Camilla Ch. 099byMawrGorshin©
The memories that unconscious, 37-year-old Camilla was reliving had returned to those of a more sexually restrained, monogamous period of her marriage with Cameron--the time between her forced sexual encounter with Paul Shaw and when she, Cameron, and Eros moved from Toronto to Montreal. Because of her contemplation of this tamer period of her life, the lust-energy levels in Camilla's Nigrovum were once again lower; so the come that her gaping pussy was spewing out into the water, over which her nude body was hovering, would not be as effective in making her lecherous, voyeuristic audience into obedient servants of the masked men. Dr. Singh and his Nigrovum-cured AIDS patients, as well as the spirits of Agape, Don Josiah, and Candice, could now monitor Camilla with some renewed hope, however temporary that hope would be.
Indeed, the masked men, also monitoring their incessantly gang-banged victim, simply waited for this lull in the lewdness to pick up speed, which it would do, soon enough.
Camilla was reliving a memory from nine years before her predicament in the public aquarium in Montreal.
Back in Toronto, 28-year-old Camilla--who looked twenty-two, thanks to Nigrovum's slowing of her ageing--was tirelessly working to finish her doctoral thesis. Eager to have it ready for her thesis committee as soon as possible, she again abstained from decadent sex for almost a year. Only with her husband did she make love, with an emphasis on the love.
The psychic barrier she and Cameron had put around themselves, as soon as they'd got home from Paul Shaw's party, was holding up very well; and their sexual restraint was ensuring that the barrier would stay strong. Accordingly, she hadn't been troubled by the masked men in any way.
She'd resumed meditating, more bravely facing that mystical ocean, the pantheistic unity of atman and Brahman, of self and other that had frightened me--I mean, her--so much the last time she'd contemplated it. She even briefly resumed psychic contact with her father, Agape.
Oh, Daddy, I've missed you so much, she mentally communicated to him. I'm so sorry for having shot you.
No need to apologize, he told her. You tried to save me, remember? And I stopped you. Anyway, I've missed you, too. Give up your life in the physical world, and we can be together in the spiritual one. If you don't die, I can promise you, something terrible will happen to you, and to the world. The masked men have plans for you; you must know that by now.
Please don't ask me to die, she begged him. I'm not ready to; I'm too scared to face hell.
Sooner or later, you'll have to face it; and later will be much harder for you.
I can use Nigrovum to keep me alive forever.
Do you really want that for yourself, Camilla? You can't live forever, and who'd want to? If you keep thinking that way, you'll go mad for sure. Have faith in Don and me; we can help you get out of the hellish realms.
You can't , Daddy. There are too many of those masked bastards out there. Both the living and the dead ones are after me. Sorry, I can't do that. Bye.
Not able to endure even contemplating death, Camilla cut off her psychic connection with Agape, and blocked him, however reluctantly.
Though she wouldn't be persuaded to die, she did continue trying to face that pantheistic, infinite ocean that united her with all the souls of humanity. She felt in those soothing waves a paradoxical mixture of repose and fear. Though facing the pain and anger she'd caused in all her dead, former lovers was frightening for her, she also sensed the possibility of an ultimate purging of all her sins. In the ouroboros of the afterlife, with its heavenly extreme in the serpent's head, and the hellish extreme in its bitten tail, she sensed that she was destined to be close to where the teeth bit in; if she could bravely fight her way through the agonizing realms and go into the mouth, instead of going the other way to get to the head (which would take much longer to attain), maybe then she could escape from hell, and be reunited with her father and Don. Perhaps in her meditations she could achieve all that while still alive.
Still, she felt all that evil enveloping her, the psychic energy of the living and dead masked men. That evil was like stormy seas, surrounding her small area of calm waters on all sides. That psychic energy was so vague that she couldn't tell if it came from the living or the dead, but she could tell that much of it was coming from the masked men. Knowing this made the need to leave Toronto all the more urgent.
Her thesis was soon finished, and with a few minor revisions, she finally got her PhD. Frantic to get out of Toronto, she used Nigrovum to find a teaching position as quickly as possible: she found one in McGill University in Montreal, as well as a teaching job for Cameron. They began packing immediately upon finding their new jobs.
As much as she wanted to get out of Toronto quickly, she found it hard to leave her house, the house that used to be her beloved father's. This house was most of what little she still had of the man she so intensely loved. The memories of the place made him seem almost alive to her still, and leaving would make the reality of his death all the more cruelly plain. She took every photo of him, his old bourbon glass, and everything else that reminded her of him, however useless many of those things may have been to her, outside of sentimental value.
That summer, she, Cameron, and 9-year-old Eros found a house in Montreal and moved in. The fear of the masked men seemed gone from her heart for good, though she already missed Agape's house and everything in Toronto that reminded her of him and Candice.
One night in late August, feeling achy and stressed from both missing her Toronto home and the ongoing friction between Cameron and Eros, black-haired, pale 'Goth-looking' Camilla decided she needed a massage. She could have simply used Nigrovum to ease her nerves and sore muscles; but something inside her, a kind of thirst, it seemed, made her want someone else's hands on her body...a man's hands.
She walked into a massage parlour on the side of town opposite from where her new house was; the establishment was called, 'Sweet Caress'. She looked around the front reception area, went up to the front desk, and read a sign on the wall above where the owner was standing. The sign showed all the services offered.
"What would you like tonight?" the owner asked.
Camilla saw a handsome fifty-something man standing by, one who was wearing a shirt with the 'Sweet Caress' logo on it. Correctly assuming he was one of their masseurs, and feeling that 'thirst' increase somewhat in intensity, she said, "I'd like a full massage and bath--with him." I'm getting only a massage, she thought; nothing too hot.
After paying the owner, Camilla was led into a room with the masseur. He turned on the bath water and turned toward the door, ready to walk out. "OK," he said, "get undressed and in the water, and I'll be back in a minute."
Feeling that thirst again, she asked, "What do you need to leave for? You have everything here: soap, towels, bath foam, and oil lubricants." She pointed to them on a nearby shelf. "I used to work in a massage parlour, so I know."
"Well, I was going to leave so you could disrobe in private," he said.
Her 'thirst' got stronger, and she tried unsuccessfully to fight it. "If I-I'm going to be n-naked for my bath, you watching me u-undress shouldn't be a problem."
"OK," he said, turning around to face her, and smiling ever so slightly.
She pulled off her T-shirt, revealing her pink lace brassiere. What am I doing? she thought. I'm married. Sure, the guy's good-looking, but I'm trying to be good again. She unzipped and pulled down her jeans, showing him her pink panties. I'm just getting a massage. A legitimate massage. If he tries to take advantage of me, I'll use my psychic powers to immobilize him. She then removed her sneakers, socks, and jeans.
He put the bath foam in the water and got the soap, towels, and lubricant ready.
She hesitated before taking off her underwear; then she felt that 'thirst' getting a bit stronger again. She removed her bra and panties, and he got an eyeful of her frontal nudity before she got in the tub, which was now full of foamy water.
He lathered the soap in his hands and rubbed it on her snow-white back. I'll let him wash only my back and arms, she thought. That's all the fun he's getting with this married woman. He soaped up her arms and armpits, then moved around to her chest, above her breasts. Well, I guess that area's OK, too.
His hands moved down to clean her breasts; he gently cupped and squeezed them. Before she could protest, that 'thirst' grew stronger, and she was enjoying his sensual touch.
"Please raise your legs so I can wash them," he said.
"OK," she said, lifting up her legs. Then he ran his soapy hands up and down her legs, and washed her feet; she was softly moaning the whole time.
"Please get on all fours," he said, "so I can clean you from behind."
"OK," she said, getting on all fours. Well, she thought, I suppose he has to be thorough. As his hands got the soapy lather all over her buttocks, her 'thirst' was getting torturous to feel. He opened her buttocks and got soap on her anus, then gently slid a soapy finger inside, slowly going deeper and deeper in her rectum. After rinsing out her asshole, he cleaned her vulva, thoroughly lathering her swollen labia, rock-hard clitoris, and vaginal opening, which was wet not only with water.
He slid his soapy index and long fingers inside her pussy, rubbing the lather against her G-spot, then going inside far enough to touch her A-spot.
"Oh!" she squealed with delight.
He rinsed out her pussy. "OK, stand up, please," he said, "and I'll rinse off the rest of you."
She stood up, with her back to him; he rinsed off her back and buttocks with the shower head in his hand.
"OK," he said. "Now turn around, please." She did, letting him see her soapy breasts and pubic hair again. She felt a mixture of shame and excitement, not wanting to betray her husband, but wanting to satisfy herself and her masseur.
No sex, she thought as he rinsed her off. No sex.
"Alright, you can come out now," he said, reaching over and unplugging the bathtub. She stepped out and stood on a towel laid out by the tub.
He got a towel and dried her off thoroughly, paying particular attention to her breasts, buttocks, cunt, and asshole. He then gestured to the massage table, and she got on it, lying on her front.
Not bothering with putting a blanket over her to cover up her nakedness, he got some oil lubricant on his hands and began rubbing it on her back and arms. Psychically feeling his desire, which was no less hot than hers, she was battling in her mind whether to give in and let him fuck her, or be strong and remain faithful to her husband.
His hands moved down and got the oil on her buttocks, opening them and getting lubricant in her anal cleft.
"Oh, that feels so good," she moaned.
"You're telling me," he grunted.
"Let's not be naughty, OK?" she asked in sighs. "I'm taken."
Gently rubbing the oil into her anal orifice, he said, "What happens...in here won't...be known outside. Don't worry." His oily finger slowly went in further.
"But I'll know. Oh!"
"We don't have to...if you don't want to. I'll let you...think about it." He rubbed the oil on her legs and feet, sensitively paying attention to each toe. When he finished, he said, "OK, on your back, please."
She rolled over on her back, and as he got more oil on his hands and looked at her breasts and black pubic hair, she thought about this most tempting situation. Sure, I've had extra-marital sex before, she thought. And Cameron knew; but it was always controlled. I had his consent when we were swinging, and I allowed him to fuck the Asian girls we had in threesomes one and two years ago. As for my encounter with Paul Shaw, I may have technically enjoyed the sex, but I'd been forced. This is totally different: this man isn't forcing himself on me; I want him as much as he wants me, and Cameron isn't here to indulge his Candaulism. If I fuck this guy, it's out-and-out adultery!
He was now rubbing the oil on her breasts, gently pinching her erect black nipples. She sighed and moaned to his touch. His hands moved down to her belly, getting lubricant in her navel.
If I fuck him, I'm no better than Mom, Camilla thought, more and more desperate to resist temptation. I can still vividly remember the time I came back from school and saw her getting Angus Thass's come all over her face, in her and Daddy's bedroom. And she later married that bastard! It should have been no surprise to Mom that I would never accept Angus as a step-dad.
The masseur rubbed the oil on Camilla's thighs and ran his slippery fingers through her black pubic hair. Preferring to tease her, he skipped her pussy and rubbed lubricant on her legs, slowly working down to her feet.
I can't become like my slut Mom, Camilla thought. Her cheating on Daddy, and leaving him for Angus, was unforgivable. And after she married Angus, and after all the key parties they'd have, she even cheated on him without his knowing. After that, they finally divorced, and Mom actually mended her ways; then she sent me to that all-girls Catholic school, hoping it would make me a better person than she was. But the damage was already done, and look at the kind of life I've lead. But I cannot let myself be an adulteress, like Mommy.
The masseur was working the oil on and in between Camilla's toes now; she moaned and sighed softly to his expert touch.
My mom actually had a few orgies when Angus was away on business trips, Camilla remembered. I, ten at the time, was supposed to be asleep in bed when Mom was fucking those guys--she'd given me sleeping pills, and I tricked her into thinking I'd swallowed them--then I snuck out of my bedroom to see what she'd been doing. I was horrified to poke my head through her ajar bedroom door and see her in a gang-bang, with cocks in her mouth, pussy, and ass! When not blowing a guy, she'd scream, "Oh! My G-spot! Ah! My A-spot! " as a cock was pumping her pussy. Soon after having seen that, I looked up those words on Wikipedia, as well as many other sex terms and concepts, like gang-bang. Pretty intense reading for a ten-year-old girl, but then again, I was always a voracious reader...I used to read everything. Everything! Of course, I also started checking out internet porn at that time. Gay porn especially.
Finally, the masseur started gently fingering Camilla's hard clitoris. Another finger slid inside her wet pussy, massaging her G-spot.
Still trying to take her mind off her temptation, Camilla continued contemplating childhood memories. No child could ever understand what I was reading on Wikipedia, or any of the other many sources I used to get my early sex education from, she thought. Seeing what my Mommy did would corrupt anybody. Now, the strange thing is, I've always been able to understand grown-up stuff--whether about sex or not. The photographic memory I inherited from my Mom made it easy to remember tiny details: that's why I was always an excellent student. I still remember scoring 137 on an IQ test back in grade school. Back in grade one, before walking to school every morning, as a little kid I'd always lie on the dewy grass in a park just a few blocks away from my home. I felt the dew go in the pores of my skin on my face. Then I'd go to school, all alert and perceptive of everything. My precocious childhood intellect made Mommy think I could eventually be a lawyer or something. She was so mad when I'd become a stripper!
The masseur's finger went deeper inside Camilla's pussy, gently jabbing her A-spot a few times. She squealed with ecstasy, and even though she'd tried everything to resist temptation, she came all over his hand.
"You know," he said. "I have a much better tool to massage you with."
"I'm sure you do," she said. "But we shouldn't. I'm married."
"Oh, come, come. Let me satisfy you even more. Nobody will know." He unzipped his pants.
"They'll hear me screaming outside."
"No, they won't. Not a chance." He pulled out his cock and lay on the massage table. Resigning herself to total sluttishness, and knowing she could never resist that 'thirst', she got on top of him in the cowgirl position. He pulled his pants down to his knees. Slowly descending on his hard-on, she fed his cock into her dripping wet pussy, moaning and sighing with each inch it went in.
His cock got all the way inside, poking at her A-spot, and she came a second time. She squealed in whistle register, then started worrying about outsiders hearing her.
"Don't worry," the man said in grunts as she continued bouncing on his cock. "This room...is sound-proofed so...the police won't know. We have...complete privacy. Unh!"
"OK," she sighed. "Ah!" As she thrilled to feel his big cock slide in and out of her pussy, she thought of one more childhood memory. During one of those orgies my Mom had with her gang-banger friends, Camilla thought, I was spying on her, and she caught me looking. She screamed at me to go to bed; but just then, Angus also came home and took us all by surprise. (His business trip had been cancelled at the last minute, or something.) He saw Mom with all those naked men. Yelling and fighting started, and it was all so overwhelming for me that I fainted, and actually went into a coma. Oh, if Cameron were to see me now...my Mommy, all over again!
The masseur reached up and fondled Camilla's tits as he fucked her. After another minute or so of fucking, she came again. Then he pulled his cock out of her pussy, and she took it in her mouth. She sucked him off briefly, and he came in her mouth. She swallowed every drop.
He got a handkerchief and wiped her come off his spent penis and thighs. Laden with guilt and fighting back the tears, she got off the massage table and reached for her clothes.
"No, don't get dressed," he said, pulling up and zipping up his pants. "Go out naked. Let everyone see how beautiful your 'Goth' body is."
Feeling the 'thirst' of exhibitionistic lust again, nude Camilla picked up her clothes and purse, and walked out of the room with them in her arms. She moved in an almost mechanical manner.
Everyone in the parlour was pleasantly stunned to see her lovely nakedness. She went out to her car, got in, and finally no longer felt that 'thirst'.
Made totally unaware that she had been psychically manipulated, Camilla just sat in her car and sobbed for a minute or so before putting her clothes back on. "How could I have allowed that to go so far? I'm no better than my Mom. I'm an adulteress." She drove back home, crying all the way. Only when she had reached her neighbourhood did she pull herself together, preparing to pretend that nothing had happened when she met Cameron at home. For if she was still thinking about her guilt, he--with his own developing psychic abilities--would know what she'd done. For that reason, she chose to block him from sensing her thoughts.
"Thank you for giving me such a good time, Dr. Camilla Fox," the masseur said after watching Camilla leave 'Sweet Caress', and removing the psychic barrier he'd put around their room to drown out her screaming. He took off the 'Sweet Caress' shirt he'd been wearing and put on a polo shirt. Then he, by no means an employee of the massage parlour, put on his mask, psychically made everyone there oblivious of who he was, and casually walked out of the building and towards his car. He got in his car and sat there, licking Camilla's come off his handkerchief. Then he called a friend on his cell-phone. "Hi," he said. "It's confirmed: Camilla is here in Montreal."