The Addicted Natural Ch. 16

I first noticed it with Jennifer about a year ago. She's really into these soapy romance novels, and I've seen no reason to discourage her. I happened to come upon her one day sitting in our glass porch among all the flowers. She was sitting, reading, and she didn't know I was there. She is an exceptionally beautiful woman, and I just stood for awhile, watching her as she read, the pages slowly turning, her lips moving slightly as she sat there. And then, slowly, disturbingly, I began to realize that the pages were turning, but SHE wasn't turning them. They were turning themselves! One at a time! Just as she was finished with each one! Impossible!

Now, sir; I've been involved with just about every type of on-stage prestidigitation in the book. I KNOW a staged trick when I see one, and THIS was not! Finally, I confronted her, and she was greatly upset. She'd always had the power, she told me, but she was afraid to tell me about it, because she knew that I didn't believe in such things. She couldn't move anything very large, she told me, nor could she move anything very far. Indeed, I made her experiment with this ability, and she was right. She could move a spoon about an inch along our kitchen table, but she couldn't move it if there was a tablecloth involved. Too much friction, I suppose.

Finally, she told me that Suzy had "abilities," too. And after she told me about them, I realized that I'd seen them in action many times. Suzy has a gift with animals. She can sit on our bench in the back yard, and inevitably, within several minutes, birds begin to flit around her and land near her. Squirrels, rabbits, all kinds of animals, come and sit at her feet. Dogs never growl at Suzy. Insects never bite her. Now, finally, I saw this "talent" as something out of the ordinary.

I confronted her about it. She could "hear" their thoughts, she informed me. Visions of Doctor Doolittle danced in my head. But the reality about animals (if she is telling the truth about it) is much different than fantasy. Animals rarely have a tangible thought beyond "I'm hungry" and "It would be nice if someone scratched the itch behind my left ear." Animals want. Animals need. Animals don't "think." But animals also "like." And all the animals like Suzy.

And this brings me, at last, to Wanda. I first encountered Wanda as I was driving across the Homestead Bridge in Pittsburgh and saw her about to fling herself into the icy waters of the Monongahela far below. I stopped my car, grabbed her, and drug her back to my vehicle, kicking and screaming. Once I'd calmed her down, I was shocked to recognize all the traits of the Natural residing in her lovely person. In just a few minutes, I'd calmed her down even more … WAY down, and she was deeply, totally, and completely in my power. I drove her to my home here in New York State.

She had evidently been distraught over the death of her father. And this was very odd, because she had hated him. He had been sexually abusing her since she was ten, and he'd been a drunkard and a cur. Still, she seemed to believe that life without her father (her Master?) would be intolerable. So … I gave her myself as an alternative Master, and she was almost exponentially happy. She seemed to fit right into our "family," and now, after a few hypnotic alterations, I could finally take one girl to bed at night, while the other two would "entertain" themselves … sexually as well as emotionally. A perfect world.

But Wanda had a "gift" as well. Her ability seemed to be in the form of visions that came to her while she slept. Dreams. And while they all were (as dreams usually are) strange, vague, and open to interpretation, they were uncannily accurate. She once foresaw a heavy rainstorm, during which our dock, down at the lake, was heavily damaged. I had a construction company come out and make needed repairs, and when a storm DID strike shortly thereafter, our neighbors all sustained significant damage, but our dock withstood the gale. There were other incidents as well, but you see my point. Her "abilities" appear genuine.

And so, a few days ago, she came to me crying and tremendously upset. She'd had a dream. A very vivid dream. And in it, I was killed. She saw a man dressed in the robes of a person of letters, an academician. She actually described you quite well, right down to your hairline. You were standing on the shore of a lake, and behind you were three beautiful, naked women. One had hair of shining black (obviously Brenda); one with large breasts, pregnant, and with hair of flaming red (Dee?); and a third was small, slender, with hair of purest white (I assume she means a blonde. I don't know about a third girl in your household). I was standing on the other side of the lake, and none of your group noticed I was there.

Suddenly, the girl with the white hair noticed me, and pointed. You saw me for the first time, and you raged at me. You pointed me out to Brenda, who in turn, brought my existence to the attention of the pregnant redhead. Then, in her dream, Wanda saw all three women change, drawing themselves up, getting bigger, and they turned into dragons; one red, one black, and one white. They all turned their hatred (your hatred!) toward me, and the red dragon spit fire that engulfed me. When the fire had subsided, I had gone mad. I ranted and raved, and finally, I flung myself into the lake and drowned myself to calm the terrible voices that had filled my head. Wanda was beside herself with grief and foreboding.

Poppycock, you say. Claptrap. Superstitious humbug. And yet, I must admit, she has been right before. Should I ignore such a warning?

I must admit, my first instinct was to rally my own psychic army and confront you. If it's war you want, I will certainly protect myself! I sat by the lake and held a muster of my troops in my imagination. They stood, beautiful and proud, at my beck and call. I held a mental inspection of my forces. One was ready to move heaven and earth for me … just so long as it didn't weigh any more than a spoon, and could be moved along a smooth surface. Yet another stood ready to summon the forces of the animal kingdom, and she could easily send a couple dozen birds your way with malicious intent … just so long as they weren't distracted by the sight of handful of corn. And my third was a tremendous source of military intelligence … well, just so long as you chose to attack during her afternoon nap.

Maybe I'd better rethink this strategy. Come to think of it, perhaps begging and groveling is in order here.

Professor, I have wronged you. I took advantage of your beautiful Brenda when she was helpless, and for that, I deeply apologize. I have intruded on your privacy by having her write me without your knowledge. I am sorry. Though I have given you reason to think otherwise, I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY. I mean you no disrespect. I mean you no harm. I will forever withdraw from your affairs. I will never again contact you or any of your women. I sincerely beg your pardon, sir.

Please. Please don't bring my existence to the attention of your Red Dragon.

In Brenda's hypnotic "Favorite Room," there are two rugs. The bed rests on one. The other is in the center of the floor. I believe you have probably already found the trap door under the rug in the room's center. If so, you know that she can be permanently changed when she is in that lower room.

What you have probably not found is the trap door under the bed. Hypnotize her, and then have her get out of the bed. There is a secret button on the footboard. She won't be able to see it until you tell her it's there. When she presses it, the bed, rug and all, will slide aside revealing another trap door. When she goes down into THAT room, you will be able to override the instructions that make her contact me each month.

You will never hear from me again.

I remain, sir, your most humble servant.

Gregory Menlo

SHOWING HER WHO'S REALLY THE BOSS

"Wake up, Brenda," I told her softly.

Her eyes fluttered open, closed again, and she struggled to stay awake. "Oh!" she muttered groggily. She opened her beautiful eyes wide for a long moment as she tried desperately to remain alert, but her body sagged again. "Oh, golly Freddy! You took me so DEEP!"

I didn't rush her. Usually, she'd do her little post hypnotic stretching maneuver when I awakened her from trance, but she was right, I had taken her especially deep this time. Deeper than I'd ever taken her before. She suddenly forced herself into alertness, however, and her eyes shifted quickly left and right, though she was looking at nothing at all.

"You changed me," she said. I tried to ascertain if this was an accusation or simply a statement of fact. She was staring across the room, her eyes unfocused. Now, she finally looked directly at me, regarding me wonderingly. "You changed me," she said again.

"Um …." I hadn't planned on this particular line of conversation. I thought quickly, and finally decided to let my heart lead me in these uncharted waters. I deeply loved this woman. I should have no secrets from her.

"Yes," I said simply. "Yes, I did." She continued to look up at me with almost an expression of pleased awe, like a housewife who works tirelessly, thanklessly around the house for months and months, and is suddenly given a particularly romantic gift for no reason whatever. I don't know what I had expected, but it wasn't that particular look. It suddenly unnerved me. "Um … I want to tell you what I did, Brenda."

"No!" she urged quickly. She put her fingertips to my lips to silence me. "Oh please, Freddy! Please don't!"

I stared into her eyes questioningly for a long moment, but she smiled, put her head against my chest, and hugged me. I held her tightly as she shivered in my arms, and I wondered where this was going to lead.

We said nothing, and the only sound for a long, long time was that of rain in the trees outside our bedroom window. A small noise came from deep within the house, and we both knew what it was, both intimately familiar now with the sounds Willie made when she became lost in feelings of sexual stimulation. In the bedroom at the other end of the hall, she was doing something new and erotic and wonderful with Dee. What could it be, I wondered; and my cock stiffened, just as it did every time I thought of Willie. But no, I had to believe that my physical response was being brought on by my lovely wife, so small and fragile and sexy and desirable in my arms.

The letter from Menlo lay in my desk drawer in the study, where I had put it after receiving it only a half dozen hours before. I had decided to put its information to work immediately … tonight, and I'd sent Willie and Dee to bed right after dinner with orders to study another of their reading lessons. (From the sound of things, however, the lesson was being put off until morning.) Menlo's instructions had been accurate, of course, and very easily followed. The curse was broken. I felt oddly at peace, even knowing that he had retained so much power for so long. Brenda's response upon awakening, however, concerned me.

"Don't you want to know?" I whispered into the top of her head. "Aren't you curious?"

She shivered again. "Yes, of course," she said softly. "But please, Freddy … Please don't tell me." I drew back slightly and tried to look at her, but she just pressed her face more tightly into my chest and refused to meet my eyes. "I am your slave," she continued calmly. "I should have no secrets from you, but you are entitled to keep them from me. You can make me do ANYTHING, Freddy. You can … and you … you SHOULD! You should change me to your liking. You should change the way I think. You should change the things I want … the things I crave. You should change who I AM to please yourself. You should make me … DO something. You should make me …."

Finally, she pushed herself back in my arms and looked into my eyes. "Make me, Freddy! Please … Oh, please make me! Make me do something NOW!" She buried her face into my chest again. "Please, Master. Please make me!"

Ah, so that's what this was all about. How long had it been? Too long, obviously. Brenda needed this from time to time; needed to be taken hard, almost violently. Needed to be reminded of the Master/slave relationship in raw, physical action. I had, at first, thought it to be some sort of subconscious rape fantasy that had to be played out once or twice a year to satisfy a craving in the darkest reaches of her psyche. But now I considered that it might be more than that.

I grasped her by the shoulders and forced her back away from me a step. "Raise your arms," I ordered sternly. She didn't hesitate. Keeping her eyes lowered submissively, she raised her arms toward the ceiling. I put my hands on her hips and slowly, ever so slowly, pulled her nightgown upward. It was her favorite, a deep blue, long silk number that clung to her curves deliciously. I had to shift my hands a few times as I slid the garment upward, and I was thus was able to slide the slippery fabric suggestively over her breasts a few times before I finally, finally pulled it over her upraised arms and off of her now nude body.

"On the bed, Brenda," I ordered. "On your hands and knees!" She quickly leaped on the king sized bed and positioned herself at its edge as I had ordered. Quietly, I walked to the closet and came back carrying the blue gym bag. She made a little noise, and her eyes widened. I set it down just in front of her so that she could watch as I rummaged around in it, making a show of it, eventually producing the regular pair of handcuffs. She made the noise again, and then seemed to hold her breath as I attached them to her wrists, positioning her hands together to allow me to do so. I rooted around through the bag again and slowly extracted a bottle of liquid lubricant, and she gasped loudly, knowing now what my intentions were. I set the bag on the floor, then gave her hands a quick tug forward, forcing her onto her elbows, her ass raised sharply upward.

Trailing my fingertips down her back, I began idly playing with her upturned bottom. She wriggled it and moaned. I did this for several long minutes, before I finally slid my fingers lower and stuck a finger into her sopping pussy. Another moan. I easily added another finger, so that my middle and fourth fingers were now deep inside her, and I began a series of deep, slippery, probing strokes into her cunt, then all the way out, before slipping them inside for another easy assault.

"Oooohh, Freddy!" she moaned.

"I'm not going to need the lubricant, am I, Brenda?" I asked harshly. "You're soaking wet, aren't you? You're ALWAYS soaking wet, aren't you?" I began smearing her slimy deposit onto her puckered asshole after bringing my fingers out of her after every stroke.

"I … I can't help it, Freddy," she mewed weakly.

"You're really a bit of a whore, aren't you, Brenda?"

"OH! Oh! I can't help it, Freddy," she groaned weakly. "I'm sorry, Freddy. I can't … OH!"

Just to be on the comfortable side, I poured a little of the lubricant directly onto her asshole, then set the bottle aside and began pressing the thumb of the same hand I was using on her cunt into her tight little anus. She groaned again loudly. "Relax your ass muscles, Brenda," I ordered.

"I … I'm trying, Freddy! I … Oh Golly! Ahhhh! I'm trying, Freddy!"

I shifted the position of my stroking fingers so that they were scraping against her clit every time I slid them into her. She shuddered violently, then began pushing her butt upwards toward my invading thumb. I could feel her sphincter relax its grip on the tip of my thumb, and with the aid of all of the lubricating fluids, I pushed the digit fully, easily all the way inside her. "Aaaahhhh!" she cried. I left my fingers as far as I could reach inside of her cunt, and my thumb far inside her ass.

Slowly, I began rubbing thumb and fingers together, separated only by the layers of thin membrane between her colon and cunt. Immediately, she pushed upward onto her bound hands, arching back toward my invading hand, moving her ass in a jerking circular motion. "Aaahhh! Golly, Freddy! Ooohh!"

"Be Still!" I commanded. She stopped flailing and slowly lowered herself back onto her elbows, panting heavily, shaking. "I want you to try NOT to cum," I told her seriously. "I know you're ready, but do not cum!" We both knew where this was leading.

"I … I'll try, Freddy."

I started rubbing my fingers and thumb together again, assaulting that innermost part of her, while I reached under her with my other hand and rubbed her clit hard. She stiffened, shuddered, hesitated, and was finally catapulted into a soaring orgasm. She was on her bound hands again, pushing back against MY hands, arching her back, shaking her head from side to side, her hair flying. "Aaahhh! Aaahhh! Aaahhh! Aaahhh!" Her sphincter clutched my thumb hard. The walls of her cunt contracted to match the rhythm of her cries. Finally, after maybe thirty seconds of this, I stopped my violent rubbing and she slowly sagged back onto her elbows. She shivered and gulped air as if she would never catch her breath.

"I … I'm sorry, Freddy," she said weakly. "I tried. I couldn't help it. I tried."

I stood beside the bed, beside her. Keeping my thumb and fingers buried in her, I reached with my free hand and pushed down my pajama bottoms, which was all I was wearing. Then I climbed into bed and positioned myself behind her upraised ass. She was dripping steadily from her pussy, and I scooped more of her fluids from below her and deposited it around my thumb, which I now began pumping in and out of her ass.

"You have no control, Brenda," I told her harshly. "You can try as hard as you want, and I can still make you cum any time I please, isn't that so?"

Her ass was moving again under the ministrations of the plowing thumb. I was now pulling it all the way out of her, and as I did so, her rear hole stayed open, gaping, welcoming, before I shoved it back into her.

"Aaahhh! Yes, Master! I can't help it! You can make me, Master!"

She was very, very slippery back there now. Very, very open for me. I pulled my thumb out for the last time, positioned my hard, aching cock, and pushed easily into her ass.

"Unhh! Unhh! Unhh!" she bellowed, and her butt hole gripped me as she came again. I waited until the spasms passed, then began slamming into her roughly, violently. She had been up on her hands again, and this assault pushed her forward onto her face, her arms trapped underneath her, her wrists extended down between her legs. I was amazed and surprised to find the fingers of her cuffed, clutching hands grasping my balls. And that was as far as my control was going to extend for this session. I buried myself far into her and came and came and came deep in her bowels.

I slumped heavily atop her for a long minute, then grasped her around the waist and pulled us both onto our side while I stayed buried inside of her. I held her while she panted and shivered for many long minutes, then I reached up and grasped a handful of her lustrous hair and roughly positioned her head so that I was breathing into her ear. She shuddered.

"Is there any doubt in your mind who is in charge here?" I hissed.

"No, Master," she whispered softly.

"Who controls you?"

"You control me, Master."

"I can make you DO anything. I can make you WANT anything. I can make you THINK anything."

"Yes, Master. You control me, Master."

I held her for many more minutes. My cock finally slipped out of her, but she made no move, either toward me or away. She simply allowed herself to be held, awaiting her Master's next command. Okay, I thought, I'd had just about enough of the play-acting! I wanted to share this with her, somehow. I wanted to talk to her, and ask her opinion, and seek her guidance ….