Camilla Ch. 072byMawrGorshin©
On Tuesday morning, Camilla went down into the kitchen to make breakfast for herself and Agape; as she did so, she thought about all the incubi and other 'ghosts' (if that was what they were) who'd been visiting and fucking her in her dreams. The night before, she'd set up psychic barriers that were more selective in whom they blocked out; these new barriers allowed only Miles Holland, Dr. Davis, and M. Larre to come in. Those three incubi gave her another good gang-bang, and before going into the kitchen, Camilla had just replaced her come-stained bedsheets.
Still, she was worried: if Mrs. Holland's ghost was able to use Nigrovum to kill Miles in his sleep, what if she were to try to do the same to Camilla, in revenge for fucking her husband and having her die in her car accident? From then on Camilla would have to be extra careful with vengeful spirits.
When she'd come home on Monday night, she went straight up to her bedroom, leaving her father to continue drinking undisturbed in the living room; so he never saw her new look, with all black hair and black eyes. She had been tempted to get him stoned again and have him make love with her, but she didn't want to press her luck: she would wait a week or so, satisfying her insatiable lust with her profs instead, before daring to commit incest with him again. She was hoping that morning to surprise him, and maybe even excite him, with her new look, since she knew he had a thing for black-haired, black-eyed women.
He came into the kitchen and saw her.
"Camilla?" he said in surprise. "Did you dye your hair?"
"Yeah," she lied, turning to face him. "Do you like it?"
"Yeah, but...wait a minute. Your eyes, too. Are you wearing coloured contact lenses?"
"Yeah," she lied again. "Do you like them?"
"Well, no, to be honest. I've always loved your baby blue eyes, sweetie."
Frowning in disappointment, she said, "But I thought you like women who look like this."
"On your mother, I liked it. On Carrie, I like it. But you're my daughter." He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. However innocent this affection may have been, he felt a strange psychic sensation when touching her, a vaguely sexual feeling. Not wanting at all to acknowledge it, he felt drops of sweat running down his brow. "You don't need to change your looks just for me: I love you just the way you are."
"Oh." Pouting, she bowed her head and pretended to remove cosmetic contact lenses from her eyes. She used Nigrovum to make her eyes temporarily look blue again. "There, is that better?"
"Much better," he said. He would have asked why she wanted to look like women he found sexually attractive. That sexual psychic feeling he'd just had when hugging her, as well as the memory of the strange goings-on during his parties with her, made him not want to ask why, for fear of what her answer would be.
Later that morning at York, she was in class for her Introduction to the Modern British Novel course. Her lecturer was Dr. Abruzzi, a tall, thin man in his early fifties. He wore a dark blue suit, and his hair was more grey than black; but to Camilla, he was very good-looking, and she unzipped her jeans and fingered herself while he quoted a passage from the end of Lady Chatterley's Lover.
"'So I love chastity now,'" Abruzzi quoted, "'because it is the peace that comes of fucking. I love being chaste now. I love it as snowdrops love the snow. I love this chastity, which is the pause of peace of our fucking, between us now...'"
While she loved the eloquent way her teacher spoke, she was also intrigued by his blunt use of profanity in the classroom.
This is the first time I've ever heard a teacher swear in class, she thought; you're a bad boy, Dr. Abruzzi. Psychically sensing that he liked bad girls, she knew how to act when she had a chance to talk with him.
She had intended, even during the previous week, to do her cat moves on him after class; but he was always too busy with other students' questions to be free for her to get to him. She would have used Nigrovum to make everyone go away so she could be alone with him, but she'd recently noticed that using too much Nigrovum at one time tended to dilute its power, and tire her out.
When his lecture ended, she was determined to go after him as he left. When she was in the hallway with him, however, something else took her attention away from him: the screams of female students in a nearby ladies' room. Camilla went in to see what was wrong.
As soon as she saw what all the commotion was about, she buckled and fell to the floor; she lay there in a fetal position, fighting back the urge to vomit. Stuck on a wall in a toilet stall was Akemi's dead body: she'd used Nigrovum to stick herself there after slashing her wrists and carving 'CAMILLA' on her chest! Her bloody knife lay on the floor by the toilet.
The other girls in the washroom commented.
"How could she have done that?" one girl asked. "Carve someone's name on her chest, and take the pain without fainting. And who's Camilla?"
"And how'd she stick herself to the wall like that?" another girl asked.
All abilities one acquires when having Nigrovum in one's blood, as Camilla knew. She correctly inferred that Akemi knew one of Camilla's classes would be near this washroom; Akemi used Nigrovum to have everyone ignore her corpse in the toilet stall until Camilla was in the area. That way, Camilla would see the scene of the suicide for herself. She still lay on the floor, coughing and barely succeeding in her efforts not to throw up. Her whole body shook.
Noticing her particularly intense shock, the first girl squatted down and gently asked Camilla, "Hey, are you going to be OK?"
"Yeah," Camilla grunted in that eerily hoarse voice she had whenever Nigrovum was overwhelming her. "I just need a minute."
"OK," the first girl said, startled by Camilla's strange voice. She got back up and whispered in the ear of the second girl. "I'll bet that's Camilla."
"Maybe she and the Asian were lesbian lovers," the second girl whispered.
Camilla's whole body was oppressed by intense shaking from stress, and also the crushing heaviness of grief weighing down on her; she knew Nigrovum was adding to her pain. She refused to be destroyed by it as Akemi had been; Camilla would pull herself out of all that swamp of negativity, as difficult and arduous as it would be for her. As she lay on the floor, she whispered to herself these words: "It wasn't my fault. Akemi chose to kill herself: I didn't make her. She didn't have to fall in love with me. I didn't make her. It wasn't my fault. I mustn't be negative. I must be cheerful. I didn't make her kill herself; she chose to. This isn't my fault."
Slowly but surely, Camilla felt the weight of despair lift away, as though huge rocks had been taken off her back one by one. As she repeated the healing mantra, "It wasn't my fault," she felt the shaking gradually abate, too, like the ending of an earthquake. Also, she could hear her voice slowly going back to normal.
The other girls, concerned, watched her slowly raise her head and back, her breathing gradually getting slower and slower. Finally, she got up, looking straight towards the way out of the washroom, with an artificially serene expression.
"Are you OK now?" one of the girls asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Camilla said mechanically, though otherwise in her perfectly normal voice again. As she walked toward the door, she tried to use Nigrovum to part the crowd of people looking in the washroom, but she'd used up all its power for the moment. Though emotionally and physically exhausted, she just kept walking, as though something else was supplying her energy from outside her body. She went into the hall, found a table at the cafeteria, and sat there with her head on the table, as if to sleep.
In her bedroom that night, Camilla turned on her lap-top and chatted online with Dr. Singh.
"I once made love with a girl in Vancouver named Akemi," Camilla typed. "I passed Nigrovum on to her, and she fell in love with me. She came to York to study as I did, and stalked me for a while before begging me to love her as she did me. When I told her I was in love with someone else, she ran away all broken-hearted. Today, she committed suicide; she carved my name on her chest!"
"My God," Singh typed in his reply. "As traumatizing as this experience obviously was for you, you mustn't grieve, Camilla. Nigrovum no doubt intensified her despair and heartache. If you have gloomy spirits, you'll end up just like her. And don't worry about her death, for as it says in the Bhagavad Gita, atman--the soul--is immortal, and Akemi will live forever in spirit."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Camilla typed. "What if Akemi rapes me in my sleep, or tries to get revenge by killing me? She'll be an incubus now, right?"
"Well, the female version is called a succubus, actually. If her spirit visits you in your dreams, perhaps you can try to say soothing words to appease her wounded soul. Be gentle with her; care for her; be loving."
After exchanging a few more words, they ended their chat. She turned off her lap-top and got ready for bed.
Maybe I can appease her by making love to her in my dreams, she thought. She then set the psychic barriers, meditated, focusing on positive feelings, and went to sleep.
On Wednesday night, Camilla was in much better spirits; her positive meditations of the night before had been most helpful, and the Nigrovum in her blood was shining a pleasant glow all over her body, helping her emotional high.
She'd learned of a wine and cheese party being held on the university campus that night, and she decided to go. Though she was hoping to find a professor to tempt for a later encounter, she had a date for the night: a young black man named Sam, who'd seen her strip at Club Ritz the previous week and begged her to let him take her out.
She was wearing her revealing dark blue evening gown, the one that showed off her cleavage from the front and the behind; when she and Sam went into the room where the party was being held, her eyes raced all around the area, searching for a prof she could turn on in her sexy dress. She quickly found the perfect man--Dr. Abruzzi. Standing by a bar in a good-looking black suit, he was handsome as always.
"Go mingle, Sam," she told her date. "I'll get back to you later." Her Nigrovum gently pushed him to the other side of the room, where a number of pretty young women were that he could be distracted by.
She then walked up to the bar. When Abruzzi saw her approaching, he just stared at her in aroused awe. He was on one side of the bar, she on the other.
"Hi sir," she, grinning, said in the voice of her slutty 'Candy' persona. "You're my teacher in the British novel course. I sit at the front of the classroom. Remember me?"
"Oh, yeah," he said, trying unsuccessfully to avoid looking at her large breasts, the skin of about 80% of which was showing. "W-what's your name?"
"Camilla," she said, shaking his hand.
"That's a lovely name."
"Thanks. I like yours, too: Dr. Abruzzi--so Italian, so sexy." She leaned forward on the bar counter to draw more attention to her hanging cleavage. She used Nigrovum to make her left shoulder strap slip off, exposing almost her entire left breast; her nipple was just barely spared exposure. "Oops!" 'Candy' said with a high-pitched yelp and giggle, pulling the shoulder strap back up; then she let the other shoulder strap slip off, exposing almost all of her right breast in the same way--that time, Abruzzi could see a millimetre or two of areola. Again, she giggled in feigned embarrassment and put the shoulder strap back up.
He simply couldn't stop staring at her tits. Taking the hint that she liked him, the divorced man said, "You know, you're a very beautiful girl."
Giggling her thanks, she said, "And you're a very handsome man. Let's go sit somewhere and talk." She took him by the hand and led him to a corner of the room, where there were couches with no one else there. He sat down, and she stood before him with her back to him. She pulled up her dress at the front so the back would go down, and more butt cleavage would show for him. Half of her ass was now exposed to him, just inches from his nose.
"Won't your boyfriend mind if he sees you talking with me?" Abruzzi asked.
Deliberately dropping her purse, she bent over with her ass in his face. Some things fell out of her purse. "Oops," she said, spreading her legs out wide and starting to put her things back in her purse. Since so much butt cleavage was showing, her now-exposed anus was inches from his fascinated face. His nose was delighted to note the total absence of faecal odour. He tried to help her pick up her things. He noticed a tube of anal lube; he handed it to her with a smirk. "Oh, no sir--you don't have to help. I've got it. And that's not my boyfriend over there--I don't have one. Sam's just my date for tonight. I'm fucking him tonight because he wouldn't stop begging me, and besides, I've never had black cock before, so I'm curious."
"Fascinating," he said, practically counting the pretty wrinkles on her beige asshole.
She finished putting everything away, but stayed bent over so he could enjoy the view. Looking back at him and amused at how his hypnotized eyes studied her asshole, she continued: "Now I'll know if it's true, what they say about black guys."
"I'm jealous," he said, sniffing away.
"Oh, you'll get your turn, I promise," 'Candy' said, reaching back and tickling his chin. "Hope you don't mind me fucking other guys. I know you don't mind words like that, 'cause I heard you use them yesterday in class." She giggled lewdly.
"Yeah, Lady Chatterley's Lover," he said, then suddenly got worried that people could have been watching their publicly indecent behaviour. Camilla, however, had used Nigrovum to make everyone, including Sam, ignore her and her lecherous professor.
Just then, a recording of Billie Holliday singing 'Cheek to Cheek' began playing. "Oh, I love this song," Camilla said. "Sir, let's dance." Taking his hands while still bent over and pulling him forward, she made his nose brush against her anus; then she straightened up, closing her soft, round buttocks around his face. Cheek to cheek, she lewdly thought to herself. He got up, hoping the bulge in his pants wouldn't be seen, and she led him to the dancing area. "Put your hands on my bum, please: I don't mind you seeing my bleavage, but I don't want everyone else here to."
"What's 'bleavage'?" he asked, putting his hands over her anal cleft as they began dancing.
"You're touching it, sir; my butt cleavage," she said, always smiling as she looked up at him, and her permissive eyes telling him she had no objections to his fingers slowly opening her buttocks and sliding them in between to touch her asshole. He looked down at her, taking furtive glances at her breasts. Her right shoulder strap then conveniently slipped off. "Oops!" she said with a giggle as she pulled it back up. He almost got to see nipple, but not quite.
They finished dancing, and went back to the bar area, standing in the same places as before. "I hope you enjoyed the dance as much as I did," he said.
"Oh, I did, sir. Thanks." She then leaned forward on the bar to show off more tit for him, and made her left shoulder strap fall off. "Oops!" she said with another 'embarrassed' giggle, and replaced the strap on her shoulder. "I'm having such bad luck with this dress."
"It isn't bad luck where I'm standing."
"Sir!" she said in a mock-scandalized tone. "You're bad!" Then her right shoulder strap slipped off again. "Whoops!" she said with a high-pitched giggle, and pulled it back up again. "If this bad luck keeps up, my whole dress is gonna fall off, and everyone's gonna see me naked."
"And how's that a bad thing?"
"Sir! Gentlemen aren't supposed to want things like that to happen to girls. You're such a bad boy!" She then giggled lasciviously. Then her left shoulder strap slipped off. "Oops!" she said, replacing it.
His penis was practically perpendicular with his body the whole night.
When it was time to go, she said, "Well, I guess I've gotta go get my date."
"OK," he said.
"Yep, time to know what a black cock will feel like in my happy pussy." She walked over to get Sam. Abruzzi just sat at the bar, frowning.
His frown changed back to a smile when she came back, seeing him sitting on the couch again. Sam was behind her and rendered unaware of what she was doing, thanks to Nigrovum. In front of her prof, she bent over and brought her cleavage right up to his face.
"Good night, sir," she purred, wrapping her breasts around his face and sliding her left breast against his right cheek as she straightened up to leave with Sam. Abruzzi felt her breast's skin, right up to the areola, brushing against his face. She and Sam left, leaving her teacher with the pointiest of erections in his pants.
On Thursday morning at about 11:00, Camilla went to Dr. Abruzzi's office, for now it was his office hours. She went in, closed the door and locked it. They were alone. He was sitting at his desk.
"Hi sir," she said, still doing her slutty 'Candy' persona.
"Hi," he said, with a lustful smile.
She went to his chair and put her knee on it, pushing it against his already-erect penis. "You sure had a lot of fun last night, didn't you?" she asked.
"Not as much fun as you had with Sam."
"Oh, it wasn't that much fun. He wasn't as well-hung as I'd hoped. I'll never believe in stereotypes about black people again. Still, his dick felt good in my ass."
"You let him fuck your ass?"
"Oh, yeah," Camilla said in all insouciance. "I let guys fuck my ass all the time. I like it." She smiled lewdly.
"Really? It doesn't hurt?"
"Not if you lube it, and when your cock is in my asshole, it rubs against the wall by my cunt, and I tingle with pleasure. Remember my tube of anal lube? You gave it to me last night when my things fell out of my purse. That's what I use when the men want anal sex."
"Anyway, I know you had fun last night, too."
"How do you know?"
"You were staring at my tits."
"Oh, yeah," he said, chuckling in embarrassment.
"That's why I rubbed my tits against your face. I knew you'd like it." Unbuttoning her shirt, she then asked, "Want me to do it again?"
"Absolutely," he groaned.
With her shirt unbuttoned down to the last two buttons by her belly, she leaned forward and squeezed her bra-less breasts against his face. Then she moved her torso quickly left to right, again and again, slapping her tits against his happy cheeks. "You should come see me naked tonight at Club Ritz, sir."
"You're a stripper?"
"Yeah, a lap-dancer. Twenty dollars a song, and I'll grind on your cock while you feel me up. You can touch everything, too. No part of my body is off bounds to your hands."
"I'm not surprised to hear that. I'll bet you're good at lap-dancing, too."
"Just for that nice compliment, I'll give you a free demonstration." Looking down lewdly into his eyes, she unzipped her jeans slowly, unbuttoned them, and pulled them down, revealing her panties.
"Purple undies," he sighed. "How pretty."
"Thanks," she said, then took off her white running shoes, socks, and jeans. She sat on his pointy lap and rubbed away. He gyrated his hips and moaned his thanks. After five minutes of grinding, she got up and looked around at the books on the shelves of his office, not bothering to put her jeans back on.
He got up and stood beside her, patting her on the behind. "Do my books interest you, Camilla?"