The Addicted Natural Ch. 10

Chapter 10 -- The White Witch of Walden -- Prelude I

(This is the last part in a series of three novelettes that I've come to think of as "The Addicted Natural Trilogy," making up the rather protracted tale of how I caved in to the evils of temptation on several occasions and found myself in a somewhat enviable - albeit undeniably sinful - condition. If the various sections of this tome somehow find themselves scattered in the electronic spectrum, I'm afraid I must insist that you somehow locate the first two parts and peruse them as a reading assignment. "The Addicted Natural" contains the first four chapters of our story, and "Dee's Diary" makes up the next five.)

*

Now, before I can begin this, the strangest and most fascinatingly dramatic episode of the group, I must really spend a couple of chapters putting affairs in order, so to speak. For the events leading up to my introduction of the White Witch contain emotional, philosophical and prurient aspects that are essential to our plot. I'm sure that once you begin to understand how our new protagonist would come to interact with Brenda, Dee and yours truly, that the "setup" will be well worth your while. And then, obviously, if I'm going to introduce a new protagonist, I will also to have to come up with a new antagonist as well. And this next villain (however short his part in the drama may be) will, I assure you, certainly live up to your greatest expectations. But that, as I say, is for later.

I really need to address the four distinct relationships that existed at the house by the lake; those being my relationship with my lovely wife, hers with Dee, Dee and me, and the most important relationship of all, the rather more complicated state of affairs that existed between the three of us as a unit. These I will discuss in rather colorful prose, I promise.

But first I feel compelled to defend myself in the eyes of the reader. I suppose, if I'm going to give my side of things, I should revisit that fateful day that I first had my way with Dee sexually. You've heard her version, and I must admit that she made a rather accurate account of it; but now it's time you heard "the rest of the story." It certainly set the tone for the months that followed, and so I'll call your attention back to that day. But even before THAT, I think I'll do a bit of physical observation.

How to go about it .... After careful consideration, I've decide to use that most abused of all literary vehicles: The Vignette. Bear with me.

A CLOSER INTRODUCTION OF CHARACTERS

Yes, I guess it's true (as pointed out in Dee's Diary), I AM just a touch heavier than my true fighting weight, especially after Dee began preparing her gourmet meals; but she (with some suggestions from Brenda) soon switched to a more health-conscious fare; plus I started working out in our exercise room three times a week. I've dropped the weight I added since we moved here, and now I've put a good dent on the original 15 pounds. And Yes, I guess I DO have a "distinguished" hairline, but it doesn't seem to be hurting my love life, as I'll discuss more explicitly in the near future.

Brenda, as both Dee and I have mentioned, is a very attractive lady. She's petite, and while her figure is exceedingly nice, she's small and sort of "little-girlish" at times. I admit it's always been a bit of a turn-on for me. Her hair, long, straight, heavy, black and shiny, gives her an almost exotic, oriental persona. She's young, effervescent, and extremely intelligent (or at the very least, extremely sharp-witted), and I've always found her personally, intellectually, emotionally and sexually challenging; which is why I love her. I would never think of changing any of those traits, though we both know I have the power to do so. To alter who she is through hypnosis would be to change the thing I most love in this world. And so, yes, we have our little disagreements, but not very often. I listen to her views always. That's because she has an uncanny way of being right about things, especially emotional things. You'll see what I mean when I tell you about the bombshell suggestion she made regarding Dee later in the next chapter.

Dee, for her part, is a true enigma. About five foot-five, wavy red hair, pale complexion with a smattering of freckles highlighting a smallish nose, and delicate, thin lips that turn up or down as various moods strike her. Bright, brown eyes that reflect a profound hidden intelligence when they aren't cast submissively downward. She has a slender waist atop generous hips; but it's her abundant breasts that attract the eye like a magnet. Women's eyes as well as men's. I really enjoy watching people watching HER when we all go out in public. Some women are just like that. They have a feature that makes it almost impossible to look away. I guess I've always been a breast-man. And judging from all those looks, there are a lot of us out there.

And now, a short word about hobbies. There's a fine line between a hobby and insanity. It's another accurate observation that, while a hobby is infinitely interesting to the person who engages in it, discussing it is, at best, only mildly tolerable when conversing with someone who even shares that diversion. It is, at worst, monumentally boring when discussing it with someone who does not. I have two (not counting my recent propensity for collecting women). You've already been introduced to the first. And while philatelists and numismatists may rank pretty high on the old Boring Scale, they don't hold a candle to bibliophiles. So, thankfully, I won't talk to you about book collecting. I won't talk to you about the second hobby, either. Have you guessed what it is? The clues were all there. I fish. Always have. Ever since I was a boy, and my Uncle Charlie took me out on Michigan after walleye and I hooked into an eight-pounder .... But no, I promised. I won't talk about it. But it does explain my interest in Dee's lake house, doesn't it?

A couple months after we moved there, I bought a new Ford F250 extended-cab 4X4 with a tow package. I had to have something to tow, so I bought a nice (and I mean NICE) bass boat with a trailer. A big 5-man alpine tent, a king-size air mattress and a double sleeping bag, and the three of us were ready to strike out on some camping & fishing trips at other lakes in the area. (This has relevance to our story, I promise.)

THE DAY I BANGED MY WIFE'S BEST FRIEND

"Brenda, are you out of your MIND?!" I implored over the breakfast table.

She'd put on her "tolerant-sexy" face for the discussion, which, in my book, ranks somewhere between her "serious-sexy" face and her "pleading-sexy" face. She blinked at me (which was more like batting her eyes), and reached across the table to hold my hand.

"Freddy, I just KNEW you were going to react like this!" she chided. "You shouldn't. I KNOW you like her. I caught you starring at her three times last night."

"I thought I did an admirable job of keeping my eyes off the wench," I retorted. "And I wasn't staring, I was leering. There's a difference. That's just what men do. But it doesn't mean she's prettier than you are. In fact, if you're jealous, there's absolutely no reason to be. I think you're much more attractive."

"Oh Freddy, you're such a silly goose sometimes! I'm not jealous! I'm just practical. You want her, I can tell. I'm offering to let you have her, that's all. In fact, I'm going to insist on it."

"You'll 'insist' on nothing of the sort, my dear." Ever since this weird conversation had begun, I'd found I couldn't keep the image of Dee's tits out of my mind. Brenda's suggestion of hypnotizing her and taking her sexually had caught me completely off guard. I had never cheated on my wife, and I had no intention of doing so now. I told her so.

"You're very sweet, darling," she answered, changing to her "demure-sexy" face. "But I think it's hardly cheating if I insist you do it."

I sighed. I could have been much more logical in my arguments if I could just manage to get that vision of Dee's mammary glands out of my cerebellum. "What makes you think she really wants to make love to ME?" I implored.

"She doesn't."

"WHAT!?"

"Well, not yet. Not until you hypnotize her and convince her that she loves you."

After staring unbelievingly at her for a long minute, I had to make a conscious effort to close my mouth. "You're crazy!" I said. "That's rape!"

"No, it's not," said the imploring-sexy face across from me. "She may not want it, but she NEEDS it. Once she loves you, THEN she'll want it. And after she's HAD it, then she'll LOVE it!"

This was rapidly turning into an X-rated George Burns -- Gracie Allen dialog. I took a deep breath and consciously pushed the image of the offending jugs out of my mind. They bounced back in like a pair of obnoxious water balloons.

"Brenda, I don't know anything at all about this girl. I only met her twelve hours ago. I don't know if I WANT to make love to her."

"Liar!" said the amused-sexy face.

"I don't even know her last name!"

"Neither do I."

Time for another gawking silence.

She sat back in her chair and put on a face that was a cross between her "logical-sexy" look and something entirely new. I'd come to recognize it in the next several months when she talked about Dee (and even later when she would speak about the White Witch). It was empathy. But this was the first time I'd seen it in this context, and it really caught me by surprise.

"Freddy," she said imploringly, "Dee's a very complex person. I've only known her for a few days myself, but in that time we've formed a bond that I've never had with another person. I think she's the best friend I've ever had, and I think I'd do just about anything to keep that friendship alive for as long as I can." She paused to let that sink in.

"She's an extremely private person," she continued. "I know I could find out more about her, but I also know she doesn't want me to. I respect that, out of friendship. She DID tell me some things about herself; but again, I don't want to tell you, even though I know you could make me if you wanted to. But I don't think you will, because I know you respect ME the way I respect HER. And I know that tonight, when you have her completely in your power, you won't pry into her private life because of that respect."

"I'll just rape her!" I said sarcastically. She ignored the comment.

"I think I CAN tell you a few things without betraying her trust. She's had one lover, but she was never really IN love with him at all; and he most certainly never loved her. He betrayed her." She paused again. "And her father beat her."

"Beat her?"

"Horribly. With a whip. Her back is covered with scars. I saw them when we showered at the health club."

I thought about that quietly for moment. "Do you think we could convince her to press charges against the sadistic bastard?"

She shook her head. "Her parents both died suddenly a few months ago. Now, she's all alone, and she believes that she'll never be with a man again because of her disfigured back. You see, she's never had real love. That's what you can give her tonight. You can give her the gift of love. Not yours; you can give her the ability to love a man; to love YOU. She's read about it; she's seen it in movies. But she's never really experienced the emotion herself. Just for tonight, you can give her that emotion; you can let it overwhelm her, let her revel in it; and then you'll let her make love to the man she loves. It's her greatest emotional need. And you have the power to give it to her."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" I asked, the mental vision of Dee weakening me. "We only just met. Why don't we get to know each other for awhile, and if you still feel this way in a few weeks, we can discuss it again."

She cast her eyes downward so I couldn't see them. "I have a reason, Freddy, but I don't want to tell you. Please don't ask me."

She was giving me a riddle. An emotional puzzle. I've always been a sucker for puzzles. "Aren't you just a little afraid I might fall in love with HER?"

"I bet you WILL," she answered, her eyes still on the table in front of her. "Once you get to know her the way I do, I don't think you'll be able to help it. She's the most utterly loveable person I've ever met. And no, I don't feel threatened in the least. I don't think your loving her will decrease your love for me. My friendship for her hasn't decreased mine for you. And I WANT you to love her. I want you to HELP her!"

"Look at me!" I ordered. Her head snapped up and I could see tears in her eyes. I really wanted to get to the bottom of this. "Look into my eyes," I commanded sternly.

"Oh!" she said in a small, meek voice. I'd caught her off guard.

"Relax ... relax ...." Her shoulders slumped, then her eyes blinked closed and seemed to struggle to open again, still locked into my own. We did this almost daily, and her inductions only took a few seconds now. "Relax ... heavy ... so sleepy. Heavy arms ... heavy head ... heavy breasts. So heavy. So nice." Her hands were resting in her lap. Her head bobbed forward and wobbled back, her eyelids almost closed. "Submit and obey."

"Submit and obey. Submit and obey," she intoned.

"And now, as sleep comes, let your head lower gently to the table. Sleep is coming. So sleepy. It's almost here ...." Her head sank to the tabletop and she rested her cheek on its surface. "Surrender and sleep."

And she was under. Her breasts and cheek were resting on the table, her hands still stuck in her lap. I sat and regarded her for long minutes. I could do this the easy way or the hard way. A simple order from me, and she'd tell me everything she knew about Dee. The information was mine for the taking. I started to give her the order, but stopped before I got the first word out. I thought about it for another minute.

Finally, I sighed and sat back in my chair watching my lovely hypnotic slave as she slept peacefully. Oh, what the heck. I've always done things the hard way, anyway. I reckoned that having her tell me the solution to this problem was tantamount to peeking at the answer to a crossword before I worked the puzzle. "Wake up, Brenda," I said softly.

She sat up abruptly, yawned enormously and stretched, her nipples visible beneath her t-shirt and thin bra. She suddenly seemed to remember our conversation, and her eyes regarded me questioningly, then shifted downward as she tried look into her own mind for an important thought. She blinked and smiled up at me.

"You didn't make me tell!" she said, grinning broadly. She seemed very certain of herself. I said nothing.

Smiling broadly, she rose and pulled the t-shirt over her head in a smooth motion as she walked around the table toward me. She dropped it on the floor, reached behind her with both hands and unsnapped the brassiere, letting it drop, as well. She knelt at my feet, grasped my knees and pushed them apart, then undid my belt, unsnapped and unzipped my pants in a couple seconds, pulled my engorged cock from its confines, and lowered her mouth to engulf it. She made smacking, sucking sounds as she worked on me. Her right hand was stroking my shaft up and down while her left squeezed and massaged my balls. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. In my mind, Dee stood before me, hypnotized, passive, aroused. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, just as Brenda had done. Her huge breasts swung free.

Brenda made a surprised little noise as I filled her mouth. I was coming very hard.

That night, as Dee moved her body up and down on my cock and her big breasts bounced and swung just inches from my thirsty eyes, I was forced to admit to myself that reality is sometimes much better than fantasy.

THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE

Brenda walked around the house toward me, and despite how upset I was, I found myself shocked at the expression on her face. I couldn't read it. She was as anxious as I was, but as you may have come to understand, our responses to anxiety are dramatically different. She stood meekly before me but couldn't make eye contact. I was concerned about her, but much more concerned about the emotionally fragile woman inside the house.

"Brenda, something's horribly wrong! Our little 'plan' backfired in a huge way! Dee's in a terrible state of mind! I can only imagine why! I RAPED her, Brenda! She's such an emotionally ..." I groped for the word, "... delicate girl! And I RAPED her! Oh God, what am I going to do?"

She reached out and touched my arm. "You didn't rape her, Freddy. What happened last night is not what this is all about."

That didn't make any sense, so I decided to ignore it. "You ought to see her, Brenda! Her eyes are wild! She's a mess! She shies away from me and she can't even look at me. She hates me!"

"It's not you, Freddy."

"I'm afraid she might be suicidal!"

She looked down at her feet. "Yes, she is."

"You were right yesterday! I was only alone with her a few hours, and I really fell for her! I really care about her! And now I've gone and ...." I paused and blinked. What she'd just said finally registered in my frantic mind. "WHAT?"

She couldn't make herself look up.

"You mean you KNOW she's suicidal?" I asked accusingly. "You mean you knew it BEFORE ...?"

"I was trying to save her, Freddy."

"Save ...?"

"I thought that maybe if she found love ...."

My head suddenly felt as if it was about to explode. I reached up, held it with both hands and glared down at her. She still couldn't make herself look at me, and it suddenly dawned on me why. She'd used me.

I caught her looking past my shoulder, and I turned to look at Dee standing at the living room window. I couldn't maintain eye contact. I'd never felt more abjectly guilty about anything in my entire life.

"I have to go in and talk to her now, Freddy," Brenda said in a tired voice. But she didn't move. She was waiting to leave until I gave my consent.

I forced myself to settle down. "We can go in together. I need to tell her how sorry I am ...."

"It's not you, Freddy. She only came here to tell me good-bye."

"Good-bye?" This was suddenly getting very bizarre. "You mean she knew that you knew ...? I don't understand any of this! If it's not me, then why is she going to ...?"

"I don't know. I thought I did. I thought she needed love. But you gave her that last night. Now, I don't know ...." She stared down at the ground. "Please, Freddy. Please let me go to her."

I sighed. "I know a guy on campus," I said, trying to take control of a situation that seemed tenuous and uncertain. "A fishing buddy. He's a clinical psychiatrist. We can take her to him."

"I promised her I wouldn't try to talk her out of it, Freddy, but I'm going to go inside and break that promise now." She seemed on the verge of crying.

"If you can't talk her out of it," I told her very sternly, "then you are not to let her leave. Call me and I'll force her to go see my friend. I won't let you go to her unless you promise me that."

"Okay, Freddy."

"Promise!"

"I promise, Freddy." And she turned and went inside.

It had to have been the longest twenty minutes in the history of the world. I paced for awhile, considered barging in on them, paced some more, then thought about peeping in the window; but I finally wound up pacing again instead. I suddenly decided to go and remove the distributor cap from her car so she couldn't sneak past me while I was busy with my pacing, but when I walked to the front yard, I found that Brenda was way ahead of me. She'd blocked the Mercedes in the driveway with her Volkswagen. Just as well. I don't know anything about automobiles. Hell, I couldn't tell you if a car like that even HAS a distributor. So I just went back and paced some more.

But when she finally came back out, Brenda had changed. She'd put on sort of a shy-sexy-imploring-sexy-emphatic-sexy-meek-sexy face, and I could tell something was going to happen.