Camilla Ch. 083


She then went to Josiah's home, sucking the blood off her finger.


On Thursday night, black-haired, black-eyed, Goth-pale Camilla watched Josiah fall asleep after getting another boring missionary fuck from him.

All he can think about is his 'spiritual progress', she thought as she carefully got out of bed so as not to wake him. She put on a tight-fitting white dress that came down halfway between her thighs and her knees, those white cross-garters, and matching high heels. After painting up her face with heavy black mascara and eye-liner, dark-blue eye-shadow, pink blush, and dark red lipstick, she quietly put all her things in her luggage. I'm happy that Nigrovum is giving him more peace, as it is Ravinder, but I don't want to be around boring people like that anymore.

Before leaving Josiah's home, she left on the kitchen table a note she'd written earlier that day. This is what it said:

Sorry, Don, but it isn't working out between us. You're no fun as a non-priest, and I like my sex more--you know--sinful. You're growing spiritually, and I'm sure you'll be morally strong enough to get over me. Please don't try to find me. When I want you, I'll find you. Take care.


She called up a taxi when she went outside, and as she waited for it to arrive, she psychically changed her hair, eyes, skin, nails, and asshole back to their original colours.

The taxi arrived, she got in, and told the driver to take her to the other side of Toronto, to the neighbourhood where Dr. Martin lived. She sent a psychic message to him as he was sleeping: Wake up, sir. Camilla is coming, and she wants to feel you inside her.

After psychically rousing him from bed, she spent the rest of the taxi ride scanning Agape's mind for any possible feelings of incestuous lust for her; she probed the darkest recesses of his mind and found nothing--he had passion for only Carrie.

As Camilla swept his mind for all his affectionate feelings for her, again she found that, invariably, he thought only about such things as bouncing her--aged five, skinny, cute, and innocent--on his knee.

"Fuck!" she said.

"Ma'am?" the cabbie said.


"You OK?"

"Yeah. Oh, there's his house. Stop here." She got out, paid the cabbie, got her bags out of the cab, and took them to the porch of Dr. Martin's house, where her prof was waiting in his bathrobe.

"Camilla?" he asked. "What brings you here?" She loved the sound of the fifty-something man's suave British accent.

"I need your cock," she said with the Russian accent of her 'Anna' persona. "Can I stay with you a while? My boyfriend kicked me out."

"Of course, my goddess," he said, then let her in. They went upstairs to his bedroom after he put both her bags in the living room.

"Do my clothes please you, sir?" she asked, turning around for him.

"Yes," he said. "You were so considerate to wear those sexy cross-garters for me."

"Yes, I like to be sexy for my teacher." She unzipped her dress at the back, pulled the shoulder straps off her shoulders, and let the dress fall to the floor. Wearing no underwear, she was now naked except for her cross-garters and high heels, which she kept on out of respect for Dr. Martin's fetishes.

She got on the bed on all fours, spreading her legs out so he could see her brown asshole and pink pussy. He took off his bathrobe and pyjamas, and got on the bed behind her. He sniffed her anus, enjoying the faecal odour that she'd deliberately left there for her coprophiliac prof. Then he licked those pretty brown wrinkles, and slid his finger inside her wet pussy.

"Oh," she softly sighed as she felt his tongue tickling her anus and his finger stroking her G-spot. After a few more seconds of licking her asshole, he'd grown a full erection. He took his finger out of her pussy, and he pushed the tip of his hard cock against her vaginal opening. "Oh, oh, oh!..." she squealed. He'd slipped in a third of the way.

"Oh!" he moaned as he pushed in a few inches further, loving the tightness of her wet pussy. When he'd got all the way in, she came, drowning his cock with her jizz.

"Ah!" she screamed. His gargantuan cock kept thrusting in and out, in and out, and she kept singing out staccato, soprano squeals with each poke of his knob against her A-spot. After a half-minute of pokes, she came again.

He slid his finger inside her asshole as he continued fucking her pussy, moving it all around and feeling his way along her dirty anal walls. "Unh!" he grunted.

"Do you...want to...fuck my ass?" she asked. "Oh!" She came a third time.

"Yes," he said. He pulled his cock out of her cunt. He smeared her asshole and rectum with her come with the hand that wasn't in her asshole before, because the finger of that hand was coated in her shit--something the coprophiliac adored. He slid his cock inside her asshole slowly, and she looked back at him with welcoming eyes, since she was now more used to the huge size of his cock. As he fucked her ass, he held his shit-covered finger up to his nose and sniffed it.

She reached back and fingered her hard clitoris as she felt that powerful member probing and stretching her rectum in ways it seldom was ever stretched.

After a minute or so of fucking her ass, he groaned, "I'm gonna come. Oh!"

"OK," she sighed. "Pull out." He did, and she turned around and took his cock in her hand, pointing it at her tits. He sprayed all over her right nipple, her cleavage, her belly, and her left breast just to the right of the nipple. "Now I must go pee."

"OK," he said. "And I must watch you pee." They got off the bed and went into the bathroom.

She sat on the toilet, and he stood before her, looking down at her and admiring how her curvy buttocks caressed the toilet seat. She looked up at him as she began peeing, her eyes asking his if what he saw pleased him.

"Why did your boyfriend kick you out, my pissing goddess?" he asked as he enjoyed watching her apple juice pour out from between her legs down into the toilet bowl water.

"Well," she said in her deliberately ungrammatical 'Anna' English, moaning in relief to feel the piss coming out, "I no really get kicked out; I leave. He too boring. Always talk about 'spiritual evolution'. I wanna fuck, with man who like to get dirty. If he were still priest, he still be sexy." She squirted out her last few drops of pee.

"He was a priest?" Martin asked, squatting down to get a closer look. "You naughty girl."

"Yes, he quit priesthood for me, but I no like it." She reached for the toilet paper.

"Oh, allow me, Goddess." He pulled off some TP from the roll, then reached down between her legs and wiped her vulva dry.

"Thank you, sir," she said, then got up. He sniffed her stinky crotch, freshly shaved by her that afternoon in anticipation of a night with him. Then she stood to the side so he, with his taste for urolagnia, could enjoy seeing her piss in the toilet bowl a while before flushing. "I like being with him as priest because I like calling him 'Father'. I think is sexy."

"Sexy in a transgressive way, that's for sure."

"But he no fun anymore."

"I'm sure he was actually probably never fun. Religious types always spoil the fun, my dear." He flushed the toilet, took her by the hands and led her out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. They lay on the bed, and he started his own preaching: "There is no 'spiritual evolution', Camilla; the real evolution is that from one-celled organisms to man, the dominant species on the earth. The only real moral progress is from the backward ways of religion to the enlightened, secular society we live in now, with its virtues of tolerance and equality for everyone."

She was growing more and more tolerant of these views all the time.


Speaking of anti-religion, on Friday Camilla, blonde and in her skin-tight grey outfit, attended Dr. Lawson's class on erotic literature. He discussed Sade's Justine, or the Misfortunes of Virtue.

"Sade despised the Church, and all forms of moral restraint," Lawson said. "He advocated absolute individualism and freedom, condemning ethics as sanctimony and hypocrisy. The acts of sexual violence in Justine all represent parables, if you will, of his philosophy, that anything goes, and that virtue is never rewarded."

Brilliant, Camilla thought; and just what I needed to hear, to reduce my own guilt feelings. There is nothing but misfortune connected to virtue, and vice is fun; that's why people are always trying to stop us from having fun. Oh, Dr. Lawson, you're getting one hell of a good blow job after class.

After class, she followed him out of the classroom and to his office.

"Hi sir," she said as they walked toward the building where his office was.

"Hi, Camilla," he said, already getting excited from what he knew was coming.

"Ready for your weekly blow job?" she asked, smiling lasciviously.

"Yeah, but let's not be so obvious about it this time, sweetie. People are beginning to talk about a sometimes blonde, sometimes black-haired girl who's getting it on with the profs."

"Oh, we'll be OK." They went into the building, and reached his office. "We'll keep things quiet. I'll turn on the radio to drown out your groans."

They went into his office, and she closed and locked the door. He sat at his desk, turned on his radio, and watched her sway her hips back and forth.

She unzipped her outfit at the back and pulled it down to her feet. She pulled her feet out, keeping her high heels on, since she knew he liked them. Then she turned around, spread her legs and bent over so he could see her pussy and asshole. She looked back at him upside down from between her legs and let him finger her vulva and anus. She stroked his cock until she could feel a firm erection.

Then she turned around, got on her knees between his legs, and unzipped his pants. She pulled out his hard cock and masturbated him to get him harder; then she put it in her mouth, always looking up into his eyes with a lewd smirk.

He looked down at her with a smile as he watched her wet lips slide back and forth along the length of his shaft. Her fingers tickled his scrotum and played with his balls. He ran his fingers through her hair as she sucked him off.

She deep-throated him, feeling his pubic hair tickle her face. Then she pulled her head back so half his cock was still in her mouth; her tongue tightly wrapped itself around his bulging corpus spongiosum, and slid along its length, tickling the sensitive area just below his knob.

"I'm gonna blow," he moaned. "Oh!"

She moved her head up and down his cock faster and faster, her tickling tongue vibrating along the underside of his cock. Finally, he ejaculated in her mouth, and she gulped down every drop.

"Oh, yeah," he moaned. "The good fortunes...of vice."

"Total sexual freedom, sir," she said in sighs. "I'm a Sadean."


That night at Club Ritz, Goth-looking Camilla and Candice at first avoided each other. But Candice, still aching for her former lover, went up to her later that night.

"Camil," she said, trying not to cry. "Please forgive me for yelling at you in my apartment last time. It's just that I've been going crazy lately. I keep dreaming about the masked men. They're so real. It's scaring me."

"I'm not living with the priest anymore, if that'll make you feel better," Camilla said coolly.

"Who are you with now?" Candice asked.

"One of my teachers," Camilla said. "He won't be too shocking a choice for you, will he?"

"That choice isn't me, either. Look, I'm sorry for what I said. Please come back to me. I'm desperate to have you again."

"I will on one condition. You know what that is."

"Oh, Camil, please don't make me do that."

"That's the only way, Candice." Camilla walked away, seeing Patrick enter the bar.

"Come on, Camil, you're killing me." Candice looked at her arms. Needle holes were visible on the one she always shot heroin into, for the first time. Her mouth was dry, too, for she hadn't been using Nigrovum to reverse the negative effects of the heroin. She took her purse with her into the washroom, found an empty toilet stall, and took out her syringe and dope.

Patrick had a despondent look on his face. Camilla, wearing the black dress he'd bought her, changed all her body colours back to their original look.

She approached him. "Hi Patrick!" she said in her 'Dolly' voice.

"Hi," he puffed out with some effort. He sat on a chair.

"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting on his lap. Amazingly, he didn't get a hard-on.

"My wife killed herself," he said, sobbing.

Report Story

byMawrGorshin© 0 comments/ 15773 views/ 1 favorites

Share the love

Also in this series

Report a Bug

2 Pages:12

Please Rate This Submission:

Please Rate This Submission:

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • 4
  • 5
Please wait
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments  - Click here to add a comment to this story

Add a

Post a public comment on this submission.

Post comment as (click to select):

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: