tagNovels and NovellasNo Accounting For Chaos Ch. 09

No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 09


"Why didn't you let yourself come this afternoon?" She was sitting up in the bed, a pool of her come staining the sheets. She had her knees up under her chin looking at his erection and wishing she could do for him what he had just done for her. Or maybe that's what he feels every time! OHMYGOD. The realization made her eyes grow.

"You're not ready." He was drying his hands and arms. He had been coated by her release.

She looked at him confused. The glow in her head held her in a gentle embrace. She wasn't sleepy. Just the opposite: she was ready to go dancing again. She could get addicted to this drug. It was unlike any high she'd ever been on and she understood why he was always still hard after "climaxing." She could do it again.

"It would be dangerous for you. You aren't prepared." He saw she wasn't buying it. "It's different for men and women. I don't know why, but every female novitiate would come and still reach the desired....state...but men can never do it and release. We have to keep it in."

"But that must pass after awhile, right? I mean Tantric gurus, or yogis or whatever...they have kids, right?"

The reference wasn't lost on him. He joined her on the bed, stroking her thigh and calf. She shivered from the remnants of her orgasm...if that's what it was.

"When the time is right – and with the right partner." He saw she didn't take it the way he meant it. "A partner who's prepared to accept it."

"But what happened to you today? You said you almost lost it..." She wanted to feel his cock in her, even if he wasn't going to ejaculate; maybe she could take another dip in that river.

She pushed down his knees and rolled her leg over his. Facing him, she pushed her mound against his erection. Looking down it was almost impossible to tell whose cock it was. He stroked her back, his eyes staring at her. She loved seeing those eyes. She inched forward, pushing his shaft against her clit and then slowly, slowly she moved her cunny up to the tip, coating him with her juice.

She slid over the top and carefully pushed him into her. She didn't know what to expect: he'd just had his fist inside her and she was sore, but she was worried she wouldn't feel him; that she would be too stretched out. She settled down on his lap, feeling his cock pulse inside her and challenged him to go on.

"There's a purpose to it after all. It isn't just about abstinence. So, from a medical perspective we know pretty much what semen is composed of, right? Sperm, of course. A few lubricants, some sugars and some salt – it primarily is meant to make the environment safe for the sperm to get to their target. We know when a man orgasms small amounts of hormones are released through the limbic system, along with several other elements, nitrous oxide to relax the blood vessels of the penis, adrenaline and so forth."

She ran her hands on his nipples moving herself back and forth in tiny motions, feeling his head push against that spot, her clit rubbing on his pubic bone.

"We also know that when men don't ejaculate frequently, the sperm can be malformed, the semen clumpy. But what happens when a man orgasms and doesn't ejaculate, for 25 years? Western medicine has never studied that because it's so outrageous. The Hindi's have, however. Not with a Western medical model of course, so its apples and oranges, but they have seen what results from withholding semen time after time after time, for years on end."

She shifted a little more, now ducking her head to taste his nipples. She loved how tiny they were, how erect they got when she sucked them.

"There is a story of a village deep inside India that had been threatened by a rival tribe. This was centuries ago, when conquering armies swept across the Indian plains almost as frequently as monsoons. The guru there had been studying Tantric practices for several years and had a glimmer of an idea of what might be coming in the months ahead. With his novitiates, he carefully devised a plan such that each member of the village – man, woman and child – would partake of his semen. He had hoped that in providing them with it, he would bond them all together into a unit more cohesive than any words could do."

She had closed her eyes and now she opened them, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Is this for real?"

"It's how the story goes. Weird, yeah? But wait, it gets weirder. The plan worked. At least with respect to the warring tribes. The village was hard hit, but they fought with a ferocity none of the attackers had seen anywhere else in the region. So many were killed, on both sides, that the village's reputation spread to other would be conquerors, and for hundreds of years it was avoided.

"But the villagers weren't spared completely. Even with just the small amount the guru had provided, they were all hooked. They were like addicts from that moment on, praying to him, begging him to provide them more. After the marauders had left, the town was as if it were haunted, its inhabitants moving like ghosts in a fog."

"And that's it? He comes, the villagers are hooked, and now I don't get to taste you because you're afraid it's addicting?" The residual white glow in her head was wafting away, made more apparent to her by the growing arousal from his cock in her pussy. It's not the same. It's not going to happen.

"That's not the only story of its kind. Just last year a similar story came through the grapevine. It's not something I want to trifle with."

"Is it just eating it, or does it have the same effect in other mucous membranes?" She tucked her knees under her, spread her legs to feel the air against her lips and rose up to pull him out almost all the way. She looked down at his cock, licking her lips.

"Apparently it's the same effect no matter how it's transferred or where," he was aroused by her efforts. He loved seeing her this way, but it was a far cry from what she would need to do to get any of his cum inside her.

"I want to do it again." As if what she'd been doing hadn't made that desire obvious.

"Not tonight. It won't happen." He leaned into her and nuzzled her breasts, his fingers kneading her buns.

"But you do it all the time. Why can't I?" There was only a hint of whining; mostly she was frustrated.

"When I first started, months into my training, I had to go weeks between sessions to make sure I bathed in the river rather than climaxing. It took years before I was able to do it more than once in an evening." He bounced her up and down a little, hoping to at least reduce some of the disappointment by impaling his cock as deeply in her as possible.

She groaned. The stimulation was wonderful, but it wasn't the same.

"We haven't done it for a week. You were teased all day today. It takes that kind of situation to set the stage for it."

She looked at him, frustrated and a little angry: her suspicions after Antoinelle had whispered during the dance were well founded. He's playing me. Again.

He held her down, forcing himself into her deeper and pulled on her right nipple with his lips, forcing a cry of pain/pleasure from her. He could feel her getting moist again, the liquid beginning to drench his balls. It would be best to not bring her over the top so soon. It would be so anti-climatic. He smiled at the play on words.

She didn't stop him; it felt too good in spite of feeling duped. Another part of her brain told her to shut up and enjoy all he'd done for her: he'd set up the day to give her a gift she'd never have experienced otherwise. She let him continue to fuck her, his lips on her nipples felt fantastic.

She pushed him back against the head board and rode his cock in earnest. She was a little sore from the fisting, and she felt a little stretched, but pushing against him, from the base of his cock all the way inside her, it more than made up for any discomfort. She realized they'd never done it this way before and she was enjoying the power-play position.

"But..." He continued, pulsing his cock on her down-stroke, "I think I might have a way of accelerating the process." He moaned a little as she tweaked his nipples with her fingers. "Remind me to tell you about it tomorrow."

As hard as she tried, she knew she wasn't going to climax again. It felt so good, but the more she rubbed, the white glow only dissipated faster; the orange glow grew, but it wasn't the same.

"Shit." Her frustration differed from the teasing she'd had all day, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

"You're trying to come, aren't you." He was breathing heavily; her movements were intensifying. "Maybe...maybe... you...should... just...enjoy... the...ahhhhhh.... the...god that feels good...the...moment."

She felt him stiffen and shudder and knew she had brought him over the edge. She kissed his face, watching his eyes roll back. She covered his cheeks and eyelids with her lips, lightly peppering his skin, the triumph of her power to make him climax winning over her own frustration. She leaned forward, pushing her breasts against his chest, resting her chin in the crook of his neck. She felt his cock pulsing and imagined he was cumming inside her; that she was ready to accept it. For a fleeting second, she entertained the idea of being his slave if that's what it would take to feel him flood her with his seed.

* - * - * - *

"So, tell me all about it!"

"Hey Carole." She was tired. It was late and she had to get to up early for work, the Friday leftovers were waiting on her desk. "It was amazing."

"Grey's Point. I've only ever been there for a wedding reception. Man that looked sweet. Whadja do?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm dead tired. We got back just a little while ago..."

"...and he's still there? Oooh, did you get over the slut-thing?"

"No, he's not here. He dropped me off at my office, I've just gotten home. I've got to get to bed. Yes, I mean, no...shit. Don't be so crude, Carole. Yes, we came to an understanding. It was a great weekend. How about drinks tomorrow?"

"Can't make it tomorrow. Tuesday? Hey! When are we going to meet this mystery man, this cock's so hard it doesn't quit, gazillionaire? You guys have been dating for like a year now, right?"

She winced. Carole could be such an ass sometimes. "It hasn't even been 10 weeks, Carole. Please don't be such an ass. I don't know. Our schedules are really busy."

"Busy. Yeah, fucking your brains out every night, when you aren't taking off to Grey's Point. Thursday. A bunch of us are going out for drinks and dinner on Thursday. See if all high and mighty can join you. Yeah? See you Tuesday – Chips?"

"Chips. No problem. After work. I'll call you. And about Thursday. I'll see. Gotta go, I'm beat."

She dumped open her luggage and admired the two dresses he'd bought her, thinking about Carole's comment. She hadn't really come to terms with their relationship, although she felt better about it. She had acted foolishly, exposing herself at the dance, but it only seemed to turn him on. She didn't feel nearly as ashamed or humiliated as she had in the past and that was curious to her.

And then there was the incredible sex...well, not just the sex, but the epiphany, the near-religious experience; 'wading in the river' as he put it so poetically. She had been on fire and desperately wanted to do it again. If he was her ticket to that, she would do almost anything. How would she explain that to Carole. Crack whores had nothing on her.

She stripped off her clothes, thinking about the day, the weekend, her recent revelations about herself and her step-mother. Admiring herself in the mirror she debated whether to shower before bed or wait. Remembering she had to be at work early she started the water.

The morning had been lazy, packing and eating in the room. Over breakfast she made him tell her the details of whatever it was he and Patti had in store for her, and hopefully explain the mysterious comments he'd made as they made love the night before.

The water felt great thrumming on her head, washing away the sweat from the trip home. She ran her hands behind her neck, massaging the muscles, and moved so the spray could stimulate her nipples. They had felt so good last night, the memory of his lips on them as she whited out sent echoes of tingling through her.

"Alright, here's what I realized as soon as I learned about your struggle with exhibitionism..."

She squirmed a little at how forthright he was in talking about a problem she'd been keeping so private for so long. She looked around to be sure they were really alone and then hid her discomfort by taking a sip of coffee.

"...and the challenge of you being prepared if I'm going to ever release my semen into you."

She almost choked at where the conversation had turned, but swallowed it silently. She reached for an English muffin and began buttering it, not looking at his eyes.

"And the nature of the technology I've been working with. They're all intertwined; incredibly there is yet another application for this thing...I think. I've discussed it with Patti, and she is appropriately skeptical of any widget that purports to solve psychological problems, but she was willing to help monitor you...if you wanted to give it a shot."

She still had no idea what he was talking about.

Remembering his face when she finally did look up from her toast sent a rush through her body. The water cascading down between her legs brought her focus back to the prior evening: his cock impaling her as she held onto the chair, her face in the mirror, filled with lust. Slut. Lust. She mused on the anagram letting her fingers trail between her legs to "wash" herself.

"You look confused. Of course. Sorry. I hadn't recalled what we'd discussed and what we hadn't. The other night – when you tried out the gizmo – we ran through several alternative pasts, right?"

She nodded, remembering how bizarre it was to see her behaving in such radical ways from what she remembered as the true sequence of events. She shifted a little uncomfortably again at the image of her walking naked through his living room filled with his friends – strangers to her.

"You recall how you felt? Think carefully about the differences between the various pasts. Did you feel differently about one vs. another?"

As she played with herself she reflected that she had already known the answer, but even now, slipping her finger inside her lips, feeling her clit harden, she wasn't prepared to say it out loud any more comfortably than this morning.

"Not really. I guess...I guess when I said those things to you, perfectly dressed and prim and proper, I actually felt a little sick to my stomach...like something was wrong with me; but, " she paused to sip some juice to stall for time. She knew what she had felt seeing herself walking naked across the grass and up the stairs, her cunny exposed to the camera and to anyone who passed by. "I was...turned on...a little...seeing myself exposed like that." She blushed at the confession.

She closed her eyes at the memory of the alternative past, at the memory of him fucking her like an animal, at the memory of the colonic, her legs spread open for the attendants to fiddle with her, the memory of Antionelle slipping her pussy over her lips, her taste. She cramped a little around her fingers and pushed more firmly against her erect button.

"I thought I had detected that difference, but it's not for me to say. Okay. So let's say for argument's sake that when you see yourself being an exhibitionist you actually find that a turn-on, and when you see yourself 'under control' it makes you uncomfortable."

"But that's not reasonable!" She interrupted, alarmed at the leap he had made. "Just because I happened to see a couple of alternate pasts doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean I should just be an exhibitionist!"

"Hold on, hold on. You're jumping too far ahead. No one is saying you should be anything. Criminy, Marcie, you've got to know me better than that by now. And surely you don't think Patti would agree to anything that had that kind of presumption behind it, right? Let me continue a little before you jump down my throat." He was a little annoyed with her and it stung.

"I had suggested to Patti a novel form of an age-old technique: immersive therapy. Most recently it's been used to help people with certain kinds of phobias, let's say arachnophobia – a common fear of spiders."

She shuddered. She didn't care for spiders all that much. The thought of them made her itch a little.

"Most recently, they've been using virtual reality setups – putting goggles on people and having them view scenes as if they were in them. The therapy introduces the phobic item – in this case a spider – slowly over time getting the person accustomed to being near the critter. After several sessions individuals report a significant reduction in their fears. I can see you're getting the picture."

"Okay, so you set up alternate pasts in which I look at myself being naked in front of a bunch of people until I get comfortable with the idea...is that what you want?"

He smiled. "It's funny that's the direction you think I'd take it. It could just as easily been: 'So, I look at alternate pasts in which I'm not taking my clothes off in front of strangers until I get over the discomfort I feel.' It's not my choice – it's what you want. That's where Patti comes in. She can be present, if you want, or she can hang out in the other room and come in when we've completed a session to help debrief you."

She thought about the suggestion. She needed to kick this thing – it was taking way too much control of her life. But in spite of the past 24 hours, in which she'd spent most of it naked...in front of strangers...she still wasn't convinced it was a sickness she needed to overcome. It had felt great, hotel rooms really do let you do things you otherwise wouldn't, but part of her brain, the part that might still be imprinted from her step-mother, kept telling her she needed to stop.

She thought about her memory of her step-mother's abuse, even as her fingers danced inside her, building her arousal. There was a chance she could actually come: the remnants of the past days' activities were still floating around her spine. The horrible scenes she'd only recently recovered were like fresh scars: not yet scabbed over and still sensitive. Whichever direction this thing took, she needed to be rid of it. Maybe...maybe she had a way out.

"Okay...let's say I agree. When would you...and Patti...be able to do it?"

"She said she would make herself available any night, except Thursdays. I'm in town the rest of the month. It really depends on your schedule."

Their ride home had been practically silent. He was moody, focused on some paperwork. She thought she'd done something to set him off. She'd never seen him like this.

"Are you okay?" The silent treatment only increased her sense of being his plaything that he could put away when he didn't want her around anymore.

"Mmm. Fine. It's just work. I hate the thought of going back to it right now. It's been such a great weekend. I had a great time at least. Did you?" He looked up at her and she realized he was being sincere. He really didn't want the weekend to end. But...he had to get back to that reality.

"Monty. I had one of the best times of my life. Last night was incredible. The whole day. And Friday too. I wish we could do it all over again. Every weekend." She leaned over and kissed him. "Hey!" She realized while she had him she wouldn't let him off the hook this time. "You've still never told me about the phone! I won't let you get back to work until you tell me."

"Marcie, I already gave you a huge hint: how did people manage without cell phones?" He gave her a mischievous grin. When she didn't respond he continued. "You're going to kick yourself when you find out."

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