tagNonConsent/ReluctanceCamilla Ch. 092

Camilla Ch. 092


It was the fourth day of 37-year-old Camilla's ordeal in the public aquarium in Montreal. The news cameras of the worldwide media were still filming her, lechers were still getting video of her naked body on their cell-phone cameras, and none of her mesmerized watchers, who'd filled the viewing area to capacity, had left, had the intention of leaving, or had even the free will to leave. Such was the power that the masked men had over everyone--whether the spirits of dead masked men, or the living ones who were psychically controlling the spectacle from secret places around the world.

Camilla was now being gang-banged by the spirits of Joey, Chris, and another former classmate of hers, a boy she'd met in her fourth undergraduate year at York University in Toronto. Joey's invisible cock was going in and out of her mouth, making her right cheek puff out; Chris's invisible cock was causing the gaping in her pussy; and the other boy's invisible cock was making her asshole widen. Only she could 'see' her rapist ghosts: the malice in their eyes frightened her beyond description.

Her come and piss continued to pour out into the tank of water she was being made to hover over. She was as helpless as ever, just passively watching people get video of her spread-out legs.

You humiliated us, the third boy's spirit mentally told her. Now we're humiliating you.

I can't believe some of the shit you made us all do, Joey's spirit added. Degrading!

Camilla, this can't go on, Don's spirit told her.

Allow yourself to die, Agape's spirit psychically said. We'll save you in the other world.

We have a psychic force field protecting the glass of this water tank, so it won't break, Candice's spirit told Camilla. It could hold for a few weeks, maybe even as long as a month or two; but we don't know. The masked men are limiting our power. You must let go of this world.

I'm too scared to die, Camilla kept repeating mentally, with copious tears running down her cheeks. The masked men will never let me out of hell. That's where they want me.

We'll get you out, Agape told her. Trust us.

There's no way out of hell, Camilla said. Hell is forever. You know that, Daddy. The Church taught us that.

We know a spiritual reality beyond the teaching of any religion, Dr. Singh communicated from Vancouver. Heaven and hell aren't absolutes, and they aren't opposites. They're more like the extremes of a continuum, but coiled into a circle.

Yeah, Candice added. The afterlife is like a wheel.

Or a snake, curled in a circle, biting its tail, Don told Camilla. Heaven is the snake's head, so to speak, and hell is its tail. The length of its body is, as it were, every intermediate stage between the extremes. It's the ouroboros, a symbol of eternity.

The eternity is what scares me, Camilla told them. I don't think I'll escape the tail, where I'm going. I'm too addicted to sex to resist. I hate being here, but I can't stop loving the sex.

It will be difficult, Singh mentally said, but the other world can be navigated. Candice was being gang-raped by masked men when we found her, and we got her out. She enjoys the bliss of the heavenly realms with your father now. We can save you, too, Camilla. Have faith in us.

But I don't have faith in myself, Camilla insisted. It's me the masked men want, not someone like Candice. Those bastards will never give me up. My lust gives them power. No longer able to endure her ongoing predicament, Camilla began to have another out-of-body vision, a memory going back sixteen years to when she was a month into her fourth university year in Toronto.

Just before leaving the house one morning to go to York, 21-year-old Camilla was trying to placate her 2-year-old son, who was angrily crying from seeing her leave him.

"Sweetie," she gently chided Eros. "Nice boys don't get angry."

"Mommy!" Eros yelled. "Don't go!" He was sobbing loudly.

"Big boys don't cry," she said. "You're already quite big." (Indeed, at almost two and a third years old, he was over 90 cm tall.) "Mommy will be home soon; you wait in your room and play with your building blocks."

'Not-Mommy come home soon," he said angrily, meaning he knew Emily was being made to look and sound like Camilla. "I see Mommy, I hear Mommy, but not Mommy."

"Baby," Camilla said softly, hugging Eros. "No, she isn't Mommy. She's Emily, your nanny. But she's nice, isn't she?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

"I can't be here all the time, sweetie," Camilla said, kissing him on the cheek. "But Emily will take good care of you. She always has. And I'll be back soon enough--I promise."

"OK," he said sadly, but acquiescently.

"Now, be good. Remember, Mommy likes nice boys, not bad boys. Big boys don't cry, and nice boys don't get mad."

Emily came in the front door with some groceries. Eros saw her as she really looked for the first time, since Camilla now knew how futile it was using her psychic powers to trick him into thinking his nanny was his mother. Emily smiled at him, but he shyly pushed his face against Camilla's chest, 'hiding' himself.

Camilla looked down piercingly into his eyes. "You will be happy with Emily," she said. "You will be a good boy."

"I happy with Emily," he repeated, in a temporary trance. "I good boy."

"Good," Camilla said, hugging him and kissing him on the forehead. "Gotta go." She got up. "He's all yours, Emily. Bye." Camilla went out the front door with her book-bag, heading for the bus stop.

Eros sadly watched his mother from the living room window. He was quiet and well-behaved, but a tear ran down his cheek.


In an afternoon class, blonde, blue-eyed Camilla listened to her teacher, Dr. Cecilia Moore, discuss Rudyard Kipling's short story, 'Mary Postgate.' Dr. Moore had an odd habit of spending more time discussing her political beliefs than 20th century British literature, the subject of the course.

"In 'Mary Postgate'," Dr. Moore began, "we see how the horrors of war, with its airplane bombings, destroy our Mother Earth as well as human lives. Fortunately we now live in a more enlightened time, when we are more ecologically minded. Green Parties, in countries in Europe, here in Canada, and even in America, are suddenly, surprisingly seeing huge rises in their support. It's unprecedented, and it's wonderful news."

Indeed, Camilla thought. She then psychically planted the following thought in the heads of everyone in her classroom: Vote Green Party.

Everyone, even the teacher, whispered, "Vote Green Party."

Dr. Moore returned to the story. "Wynn, a man Mary has secretly loved, dies a casualty of the war. If he has been killed by the German enemy, then all Germans are beasts to Mary, so when she sees a wounded German aviator, she refuses to help him. This normally emotionally repressed woman gets a strange thrill from watching the German slowly die. She seems to have had an orgasm, indulging in the pleasure of witnessing the erotic humiliation of another."

Getting turned on watching someone die? Camilla thought. When I watched Daddy die, I was pretty fucking far from being turned on; though fucking his re-animated corpse was the fuck of the century, that's for sure. Of course, I'm a certified nympho, and the opposite of prudish, proper Mary.

Speaking of thrills from the dead, Camilla suddenly felt an invisible finger go inside her pussy, right there during class! The finger gently tickled her G-spot, and she got moist between the legs within seconds. She tried desperately to keep her heavy breathing as inaudible as possible.

She'd never found out who had caused her previous embarrassing incident, a year before, when she was made to strip naked and receive anilingus from Chris in her night class with Dr. Cage. Wanting to be prepared for any subsequent incidents, she'd visualized a psychic 'window' through which she could 'look' and 'see' who was using Nigrovum's mind-controlling powers on her.

There had been a few brief public incidents since her class with Dr. Cage, in which she had been masturbated in class; but they stopped mere seconds after they started, to keep her from 'seeing' who her intruders were. This incident in Dr. Moore's class was the most intense one since that of Dr. Cage's lecture; she 'looked' through that psychic window and saw the ghost of Veronica.

Do you like that, Camilla? Veronica's ghost asked, being heard only by Camilla.

Yeah, Camilla answered, but not now, baby.

Yes, Veronica's spirit insisted. Now, baby.

As Camilla felt that invisible finger go all the way up her cunt and gently jab at her A-spot, she heard the grotesque, distorted laughter of the masked men. She 'looked' through the 'window' as carefully and thoroughly as she could, but she didn't 'see' any of them, so cleverly had they hidden from her view.

Are the ghosts invading my days, now? Camilla wondered. Because I blotted them out of my dreams? Is that why this has been happening to me?

She was lucky to be wearing a miniskirt that day. Anticipating her approaching orgasm, she pulled down her panties, careful that no one saw her. Then she got a plastic bag out of her purse and put it between her legs. Just seconds before she came, she tried to use Nigrovum to make her whistle register scream inaudible. But she was too horny to concentrate and give focus to her psychic powers. So when her come filled the plastic bag, with some dribbling over the sides, everyone turned around to look at who suddenly screamed.

"Sorry," she said with a blush.

"Surely the ending wasn't that shocking," Dr. Moore said. Everyone else chuckled.

The lecture ended, and she left the classroom with her head down low in embarrassment from her outburst. I'm getting pretty damn sick of being psychically controlled by others, she thought; I'm a goddess. This shouldn't be happening to me. I do the controlling, not others.

As she walked through the halls, she saw a boy she often saw there. He was a cute, thin brunet; clean-shaven, with smooth, soft facial features. She decided it was time to meet him.

"Hi," she said to him.

"Hi," he said shyly.

"What's your name, sweetie?" she asked.

"Sean," he said, looking away, though he really wanted to look at her beautiful body.

"My name's Camilla," she said, "and you're cute."

"Thanks," he said bashfully.

"I have something for you." She gave him the bag with her come in it.

"What is it?"

"Drink it. It's good for you. You'll like it."

"Wait a minute," he said suspiciously. "I don't know..."

"You'll drink it," she said while looking sharply into his eyes. Vibrations radiated from her body into his, making him lift the bag up to his mouth.

"I'll drink it," he said, then obediently poured her come down into his mouth; she used Nigrovum to make sure none spilled outside. Though he was disturbed by the odd taste of the 'drink', the entranced boy now waited for his next command.

"You'll now follow me," she said, still looking hard into his eyes. "I'm producing a play I want you to act in."

"I'll follow you," he said as he walked behind her, "You're producing a play you want me to act in."

I control others; they don't control me, Camilla thought as she and the boy went over to the drama building. One day, I'm gonna figure out how to control those masked bastards.


Ten minutes later, Sean was standing in a small room next to a stage. He was facing Camilla and Ron, her gay friend from the Hallowe'en party in Mr. Berman's house three years before. She and Ron were sitting next to each other, behind a table, and asking Sean questions.

"How old are you, sweetie?" she asked Sean.

"I just turned eighteen," he said.

"Perfect," Ron said, smiling lustfully at the boy. "Have you ever done any acting?"

"Yeah, I've been in a few plays," Sean said, mildly bi-curious about both of his attractive interviewers, though much preferring Camilla.

"Excellent," Camilla said with a big grin. "We're doing a production of Michel Tremblay's Hosanna. In English translation, of course. It's a story about two gay lovers and their conflicts and difficulties in society. We think you'd be perfect for the title role."

"Really?" Sean said excitedly. "A leading role for me?"

"Yes," Ron said, ogling the boy. "But it's a demanding role. We hope you can handle it."

"I'm ready for anything," the ambitious Sean insisted.

"Hosanna's a transvestite," Ron said bluntly.

"I can handle that," Sean said.

"And at the end of the play, Hosanna finally acknowledges that he's a man, and strips naked," Camilla added.

"He strips in front of his lover, Cuirette," Ron said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "My role."

"Oh, uh,..." Sean said, already suspecting Ron's sexual orientation. "Well, I suppose I can do that."

"Good," Camilla said. "Let's put you to the test, then. Strip for us."

"Now?" Sean asked, his nervous voice cracking.

"Yes," she said. "You have to get over your hang-ups. Besides, we have to make sure the Cleopatra dress we have fits you. Don't be shy, sweetie. The human body's beautiful: show us yours."

"Oh, uh, OK," Sean said, nervously unzipping his jeans. He pulled them down, looking down at his feet to avoid seeing their reaction to his white briefs. Off came his running shoes and socks, then he pulled his feet out of his pant legs. Next to come off was his green T-shirt. Now standing in only his underwear, he hesitated to pull them down. Though nervous, he was also getting excited in an exhibitionistic way, and was embarrassed about the beginnings of an erection he was feeling.

"Don't be shy, baby" Camilla said. "If your penis is small, I promise we won't laugh at you." We'll just be disappointed, she thought.

He timidly pulled down his underwear, exposing his slightly erect penis. He pulled his legs through the leg-holes of his underwear and stood there, frontally nude before Camilla and Ron. He tried to control his shaking as their eyes went up and down his skinny, relatively hairless body.

"Well, what do you think?" Ron asked Camilla.

"He's beautiful," she sighed, staring at his penis. "He'll make a perfect drag queen."

"Turn around for us," Ron told Sean. "Let us see the rest of you." Sean slowly turned around, showing off his pretty little buttocks. "Perfect."

"OK, sweetie," Camilla said to Sean. "Come with me. I'll put on your makeup now."

Sean followed her to where he could sit in front of a mirror. She put some bright makeup on his face. Then she put a Cleopatra wig on his head. She and Ron looked at Sean's head for several seconds.

"That's Hosanna, all right," Ron said. "A total Elizabeth Taylor wannabe."

"Am I gonna put on a dress now?" Sean asked.

"Yep," Camilla said. "But you shouldn't be so anxious to cover your body. You have to get used to people seeing you naked, sweetie. If you can't handle us seeing you now, how will you be able to handle a whole audience seeing your penis, and with--hopefully--many performances?"

"I guess you're right," Sean said, putting his hands over his penis.

"Don't cover yourself," she said. "Let us see. You have a beautiful body, sweetie. Be proud of it."

Ron came over with the Cleopatra dress. "OK," he said. "Put this on, and let's see if it fits you."

Actually glad to put on a dress, Sean quickly got up and reached for it. When he had it on him and tried to zip it up all the way at the back, they found it was too small for him. Camilla put her hands on his waist and closed her eyes. Visualizing the dress to be altered to hug his body snugly and comfortably, she felt it loosen up just enough to be such a perfect fit.

Surprised at the sudden lack of excess tightness, Sean asked, "What did you do? How come the dress suddenly fits me?"

"I have special powers," she said. "I'll show you a few more things I can do." She put her fingers on his Adam's apple.

"Oh?" Sean asked, startled to feel vibrations on his Adam's apple, face, neck, and legs. "What did you just do?"

"Look in the mirror," she said, "and lift up your dress."

He did as she asked. His Adam's apple was now so small as not to be seen, and his leg hair was all gone!

"How'd you remove my leg hair?" he asked. "And how'd you shrink my Adam's apple?"

"You're going to find you won't need to shave anymore, either," she said. "Your facial hair will no longer grow. I hope you weren't planning to grow a beard or moustache."

"OK, but how did you do all that?" he asked. "You some kind of witch?"

"No," she said with a proud smirk. "I'm a goddess." She touched his smooth legs and lifted up his dress to see his penis again.

"Oh?" he asked with a sneer of disbelief, then he blushed at how his exposed penis was getting erect again, from her pleasurable caressing of his legs.

"You don't believe me, eh?" she asked, still looking at his penis.

"No, of course not," he said, embarrassed by his erection, but excited to know she was interested in it.

"Well, if I'm not a goddess, do you have a better explanation for what just happened to you?" she asked, still smirking at his hard-on. "Can you explain how I got you to drink a plastic bag of my come?"

"No," he said, now turned on to know he'd drunk her come. Normally a guy who infamously struck out with girls, he thought he finally had a real chance to score with Camilla.

"Good," she said.

"Then let's begin our first rehearsal," Ron said, now wearing a black leather jacket.


As the rehearsals continued over the months, Sean gradually got used to getting naked in front of not only Camilla and Ron, but all the other people involved in the production of the play; for Camilla insisted that Sean had to be psychologically prepared to stand frontally nude before an audience packed with people. At the end of the play, he, as the drag queen Hosanna, had to strip naked and let the whole audience see his penis when he said to Ron (Cuirette), "I'm a man."

Sean also had to get used to Ron touching him as a gay lover during all the rehearsals, something Sean was becoming increasingly aware of Ron enjoying. Sean subconsciously was beginning to like it, too, and Camilla psychically sensed the boy's bi-curiosity, always encouraging it.

Now, while Sean was somewhat interested in Ron, he still lusted after Camilla much more. She of course knew this, and, thinking he was cute, had every intention of finally sleeping with him; but she wanted him first to be initiated into her cross-dressing 'priesthood'. That's why she wanted to do a production of Hosanna in the first place. She'd initiated Joey, Allen, and Chris in essentially the same way, through forms of, as she saw it, mild erotic humiliation: now it was Sean's turn.

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byMawrGorshin© 0 comments/ 20778 views/ 3 favorites

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