Camilla Ch. 085

"I don't know what's wrong with me," he said, fighting back sobs. "I blame you for Lisa's death, yet it's like I'm addicted to you." He started crying. "I've never been so...obsessed with a girl...as I am with you, and I don't know why. Lisa appeared...in my dreams...last night. She accused me...of raping you. She said...that I betrayed her...just for a fuck. I asked her...how I could redeem myself, and she said...I should love you...the way I should have loved her." He held his sobbing face in his hands.

"Sounds good," 'Dolly' said, without a trace of emotion, being numbed still by her psychic dome. "Love me tonight. But I gotta go poo-poo; excuse me." Camilla got up and went to the bathroom.

He could only be stunned by the apathy he saw in her.

As she crapped on the toilet, she thought, Patrick is no fun as a cry-baby. I've gotta get him in better spirits if I'm gonna get a good fuck from him tonight. She sent this psychic message back to him: Cheer up--if you do what I want you to do, I'll love you forever. She felt the warm energy radiate out to him at their booth. "See?" she said, crapping out her last turd. "I use Nigrovum for good." She wiped her ass, washed her hands, and returned to their booth.

"Sorry for all the crying," he said, wiping his face with a tissue. "I'm in control now."

"Don't feel bad," ditzy 'Dolly' said. Then, smiling lewdly at him, she said, "But your wife was right: you did rape me, you know."

"I did not," he said, cheering up and getting turned on.

"Yes, you did," she insisted, affecting bashful modesty. "I should call the police."

"You loved it. You were coming buckets."

"Uh, Patrick, keep your voice down," she whispered.

"Oh, yeah," he said, blushing. "Sorry."

They had their meal, and he paid for it. Then she put her fedora on her head, and they left the restaurant.

*******************

Patrick drove Camilla to his house, and they went up to his bedroom. As he sat on the bed, taking his shoes off, he watched her get on the floor on all fours. Still with all her clothes on and her fedora on her head, she was looking at herself in a mirror and pushing her ass out, with her legs spread wide open.

He got on the floor behind her and started kissing her on her tight black leather pants where her ass-crack was.

She looked back at him as he continued kissing and adoring her callipygian behind. "You're worshipping my bum," she said with a giggle, always in her ditzy 'Dolly' persona.

"Yes, I am, Goddess," he said, still kissing and sniffing.

"But I'm all stinky down there. Remember, at Giovanni's I went poo-poo."

"No problem," Patrick said. "I'll just take you into the bathroom and wash you clean."

"Oh, thank you!" she said; then they both stood up.

She took off her fedora and put it on the dresser. Then he unzipped and unbuttoned her pants while she unbuttoned her white blouse. He pulled her pants down to her ankles while she took off her blouse and dropped it on the floor. Then he took her silver high heels off and got her feet through the leg holes of her pants while she took off her light green bra. Finally, he pulled down her light green lace panties, exposing her pubic hair in its original brown colour, and she pulled her feet through her panties' leg holes.

The naked girl turned around, facing the door out that lead to the bathroom; and he, squatting, opened her buttocks to see her brown asshole, still with a bit of unwiped shit on it. The faecal smell was strong.

"I told you I'm stinky down there," she said.

He picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, placing her standing in the bathtub. He turned on the water and lathered up the soap. She squatted with her legs open so he could see her pussy: he soaped it up thoroughly inside and out, smearing the lather on all her vaginal walls. After rinsing her cunt clean, he had her turn around. She got up and bent over with her legs spread out so he could see her asshole; he cleaned it out as thoroughly as he had her pussy, getting the lather deep inside her rectum, washing the shit off all her rectal walls. She moaned at the sensitive touch of his hands.

After he rinsed all the soap away and dried her off, he sat on the toilet and she bent over, with her freshly-cleaned asshole and pussy just inches from his delighted face. She looked back at him as he sniffed.

"Am I all clean?" she asked.

"Immaculate," he said.

"Wanna put your thing in me now?"

"Definitely."

He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on the bed on her back. She opened her legs wide so he could see her pussy, then raised her legs up high so her asshole would also be visible. Then he got naked and put his face between her legs.

First he vivaciously licked her asshole, sliding his tongue an inch or two inside the orifice. She moaned her thanks. He sucked on her already hard clitoris, then her labia. Finally, after a few more licks, he got up and pointed his dick at her cunt.

On top of her in the missionary position, he pushed his cock inside her wet pussy: she sighed in higher and higher pitches, her voice getting louder and louder. She came as soon as his cock was all the way in, poking against her A-spot. He started thrusting aggressively inside her, and she screamed and squealed over top of his baritone moans and grunts. She came a second time.

He put his hands on her tits and gently squeezed them as he continued fucking her. He was incredibly horny, but hadn't come yet, and this surprised him. Normally, he'd come right around this time, but while he was as hard as could be, he felt he could still fuck and fuck. He'd never felt like such a stud before, and he couldn't understand why.

She, of course, knew why: she was the reason why, using Nigrovum to keep him hard and at a plateaued peak of extreme excitement without reaching the point of no return and coming. She wanted a good, long fuck, and she was going to make sure he gave it to her.

She came a third time, screaming in whistle register. As he kept fucking, amazed that he wasn't even getting tired, she thought about him as a possible man to kill Carrie. Though she'd like to do the murder herself, she debated with herself about whether it would be safer just to have someone else do it; then she'd be even less likely of being implicated for the crime. Her accomplice would accuse her, and she could deny it, calling him crazy. After all, all her lovers were crazy...as she of course was.

She came a fourth time.

"Do you...still wanna go?" he panted, still thrusting. "Unh!"

"Yeah," she sighed. "You...haven't got...gooey yet. Ah!"

"But surely, you've had...your fill. Oh!" He pulled his dick out.

"Oh, I know," she said, as though a lightbulb had just flashed over her head, even though she'd always planned to do this. She quickly flipped around so she was on all fours, pointing her ass at him. With her legs spread out and her asshole showing, she looked back at him, her eyes telling him exactly what she'd allow him to do.

"It's OK if I do that?" he asked, amazed at her permissiveness.

"Sure. I let men put their things in there all the time. Look at my poo-poo hole. Doesn't it look used to you?"

"Well, I guess. So you're really OK with it? It won't hurt?"

"Sure, it's fine with me. I want to please you, because you made me gooey four times tonight. You always make me gooey, and I want to give back."

"Well, what will we use for lubricant?"

"Well, there's lube in my purse, but I prefer using my goo."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, just smear my goo all over my poo-poo hole, and all the way inside. Then put your thing in. You know you want to, Patrick."

"I love you," he sighed. He lubed her ass with her come, smearing it all over the orifice and deep inside her rectum. Then he slowly, carefully slid his cock inside. Again, his sensitivity gave her incredible pleasure, and when he got all the way in and had been pumping for a few seconds, her vagina was already wet. She hadn't even been fingering her clitoris: his anal stimulations were getting her very excited, and she had two anal orgasms during this ass-fuck.

He loved the tight feeling of her asshole: such a pretty thing that she'd been kind enough to indulge him with. Ever since he'd met her, she'd generously shown it to him, let him finger it inside and out, let him sniff and lick it, and now she was actually letting him fuck it! What an incredible girl.

After a few minutes of intense ass-fucking, she finally released him psychically, allowing him to come. Not wanting to soil her rectum, he pulled his cock out of her ass; she quickly turned around and knelt before him.

"Stand up, Patrick," she said. "Get gooey on my face. Men like that."

"OK," he said, standing up on the bed. She held his cock in her hand, pointing it at her face, and squeezed it a few times. He splashed his come on her nose: she screamed with delight; he then came on her cheek--she giggled; after that, he sprayed in her right eye, and she screamed and giggled like a little girl getting hit with a water pistol. Finally, he shot a blast of come on her lips and chin.

They lay side by side on their backs, cuddling. As he slowly fell asleep, Patrick thought about his promise to his wife's ghost to love Camilla as he should have loved her. Not wanting to be bothered by any incubi, Camilla set up thorough psychic barriers, and they both went to sleep.

*****************

Patrick woke up on Friday morning to the sweet sensations of Camilla's lips and tongue on his hard-on. He looked down at the naked girl as her mouth went up and down on his cock.

"Oh, oh!" he moaned. "Are there...no end...to your talents?" he asked in sighs. "Ah!" He came in her mouth, and she swallowed it all, not missing a drop.

"I thought you'd like to wake up like that," she said, giggling.

"You are...so considerate," he panted, kissing her on the cheek.

They got out of bed, and he got dressed. She, always naked, went out to the bathroom to clean her mouth out with mouthwash.

He heard the doorbell ring, and went downstairs to get it. She also went downstairs and into the kitchen.

"You may want to go back upstairs and put your clothes on, Camilla," he said. "Two friends of mine are coming in for a bit."

She psychically sensed Patrick's taste for Candaulism, and she also could feel how one of those two friends was handsome, forty-something, and well-endowed. "That's OK, Patrick," she said. "I don't mind if they see me."

"Oh, OK," Patrick said with a mixture of uncertainty and titillation. "Come in, guys."

The two men, the handsome one and a younger, corpulent one, went into the living room with Patrick. Nude Camilla came out of the kitchen to meet them, gleefully displaying herself. "Hi guys," 'Dolly' said with a grin.

"Oh, my...God," the two men said together, their eyes agape and their jaws dropping to the floor.

"How do I look?" she asked with a giggle, turning around for them and smiling at the handsome man. "My name's Camilla."

"Flawless," the handsome man said. "I'm Gregg." He held out his hand and she shook it. "More than pleased to meet you."

"You are fuckin' hot!" the fat man said. "I'm Dan. Show me your pussy!"

"Dan," Patrick chided. "Behave. Enjoy what you get. No more."

You're not interested in me, she psychically told Dan, looking intensely in his eyes; Just ignore me.

Dan stared at his shoes for the rest of the visit; the others didn't care.

"What brings you here?" Patrick asked Gregg.

"Just sayin' hi," Gregg said. "And returning your DVDs." He smiled charismatically at her. "What brings this goddess here, Mr. Recently Widowed?"

"She's helping me get over the pain," Patrick said.

"I'm sure she is," Gregg said. "If you don't mind my saying so, Camilla, you have an incredibly beautiful body."

"Why, thank you," she said with another giggle. "Wanna see my goodies?"

"I'm aching to," Gregg panted.

She, always smiling, sat on the coffee table and spread her legs out so Gregg could see her pussy. She opened her labia out wide so he could see inside. His mouth and eyes were as gaping as her cunt was.

Then she turned around and got on the coffee table on all fours, showing Gregg her asshole. She looked back at him, her eyes asking him how he liked the view.

"Breathtaking," Gregg sighed. "And you use that pretty hole for pooping?"

"Yep," she said, laughing out loud. I'm a lap-dancer at Club Ritz, she psychically told Gregg; Come on over and see me sometime.

Patrick went over to speak privately to Gregg. "As I was saying," Patrick whispered in Gregg's ear, "I'm hoping she'll replace Lisa, and I've been making a lot of progress, if you know what I mean. Enjoy the show, but don't get your hopes up, buddy."

Don't you get your hopes up, buddy, Gregg thought.

*******************

That night at Club Ritz, Don Josiah dutifully arrived with the pistol and a box of bullets in a small gym bag. He sensed what she wanted to do with them; but he was confident that, psychically monitoring her with the utmost subtlety, he could make sure she wouldn't succeed with her plans.

She went up to him in a crimson evening dress, high heels, and the usual harlot makeup. She knew he was starving for her charms, and she'd use that to her advantage.

"Hi, Don," she said, hugging him. "Sorry, but what I told you before still goes: it isn't working out between us."

"What can I do to get you back?" he asked, with a tone of desperation in his voice. "I want to save you; then I can save myself."

"Do you still desire me?" she asked, smirking lewdly.

"Absolutely," he said, panting and still conflicted. "In body and soul."

"You can't have me. In fact, I don't think I should even be giving you lap-dances. It'll just make it harder for you to let me go."

"Oh, come on. Please," he begged. "Just one lap-dance, please?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"What can I do for just one lap-dance? Then I'll never bother you again."

"Well, there is one thing you can do."

"What's that?" he asked eagerly. Though he wanted to prevent her from doing what he sensed she would do, he was starving for the pleasure of even something as small as one lap-dance from the girl he'd been addicted to. "What do you want me to do?"

"Oh, I'll tell you after the dance," she said. "First promise."

"Alright, I promise," he panted, knowing full well the risk he was taking. "Whatever it is you want, I promise to do it for you."

"OK," she said with a grin, and took him by the hand, leading him into a private room. He sat on the sofa; a new song began, 'Stripped', by Rammstein. She swayed her hips slowly, turned around, and pushed her ass out at his face, shaking it mere centimetres from his nose.

It took all his strength to enjoy her beauty without succumbing to it. As much as he wanted to delight in her sensuality, he also didn't want that pleasure to be a detriment to his spiritual progress; and he wanted to save her...from herself. He couldn't let his lust distract him from his subtle plan of letting her think she'd fooled him, when he was in control all along.

Her dress came off, revealing her black lace underwear. She squeezed her breasts against the sides of his face, then took her bra off, wiggling her tits and slapping them against his cheeks. She turned around, pushed her buttocks against his face, then moved her ass from side to side, letting his face feel the material of her black lace panties sliding against it. She pulled her panties down to her ankles, took off her shoes, then pulled her feet out of her panties' leg holes. She was now completely naked.

She opened her legs wide and bent over so he could see her pussy and asshole up close. She looked back at him, upside down from between her legs. She had that calm, Mona Lisa smile again, but he was no longer fooled by it. This 'Eve before the Fall', naked and not ashamed, was in no state of grace: she had terribly sinful thoughts swimming around in her brain, and he knew that. He saw all of her naked soul as well as all of her naked body: nothing was hidden.

Still, he wanted her.

She sat on his pointy lap, and started grinding aggressively on his hard cock. He smelled her fragrant hair, and fondled her large breasts. Then he put his hand down between her legs and began fingering her wet pussy, tickling her hard clitoris. They moaned in unison, an octave apart from each other.

His indulgence in his lust was half-real, half-acted, for he knew she was using Nigrovum to scan his mind for any plans to circumvent hers; he did have such plans, but he couldn't allow himself to think about those circumventions at that moment. He could only play the role of horny King Herod to her scheming Salome.

She was hoping, by getting him extremely hot, to make him let his psychic guard down so she could know his real thoughts. Did he secretly know about her plan to kill Carrie? Was he going to try to use his own psychic powers to stop her? For good or ill, all she could sense was his burning lechery.

She rubbed her ass hard on his cock, more and more aggressively, while his fingers were tickling her clitoris and rubbing against her G-spot. He kissed her on her neck and shoulder, and she reached back and fondled his cock. Keeping his plans far back in the deep recesses of his mind, he thought only about how turned on he was...and gladly!

In their horniness, they decided to play a game with Nigrovum: they decided to synchronize their orgasms. Indeed, in a few more seconds of intense fingering, grinding, and fondling, they came at the same time.

The song ended, and and she cleaned him up as best she could in the shower area. "OK," she said. "I gave you your dance; now, do me my favour."

"Anything, Goddess," he panted with a slavish, lustful obedience in his eyes and voice. "I'll give you anything: jewellery, diamonds, anything. What do you want?"

"Give me that bag," she said, looking intensely in his eyes and psychically prompting him to do so. In the weak-willed lasciviousness that he'd just plunged into, he seemed easy to manipulate.

"OK," he panted acquiescently. "Take it." He gave her the bag, and left, walking out of the strip joint in an almost mechanical manner.

******************

When he got home, far away from her psychic 'radar', he thought about his desperate plan, and how risky, even foolhardy, it obviously was.

Giving her my gun!he thought; What stupidity! I must be as mad as she is, knowing what she plans to do with it! I can't even say what she'll do, it's so horrible, so insane. Still, if I hadn't given her my gun, she'd have just thought up some other plan to kill Carrie. Maybe she'd have bought another gun: if she uses my gun, it'll be easier to monitor her psychically than if she uses a gun I don't know about. If she plans to kill Carrie another way, it'll be harder for me to monitor her plans, not knowing what she wants to do. At least this way, I know what she's going to do, and I can psychically monitor her better. I must tell Agape and Carrie, though telling them will get them so worried, and I'd hate to get that sweet woman scared. I hope Camilla doesn't psychically scan the bullets I gave her, and find out they're blanks! If she finds out, and buys real bullets, I can psychically turn them into blanks at the last minute, when she goes to shoot Carrie. I'll psychically monitor Camilla 24/7, alerting myself when she takes the gun to shoot Carrie; I'll even set up a psychic 'alarm clock' in my mind to alert me if Camilla wants to kill Carrie when I'm sleeping. If my plan succeeds, Oh, God, make it succeed! I can let Agape know in time; he will stop her with his own psychic powers, and she'll be given the help she needs, committed in an insane asylum if necessary. Please, Camilla, don't find out about the blanks!