, but that's far too sophisticated for what we can do at this point. We are working with search companies; some are helping us work through the theory and mechanics. It's another ground breaking opportunity." He shook his head as if to say there were just too many avenues to pursue.

She shook her head trying to understand how he could get so clinical after being so personal. "So what would I do?"

"Well...are you serious?"

"No, I'm just making conversation. Of course I'm serious. I'm really curious to see what would happen. The stories you've told are really hard to believe. Not that I don't believe you, I do. Let's just say I would be a much stronger believer if I could see it with my own eyes."

"Okay..." he seemed reluctant.

She got up, letting go of his cock and leaving her clothes on the floor, leading the way to the theater. He followed, taking a stack of papers with him, his erection tenting the front of his pants.

"Why don't you just take those off?" She giggled. "It looks terribly uncomfortable."

Settled into the theater, the screen down, the curtains closed, he brought over the remote control and explained a little more about how to use it. He pointed out the date function, the Gaussian curve function and some others.

"We want to look at some of the least probable pasts. Since I'm dead set against ejaculating only very improbable alternatives would be the likely place to start. The date doesn't matter so much, as long as it was one where we were having sex to begin with. Let's set the date for the first time you asked – when I gave you the massage."

She dialed back the date control to their first dinner together at his house, almost six months ago.

"Okay, now the Gaussian curve, like we did in the first session. Move the vertical bar from the high mark part of the curve off to one edge – those are the least likely probability vectors." She moved the graphics around. "It's really a hit or miss thing. Infinite is a lot, right? So we'll see all sorts of bizarre possibilities. You've already seen how even slightly improbable pasts have been radically different from your expectations. But this could be even worse," he took her hands for a moment and made her look at him, "you will see things that may disturb you...you may witness your death, or mine, or any number of other horrifically improbable events – improbable but not impossible. Earthquakes, a water glass exploding and mortally wounding one of us. Whatever your imagination can think of? There's an infinite number of improbable pasts beyond your imagination."

She nodded, determined to satisfy her curiosity. "Is that it, just make the probabilities low?"

"No. We can do something else to better the odds of seeing what swallowing my cum might cause. Although we don't have full semantic coding of the capture, we do have some encoding that will better our chances. For example, if my fears are correct, you will be hooked, right? That means we are looking for pasts in which you are here, with me, a high proportion of the time." He stopped when she giggled. "What?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, first of all, and second of all, it's not like we haven't been together almost the entire time already."

He agreed with a smile. "If I'm right, if you swallowed my cum that night, the likelihood is that you would be with me every moment I'm in this house. Okay, to raise the probabilities, the system knows what your "signature" looks like, and mine, of course, so we're going to eliminate those pasts where one or the other of us is absent. Let me help you with that."

He took the control for a moment and entered a complicated formula on screen.

"I hope you'll be okay with this," he said, pulling her next to him, her naked back brushing his side. "This will likely be unpleasant." She rested her hand again on his erection.

"So unpleasant it hasn't affected your hard-on, I see." She gave it a squeeze.

The first few attempts came up empty, so to speak. The scenes were variations on the one they had experienced together. She was beginning to wonder if it was even possible.

"There's an infinite number of these, right? I mean, infinity is...well, infinity. We could be here a lifetime." She was losing hope.

"I'll fill you in on infinity sometime, but let me tune this a little and see if I can't improve our odds." He sat back on the couch, closed his eyes and put his fingers together. She watched his face go slack, his breathing deepened. After a minute he opened his eyes and smiled at her, taking the control. "I think I can get us close. It will be worse than I thought. Are you sure you want to go through with this?" He held his fingers over the controls waiting for her.

"Yes. So far so good. If it really upsets me, we can stop." Knowing that watching the past had already changed the way she felt about herself now...would it be dangerous to look at a highly improbable past? Would that actually be harmful?

The scene opened as she remembered it. She was lying on the massage table, he was working her muscles. She could remember the feeling of his hands on her muscles. She nestled into him, rubbing against his skin.

He did that thing to her and she watched as her past self stiffened at the violation, and then moved with him. Over the next few minutes she couldn't contain herself as she watched him bring her to an orgasm. She pulled his hand into her, making him stroke her, coating his fingers.

And then she sat up and she began to suck him off. She watched his face and body as his orgasm moved through him and amazingly, the shock as he realized she had forced cum from his cock. She sat up, a self-satisfied smile on her face, her tongue licking her lips, her eyes sparkling.

"I knew I could do it," she heard herself say softly. "You taste delicious."

He looked devastated and worried. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Marcie. I'm so sorry."

She looked at him funny. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know how that happened. I haven't ejaculated in almost 25 years. This isn't good." He backed away and then he reached for her, hugging her tightly.

Marcie adjusted the view to see her expression and was pleased to see her past self looked as confused as she felt watching the scene. Not a bad butt he's got. Nice view.

"I...I don't understand..."

"You're welcome to spend the night if you'd like," he seemed resigned to the situation. Happy she was there, but clearly troubled. "I would insist on it, but I know it's short notice..." He appeared unsure of himself for the first time.

"No...I mean, I would love to, but I really should get home. What time is it?"

She used the bathroom and quickly dressed, asking him to help her find her things. Her present self noticed his penis was not erect when they left together – a detail that differed remarkably from what she still remembered from that evening.

The scene blurred and she looked at him. "It's re-organizing – remember we asked for only instances where we're together. You've left. Ah...here it comes."

She looked up to see her approaching the house, clearly having been crying. He greeted her at the door in his robe. She looked disheveled, almost frantic. He looked concerned, but hesitated in welcoming her in.

Her excitement squelched when she saw he was in his kaftan. Shit! He's got someone here. Shit! Shit! She avoided his eyes.

"Marcie. What a pleasant surprise!" He still didn't invite her in and made a movement to join her outside.

What a stupid shit I am. Shit! Shit!

"What's the matter? Are you okay? Please, come in." He opened the door wider and motioned her in. "I hope you don't mind, I'm not dressed for a proper visit."

She looked at him and realized he didn't have a hard-on. She looked at his face and saw sincere concern and joy at her being there.

"I had to come over. I'm sorry if I interrupted something. It was stupid of me. I should have called." She didn't move to go inside, confused about what to do.

"It's fine. Really. I'm glad you're here. You've had a little to drink? Would you like something to eat?" He urged her to come in and she finally relented, feeling too stupid to leave. "Are you feeling ill?" He paused a moment and then continued. "I'm still very concerned about what happened last night."

"No. Nothing. I'm fine. I shouldn't be here." She continued to protest as he led her to the living room. The scene last night played through her head, the way he had made her cum, the way she had made him cum. The taste of his cock in her mouth, the electricity of his jism in her throat.

"I have some tea brewing. Please share a cup with me. I'm very concerned. I shouldn't have let that happen."

He left her in the living room with her memories and misery, returning moments later with a tray of cookies, two mugs and a pot of tea.

"I'm sorry. You have someone here and I interrupted." She looked around but saw no evidence of anyone.

"Please stop. I'm glad you're here. No. There's no one else here. I was just meditating." He poured her tea and pushed the mug toward her.

"I guess I'm a little confused," she admitted, trying not to sound needy. Why should I be needy? "But I suppose I shouldn't be...you're an incredibly attractive guy, we've never discussed our relationship..." Shit! Damnit what am I saying?

"It's okay. I can appreciate your confusion. Actually, I'm not surprised. I was afraid this might happen. I'll say it one more time, though, and then you'll forgive me if I get a little annoyed, I'm very happy you're here." He smiled a wide grin dispelling any sense she had imposed on him.

"I had a little to drink with some friends tonight. I happened to mention I was seeing a wonderful guy, and the more I thought about you, the more I had to see you. I'm not sure why I feel so strongly, we've only just met...

"What's going on, Monty? What are we doing here?" She held his hand and looked into his eyes for any sign he might be a complete fuckwad. All she saw was the most handsome, gentlest guy she'd ever met. Her hand didn't budge.

"Marcie. I never thought things should have gone the way they did last night. It's too soon for me to have let you taste me. It's...too...dangerous." He said the last words quietly as he considered the likely outcome.

She dropped her hands to the couch. "I don't understand anything, Monty. I thought I was giving you a gift. You said you hadn't come in years, I thought you had a physical problem. And then, you came. It was a beautiful thing. I loved it. Your taste has stayed with me ever since. Every time I taste you, I'm reminded of how beautiful your cock is, and how much I loved it. How much I want to feel it inside me." She looked at him, questioningly, searching his face for an answer to her confusion.

Marcie stopped the scene and turned to him. Her stomach was cramping – similar to the feeling she'd had when she first saw her submissive side. Only this was different – more...sinister. She could tell this scene was going to get very very dark and she wasn't certain she wanted to go there.

Suddenly her stomach turned and she leapt up from the couch. She ran to the bar where she emptied the half-digested remains of her dinner. She could make out the sound of the projection stopping and then she felt his hands on her back.

"Here," he handed her a glass of water. She couldn't take it and motioned him to put it on the counter next to the sink.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. It was a feeling. I could tell something awful was about to happen..."

He rubbed her back and told her not to think about it right then. Her spasming quieted and she took a sip from the glass, spitting the foul remnants of her stomach from her mouth.

He led her back to the couch, the screen dark; they sat in silence for a few moments.

"What just happened? There wasn't anything in that past that was particularly awful – other than my whining" She smiled a little. "Why did that just happen?"

"Remember why we are doing the therapy?" He waited until she decided it was a rhetorical question. "Our beliefs change us. I'm probably sounding like a scratched CD by now, hmmm? The therapy is an approach to changing the way you think about yourself – your belief systems. Seeing yourself immersed in a situation – 'reliving' a past, even if it isn't the one you remember is a powerful agent for change. Now, consider what you were about to see. You saw how far out on the improbability curve it was, right? It might have been benign, but by your reaction we can pretty much assume it wasn't."

"Do you know what was going to happen?" She cuddled into him, the fabric of his shirt sliding against her breasts.

"Not specifically. I can sense it – when I concentrate I can 'see' possible pasts that would be in line with your desires. But beyond that I couldn't imagine the specifics – there are an infinite number of them."

"Marcie?!" Patti's voice pulled her out of her memories. "Where were you?"

She shook her head and blinked. "Shit. Sorry. I got to thinking about the marriage, and then some of the 'sessions.' Sorry. Right. Who I told first. I think I'm okay with it. I think I'm okay with a lot of things I would have been really hung up about before..."

"Before...when?"

"Before these immersion sessions. I was just thinking about some of the times Monty and I looked back, not during the therapies themselves, just to fuck around. There were some really odd ones."