tagMind ControlThe Addicted Natural Ch. 15

The Addicted Natural Ch. 15


Chapter 15 – The White Witch of Walden – Conflict and Resolution


I will be brief with this portion of my story. It's painful for me. Fear, or the admission of it, is … somehow unmanly. So forgive me if I just forge ahead right through it and get it over with. I'd have given anything if I could have done that while I was experiencing it. That's the worse part of fear, sometimes. It just goes on and on.

It's difficult to imagine, since I've droned on for dozens of pages now, but my episode with the tree had occurred on Thursday evening, the start of a long three-day weekend. It was now Sunday of that same weekend, and despite my newfound passion and love, I felt very rushed. My computer at home held 31 ungraded essays on American poets of the early 20th Century, and I had to sharpen the old electronic red pencil and work my way through them before my Junior-level Lit class the next day.

Willie had opened herself sexually to me once more during the night, and then she'd practically raped me when she awoke around eight. Then, my insistent hands gave her yet another orgasm in the shower. We behaved quite well when room service brought us our breakfast, but we didn't make it through the meal. I insisted, after the room service guy left, that she eat in the nude, and she begged me to return her the favor. We both laughed uproariously as the napkin in my lap began levitating, seemingly on its own, as we talked about various positions for making love; and she insisted that the magic trick be rewarded by allowing me to teach her the basics of "doggie-style."

But after said demonstration, those essays began calling to me in the back of my mind, so we checked out and returned home around noon. I took lunch in my office, while the girls talked and talked in the den, and their raucous laughter interrupted my work on several occasions. By dinnertime, I'd gotten through twenty of the things, and I took a break and joined them in the dining room. Dee had done a fabulous job on some sort of salad with breaded chicken in it and a type noodle soup that she'd never made before. The girls were all wearing nightgowns (Willie had borrowed one of Brenda's, though it was a couple sizes too big), and they were all extremely enticing, to say the least. I had more or less decided that I'd take Dee to bed with me that night and see what would became of Brenda and Willie when they were forced to share the same bed. The idea was very appealing, somehow. I would discuss my nocturnal plans with them when I finished with the essays.

After the meal, I'd just gotten through another five of them when there was a knock on the door and I called out for them to enter. They all looked very demure, and not a little suspicious. Brenda had evidently been elected ringleader, and she came and stood before my desk.

"Freddy, we want to have a party. Can we? We'll be quiet, I promise."

I smiled at them. They'd been loud and giggly all afternoon, and there was little chance there would be any difference after their "party" started. "Sure," I told them. "Go ahead."

"Can we have a glass of wine, Freddy? Please?"


Brenda motioned to Willie, who brought her a glass of water. "And can you make Dee drunk, the way you've done before?" I laughed and had Willie bring me the glass. I looked right into Dee's eyes as I proclaimed that the water would now have the same affect as wine on her. Finally, I turned back to the computer, but the girls were still there, waiting.

"Freddy, Willie wants to show us how her cards work. Will you let her?"

I sighed. "I thought her power was gone, now that we've made love," I said, trying not to sound placating.

"She just wants to show us what they are … what each card represents, I mean. Please, Freddy? You don't believe in them anyway, and now that her … abilities are gone, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

I smiled again. "Of course you can play with them. Go ahead. Knock yourselves out."

They rushed out of the room, and I got back to work. I rued the day I'd ever signed up for teaching these stupid summer courses. Only two more weeks, and they'd be over. I'd only be teaching one day a week during the fall term, and I'd probably just quit altogether after that. The girls burst into another fit of loud laughter, then obviously tried to shush themselves, but wound up laughing even louder. I sighed and tried to concentrate. I was trying to make some sort of sense of my life. I was in love with three women; I was trying to maintain a large house, including putting on an addition; I wanted desperately to start that novel; I had to stay involved with Dee and her small, growing fortune. And then there was the baby.

More giggles from the den. I forced myself to push all those thoughts out of my head. Compartmentalize, I ordered myself. At least the girls were quiet for a spell after that, and I struggled through two more essays.

The door burst open and they all rushed in; they'd never entered without knocking before. A quick glance told me something was wrong. Brenda looked worried and determined; Willie was nervous and guilty-looking; and Dee just looked scared. Her eyes were doe-like, and tears were pooling. I was out of my chair in an instant.

"What's wrong?"

Brenda opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She looked quickly to Willie, who looked down and shuffled her feet, then she looked at Dee. Finally, she turned back to me and took a breath. "Freddy, there's something wrong with the baby."

I was immediately around the desk and was holding Dee by the shoulders, looking frantically into her eyes. "What's the matter? Where does it hurt? It's way too early for labor pains!"

Dee simply looked back up at me, seemingly unable to answer.

"What is it?" I almost yelled. "Did your water break?" She shook her head. "Is there bleeding?" She was silent. A tear spilled onto her cheek.

I spun around to the other two. "What in the world is going on?!" I screamed.

Again, Brenda tried to articulate something that she seemingly couldn't. She looked back to Willie, who stood before us, meek, innocent, afraid.

"Brenda …." I growled menacingly.

She squared her shoulders and faced me. "Freddy …. Now don't get upset …."

"Upset?!" I roared.

"Willie …" she stammered; "Willie saw … saw that something was wrong … wrong with the baby …."

"WHAT?" I yelled. "Do you mean to tell me that she read those fucking tarot cards and made you think …."

"Freddy, calm down," Brenda ordered firmly. "What if she's right?"

"RIGHT? Brenda, it's just a bunch of cards! The whole concept is a sideshow sham!"

"What if she's right, Freddy?"

I spun on Willie, my anger near the boiling point. I caught myself before I could say something really mean, and I took a deep breath. It wasn't her fault, I told myself. The poor girl had been brought up under the delusion that her "gift" was real. "I thought your 'powers' were gone, now that we've made love," I said, trying to keep accusation out of my tone.

"I … I don't understand it," Willie said, finally meeting my eyes. "The images in the cards … they were just as sharp, just as clear as ever." She was pleading with me. "I love you, Frederick. I really, really do. I would die for you. I would do anything. ANYTHING! My abilities should be gone. But the images are still there!"

"Oh, Freddy, can't you understand?" Brenda interrupted. "It was just a story! It was a story her aunt made up to protect her! And everyone believed it! Don't you see the beauty of it? No man interested in GAIN would ever take her virginity. It would be like shooting the goose that laid the golden eggs! Only a good man, a man interested in HER and not in her powers, would claim her love! And HE would have it ALL! He would have her AND her powers! Oh, God, it's so ROMANTIC!"

"It would be romantic except for one small factor: her 'powers' don't exist!"

Brenda took a deep breath. Uh oh … here it comes, I thought, the famous "Brenda Logic." She looked squarely at me. "If she's wrong," she said soberly; "if there's nothing wrong with Dee or her baby …."

"Only the baby," Willie said suddenly. "Dee's okay. The baby … it's … it's … hungry. It needs … something it can't get!" She looked pleadingly at me. "Please, Frederick! Please? If I'm wrong, I promise you can take away my cards, and I'll never look at them again! Never, ever! Please?"

"Oh Master, I'm scared!" Dee wailed, and rushed into my arms.

"Freddy," Brenda continued, "if there's nothing wrong with the baby, and if you took Dee to the hospital, what's the worst that can happen?"

"I could look like a FOOL!" I told her.

She paused for affect. "That's right, Freddy. That's the worst that could happen." She let that sink in. "And if for some reason … even if Willie DOESN'T have any powers … for ANY reason … if something's wrong, and you DON'T take her in …."

I felt my shoulders slump in defeat. How does she DO that, I asked myself. How does my slave-wife ALWAYS get her way? I sighed. Because Brenda's always right, I conceded. But someday … someday I'm going to show her who's REALLY boss around here.

"Go get dressed," I ordered them, and they all rushed out of the room as I picked up the phone.

Forty-five minutes later, we were all waiting at the gynecologist's office. I'd called him at home on a Sunday evening and tried to entice him with the offer of three thousand dollars cash for an after-hours exam. He refused the money and told me to bring her into the office, but he definitely wasn't happy; and when he arrived and learned that there were no outward signs of distress with the pregnancy, he was less happy still. Dee had just had a checkup the preceding week. His chagrin only deepened when Brenda and Willie insisted on escorting Dee back to the examining area of the empty doctor's offices, and we all crammed into the little room with the single examining table in its center. The doctor gruffly ordered Dee to strip and he left. Dee nervously and self-consciously began taking off all of her clothes before climbing onto the table.

(It should be noted here that Brenda's middle name is Diane. Now, normally that would have absolutely no bearing on our story, except to help rationalize the irrational. Keep in mind that our little charade (that is, Brenda's bright idea of a charade!) was to show in all the medical records that "Brenda Fielding" was having this baby. This was to be Brenda's and my child, and THAT was somehow going to emphasize Dee's role as servant and slave for the rest of her life. I STILL wasn't too sold on the idea, but Dee was so caught up in the concept that I hadn't argued with it. So, we had registered Dee under Brenda's name, Brenda's social security number, the whole works. We'd still called her Dee, however, by explaining to everyone that it was a nickname derivation of her middle name. Make sense? Well, not much, I guess ….)

The doctor returned with as sour a disposition as when he'd left. He seemed to be taking out his frustrations on his patient, for he rather roughly positioned Dee's legs in the stirrups, sat at the end of the table between her obscenely spread nether region, and began poking around. Dee groaned, which he ignored, and then she looked over at us and blushed furiously. Willie rushed to her side and took her right hand, comfortingly, while Brenda and I exchanged knowing looks. Dee got off on humiliation, but Willie hadn't figured that out yet.

Sullenly, the doc got up, repositioned Dee's legs back on the table, and came around to stand next to his patient. He seemed to soften a little. "Everything's okay down there, Dee. I don't see any problems at all, so far. Let's fire up the ultrasound." He began flipping switches, and ordered Brenda to turn on the TV sets hanging from the ceiling at each side of the room. He pressed a shiny silver paddle against Dee's midriff. She stifled a small shriek. "Sorry," he said. "Normally, we warm them up, but it's not working hours …." He looked accusingly at me, and then turned his attention to one of the monitors.

I could make out parts of the fetus; a hand and arm, the back and spine, the legs. I was mesmerized. I'd accompanied Dee back here for her exams before, but usually I'd find myself just nodding dumbly when something was pointed out to me, and I was rarely able to see what they were talking about. Now, the little kid was really starting to look like a kid. Neat.

"I notice from your record that you don't want to know the sex of the baby until delivery," the doctor said without looking down from the monitor."

"That's okay," Dee told him. "I know it's a girl." I looked at her questioningly, but Dee was smiling up at Willie and clenching her hand. Oh good grief, I thought, the oldest sideshow trick in the book. Willie and her cards had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. If she didn't, she could argue that the cards' message had been "jumbled." And if she did, she'd look like saint performing a miracle.

The doctor glanced at me for a moment, then seemed to discount my presence. I was the source of his ruined Sunday evening. "Well, Dee," he said, looking back up at the monitor, "your daughter is doing just fine. Perfectly healthy, as far as I can see. A little small for this stage, but we discussed that during your last visit. Did you increase your daily caloric intake, the way I said?" He kept staring at the screen.

"Yes," Dee said in a meek voice.

He didn't look down. "Any other problems? Any at all?" He kept staring.

"Um …." She hesitated for a long time and blushed even more. The doctor kept looking at the monitor. "Um … I'm … I'm horny all the time."

The doctor grunted; not quite a laugh. He kept staring. "That shouldn't be a problem for another month. I'll tell you when you should stop having sex."

Willie finally turned away from Dee, though she still held her hand, and she looked at me with confused eyes. She shook her head slightly. Poor kid. She'd been so sure. But then, I was the one that was looking like a fool, here. I turned and tried to convey some silent signal to Brenda, but she was looking fixedly at the doctor. I followed her eyes and suddenly realized that the doc hadn't looked away from the monitor once in several minutes. His face was a blank. I turned and looked at one of the TV's but I couldn't recognize anything, anymore. It looked like … nothing; just a grayish mass. It slowly dawned on me that he wasn't looking at the fetus any longer. Something was wrong. All at once, everyone felt it. No one spoke.

Finally, finally, he turned and switched the machine off and the screens went blank. He laid a palm on Dee's bulging midriff and stared at a point somewhere across the room, his eyes unfocused, thinking. We all held our breaths. At last, he looked directly at me and said: "Something's in there. Something else."

I had a lump in my throat the size of my fist. "What is it?" Brenda asked calmly.

He looked at her. "I don't know, but I'm not going home tonight until I find out." He patted Dee on her tummy. "Get up. Get dressed. I'll meet you at the hospital." She didn't move. We all just stared at him. He clapped his hands once loudly. "Let's GO people! I have to close up the office!"

And that's the end of my narrative wanderings for this part of the text. I won't go into great detail about the longest night of my entire life. I won't go into the mundane but excruciatingly endless administrative efforts of checking Dee into the hospital, or the tests; and more tests; or the three tense, nearly hysterical girls I had to try and calm (I finally wound up hypnotizing each of them at least once during the night when there was no one else around).

This is neither the forum for, nor the audience that would find interest in, the medical problems that can arise during a pregnancy; so I'll keep my description mercifully brief. There are several types of ovarian cysts; but usually, women are most concerned only with whether or not they're malignant. I thank all my lucky stars that Dee's was not; but this damn thing had attached itself to her uterus and was literally robbing the fetus of the nutrients that Dee's body was making on the child's behalf. It had already grown larger than the baby itself was at this stage. It hadn't been detected yet because: 1) the OB-GYN doctor had been interested only in the baby itself and hadn't looked further, and 2) the thing was almost undetectable by X-ray or ultrasound because it had no real substance. Chances are that it never WOULD have been detected until childbirth if the doctor hadn't felt so compelled to spend a little extra time on his examination. The cyst was beginning to push Dee's other organs aside as it grew, and he'd noticed that there was "something" there that shouldn't have been.

Fear was like a fiery lump in my stomach all night. I'd never really given the baby itself that much thought to this point; not as a person, I mean. But now, I knew the painful uncertainty of losing something I didn't yet really have - but that I wanted so very, very much.

They wheeled Dee into the operating room a little after eight in the morning, and she didn't emerge again until almost eleven. Though Dee's chances were excellent, we were told, the baby's were only about 50-50. Brenda and Willie cried a lot. I had to be strong for them. It kept my mind occupied.

The doctors were jubilant! They came out laughing and slapping each other on the back and congratulating one another: God-syndrome run amok. They had done the job without disturbing the fetus, they told us, and Dee should be able to carry the child to term. She would have to stay in the hospital for a week, and once home, she'd be confined to "complete rest," which, we found out, meant no walking about, no chores, no exercise of any type, etc. We would be able to wheel her around the house in a wheel chair if we wanted, or she could rest in a chair or on the couch, but that was it. No sex, of course.

When Dee was out of intensive care, later that day, we all mobbed her room and celebrated the good news. She, in turn, showed us her new scar, which was almost a foot long, running up her right side. Poor kid. Another scar. But she never looked more beautiful, at least in my eyes. Either Brenda or Willie stayed by her side for almost the entire stay in the hospital.

And as for Willie; I thought about giving her a little lecture about the tarot reading just being a coincidence, a fluke, a lucky guess; but I didn't. I also felt a near-overwhelming compulsion to explain to her that, though things had turned out very well because of this strange little intervention, I STILL couldn't bring myself to believe in her so-called "abilities," and I probably never would. But a deal's a deal. I let her keep her damn cards.


A flash of lightning lit the room, and the vision of Brenda, impaled on my cock, a sheen of perspiration covering her naked torso and breasts, was seared into my mind. She groaned loudly, lifted herself up a few inches, and with another loud moan, plunged back downward. Her palms were pressed against my chest, but she lifted them and rocked backward, sitting up very straight and taking me as far into her sopping cunt as was possible. "Oh, Freddy, you're so deeeeep!" she growled. She closed her eyes and shuddered.

The wind billowed the window shears as the storm advanced toward us. Thunder boomed. It was late August, and Dee had been home for only two days. What with all the comings and goings, along with the "shifts" we took with Dee in her hospital room, I hadn't made love to my beautiful wife for almost a week. She was certainly making up for it now! She ground herself down on my manhood, arched her back and groaned loudly, then leaned forward with her hands on my chest again and tried to find a rhythm. I put my hands on her slender waist and closed my eyes, reveling in the sensations she was generating. When I opened them again, I caught her giving her head a quick toss to her left, sending her thick, black hair over her left shoulder, and she cast a glance back behind her and to her right, toward the bedroom door. I knew without looking what was there.

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