Camilla Ch. 083byMawrGorshin©
Black-haired, black-eyed, 'Goth' Camilla finished her classes late on Wednesday afternoon, and, wearing bright makeup, high heels, and the sexy black dress Patrick had bought for her, she went to the house of her Dr. Mason, her new therapist, for her first session with him. His house was in a quiet neighbourhood in North York; here is where, in his private practice, he preferred to see his patients, in a peaceful environment, where nobody and nothing would disturb them. On the front door was a sign. It said, "Just open the door and walk in."
"Wow, this guy's really laid back," she said, then slowly opened the door.
"Yes, Camilla, come on in," a male voice was heard to say. "Don't be shy; we're all relaxed here."
She walked in and closed the door behind her. She then cautiously walked through the centre of the house to the back, where Dr. Mason, the owner of that voice, was. He was sitting on a big, comfy chair in the middle of the large guest room, a room that seemed to Camilla to be more suitable for hosting large parties than for therapy sessions. In one corner was a bar; in the other was a grand piano. The chair she was to sit on, facing him, was smaller, but equally comfortable.
"Please sit down," he said. She did. Foxy lady, he thought.
Dr. Mason, she was pleased to see, was a good-looking man in his mid-forties, with a Van Dyke beard and brown hair streaked with occasional lines of silver. She could also sense, to her double delight, that he had strong heterosexual leanings. Nigrovum had done a good job in getting Dr. Rosenblood to send her to Mason.
As he was writing something down on his notepad, she did a quick scan of his mind to know his sexual tastes. In a few seconds, she figured out exactly how to act, and she removed that emotionally numbing psychic dome that had been protecting her from her recent pain.
"So, Camilla," he began, finishing his writing, "Dr. Rosenblood tells me you weren't very cooperative about telling him about yourself. I hope you'll open up for me."
Oh, I'll 'open up' for you, all right, she thought.
"He says you were more interested in having sex with him than in telling him about yourself," Mason continued.
"Yeah, he's gay; what a waste," she said.
"Why's that a waste?" Mason asked.
"'Cause he's hot. I wanted to fuck his brains out."
"He's more than twice your age."
"That's how I like my men," she said with a lewd smirk.
"Why do you like older men?" He tried to hide the smirk on his face.
""Cause they're mature, sophisticated, intelligent, and kind."
"All kinds of people have those qualities," Dr. Mason said. "And older men have all kinds of different qualities, both good and bad. Why do you associate those virtues particularly with older men?"
"Oh, because my daddy's like that, I guess," she said with an ear-to-ear grin. "He's the greatest."
"You must really love him."
"More than anyone in the whole world."
"Judging by the ecstatic smile you have on your face, I'd say that that love of yours is a decidedly romantic one."
Her smile instantly turned upside-down. She looked away.
"I'm not judging you," the psychologist reassured her. "I'm not at all being critical here; I'm merely exploring."
"I--I'm in..." she began, fighting back sobs. "Oh, God."
"You're in love with your father, aren't you?" Mason asked.
Nodding, she was now audibly crying.
He took a tissue from the Kleenex box on his nearby desk and gave it to her. "Camilla," he said, "over the fifteen years that I've been a therapist, I've encountered dozens of people who have incestuous feelings for their mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters. Some kept their feelings a secret, others practiced consensual incest. There are a lot more people out there like you than you think."
"Really?" She looked up at him with hope in her eyes.
"Really. And I'm not going to condemn you as a pervert. In point of fact, I see nothing wrong with two consenting adults engaging in incest, as long as they don't have babies."
"Wow," she said, no longer crying. "Maybe society will accept it one day, the way they do homosexuality."
"Maybe," he said. "There are some people advocating the legalization of consensual incest. Does your dad feel the same way about you?"
"No--I mean, maybe, in his subconscious, if I can find it."
"In his subconscious?"
"Yeah, maybe he's repressing his desires for me," she said.
"Camilla, that sounds like wishful thinking."
"How so? It's possible he wants me, too."
"Not likely, I'm sorry to say. What about your mother?"
"She's dead," she quickly answered.
"Well, isn't that a relief?" he asked sarcastically.
"Yeah. She was a bitch."
"Tell me about her."
"She cheated on Daddy; she lied that he'd molested me, so when they got divorced, she'd get custody of me."
"Oh, dear," he said, quickly writing.
"When I was living with her and her asshole new husband, you know what they did?" Her voice was getting louder and angrier.
"They had key parties!"
"All these swingers, screwing around in our house, and I, an eight-year-old girl, had to sit alone in my bedroom as my mommy and her female guests randomly chose their lovers for the night. And she judges me for being sexually screwed up."
"Excuse me: judges?" he asked. "I thought she was dead."
"She is. She judges me in my dreams. Her ghost, I mean."
"You don't believe in ghosts?" she asked, perfectly content to see his incredulous reaction.
"I believe you've projected your guilt onto her. Judging by your choice of clothes, and your heavy makeup, I suspect you don't limit your sexual appetite to your dad."
"Oh, I fuck around all the time," she said unabashedly. "I'm a nympho: I get it from my mom."
"I see." Projecting it onto her mom, most likely, he thought.
She practically read his thoughts, and was growing insecure. "I'm a slut, OK? I admit it."
"I'm not judging you," he said soothingly.
"Not with words, but with your eyes, you are."
"Why do you think that?"
"Everybody judges me for being sexually liberated," she said angrily. Now she was shooting out her words like a machine gun: "My mommy does, my daddy does, too; Candice, my girlfriend, who's insanely jealous of me, even though I totally allow her to lick other women's pussies if she wants to; my teachers--"
"You're bisexual?" he asked.
"Oh yeah, I fuck everybody. I'm every guy's fantasy. Even if I'm not, I can quickly learn how. I can make straight girls wanna fuck me. I'm a goddess."
"Yeah," she said, still rambling at rapid-fire speed, and totally aware of how crazy she sounded. "I can do anything. Change my hair colour, my eye colour, my skin colour. I can create force fields with my mind, keeping out undesirable people. I can control other people's minds. I just..." now she slowed down, "...I just, can't, control myself." She could feel the sobs coming back.
"Having no self-control is a problem," he said, still quickly writing to catch up with all the dark secrets she was sharing with him.
"I manipulate people," she said guiltily, verging on tears. "I mess with people's minds. I hurt people...the people I love. I don't mean to. I--I--" She began crying again.
"You like having power over people, don't you?" He gave her another tissue.
"Yes," she sobbed. "I know I shouldn't, but it's just...I've been controlled so much...by others." She sent him a mental message: Ask me to sit on your lap. She also started psychically stimulating his penis.
"I'm not judging you, sweetie." He felt his penis suddenly, inexplicably, getting erect. "Come here: sit on my lap."
"Yes, Doctor," she said 'timidly and compliantly', quickly getting up, walking over to him, and planting her soft buttocks on his erection. His legs were spread open, so she could rub her buttocks against the bulge poking up against her moistening vulva. He put his arms around her and gently rocked her back and forth, surprised at his sudden boldness. She put her arms around his neck and continued softly sobbing.
I don't understand, he thought; I never begin seducing my female patients until after at least a dozen sessions!
"I feel so guilty," she cried. "I can't help it; I'm a bad girl. Please help me, Doctor. I think I'm going crazy. The little aliens in my blood are driving me mad." She was sobbing loudly now.
"Little aliens in your blood?"
"Yeah," she said, and began her rapid-fire talk again. "Microscopic black egg-like things from outer space. They came to earth in the rain, falling on the grass; at least that's what Dr. Singh says, this guy I gave foot-jobs to, and he also has the power. I masturbated in a Vancouver park where the aliens landed one day a few years ago, and I came on the grass, and the aliens went up my pussy. That's how I got all my psychic powers." She now was catching her breath.
"I see," he said. I believe the technical psychiatric term is, 'wacko', he thought. Having been hard at work that whole session sculpting his reaction to her, she, of course, knew what he was thinking.
"You think I'm crazy."
"I think you're very troubled. I think you have a lot of pain in you."
"Mm-hmm," she sobbed. "I'm really hurting."
"I can help you," he said. "But we'll have to get closer to each other, much closer."
"Please make the pain go away, Doctor." Her face was strategically drenched in tears.
"Come here, sweetie."
She brought her face over to his, and plunged her tongue deep inside his mouth. Their lips pressed hard against each other, and their tongues were in a frantic dance inside each other's mouths. As they tightly embraced each other, he unzipped her dress. She, always in the role of 'innocent, vulnerable female patient,' completely allowed him to undress her, pretending not at all to know about his lecherous designs, but totally focusing on her own.
The dress came off, revealing a black lace bra and matching panties. He unclipped the bra and pulled it off; she wiggled her exposed breasts inches from his face with a naive expression on her face. Then he pulled down her panties, revealing her black pubic hair; when they fell to her ankles, she kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs through the leg-holes of her panties. Now she was completely naked, and she allowed him to ogle her body.
He picked her up and carried her up the stairs and into his bedroom. He lay her on the bed; she was still sobbing. As he took off his clothes, he looked over at her on the bed; she'd spread her legs wide open and lifted them up high so he could see her purple pussy and black asshole. She looked at him with those 'innocent, vulnerable,' sobbing eyes.
"Does my body please you, Doctor?" she asked.
"You're as beautiful as you are troubled, sweetheart," he said, now pulling down his underwear. The naked man got on the bed and aimed his eight-inch cock at her wet pussy.
He pushed the tip of his cock against her vaginal opening; her sobs instantly changed into sighs. He slid his cock in a few inches, and her sighs grew into screams--it was as though she'd never been crying. He pushed in another few inches, and the thickness of his shaft brushed against her G-spot, making her come. "Oh!" she screamed in whistle register, gushing all over his bedsheets.
"Oh, shit!" he grunted, pushing in further.
"Sorry, Doctor," she sighed. "Ah!"
"That's OK, sweetie," he panted. "Unh!" He pushed all the way in, poking at her A-spot.
"Oh!" She came a second time, screaming in whistle register. "Fuck me! Oh!"
"You are...a wild one, girl. Oh!"
"This is...the best...fuck I've had...in a while," she squealed. "Ah!"
As he kept fucking her, it was becoming obvious to him that there was more to this girl than just a tramp with issues. Now that she was getting laid, she'd dropped her 'troubled girl' persona completely, and was just enjoying a good fuck. She orgasmed a third time. Obviously insatiable for sex, she had clearly seduced him, by being his fantasy. She'd been acting it out, point for point, detail by detail, with uncanny accuracy. Did she have psychic powers?
"Oh, my God! Ah!" she screamed. "Oh, fuck me, Doc, fuck me! Oh!" She came a fourth time; his bed was soaked.
"I don't believe it," he panted as he kept fucking. "Normally, I come..by now. How am...I able to...keep going?"
Because my Nigrovum won't let you come yet, she thought; not until I'm thoroughly satisfied. "Wanna fuck...my ass, sir?" she asked. "Oh!"
"Sure," he moaned. "Maybe that...will make...me come. Unh!" He pulled his cock out of her pussy. "How will I...lube you?"
"Just use my come." She pulled her legs up higher so he could see her asshole.
"Good idea." He scooped some of it off the sheets, and smeared it against her black asshole, then pushed his finger inside, thoroughly lubricating all her rectal walls. Now he pushed his knob against her welcoming anal orifice.
"Oh, oh, oh..." she sighed as his cock slowly slid in deeper, inch by inch. She looked up into his eyes as she felt his cock go in further, letting him know how happy she was to be getting an ass-fuck from her therapist.
Finally, he pushed all the way in. She screamed out loud with pleasure, and his grunts were a perfect bass counterpoint. He slid in and out, loving how her tight anal lips were squeezing against his thick shaft. He'd never had anal with a girl before, and he was delighted to have the girl suggest it, instead of him having to negotiate it with a presumably unwilling partner.
As he kept fucking her ass, he was wondering again how he'd got a hard-on so suddenly. Though he'd been titillated by her from the very second he first laid eyes on her, his erection seemed unnatural. Does this bitch have psychic powers? he wondered.
Though he was thrilled by the tightness of her asshole, he still wasn't coming, which was again strange; normally, this kind of excitement would have made him come quite early on. There were clearly strange forces at work here. Maybe she wasn't as deluded as he thought.
"I can...suck your...cock for you, Doctor," she sighed. "Oh!"
"OK," he said, then he pulled his cock out of her ass.
She sat up on the bed and knelt before him. "Please stand up, sir."
"OK." Now standing up and looking down at her, he was breathing heavily to see her expertly taking his cock in her hands and bringing it to her mouth.
With a lewd smirk, she began kissing and licking the knob; then she took his cock in by a few inches, and her wet lips tightly hugged his shaft as it slid three-quarters of the way in, and three-quarters of the way out.
As she looked up in his eyes, she sent this psychic message to him: thank you for healing my scarred psyche, Doctor.
This is one unbelievable slut, he thought. Now, not only from how her electric tongue and caressing lips were exciting his cock, but from the Nigrovum releasing his desire, he could finally feel himself approaching orgasm.
She deep-throated him and tickled his balls with her fingers. Sensing his imminent ejaculation, she pulled her head back, releasing his cock with a popping sound. After briefly jacking him off, with his cock pointed at her face, she let him blow his load first on her nose, then her lips, then her right eye, then her chin, then her left cheek. She screamed and giggled with delight as each splash soaked her pretty face.
He got down on the bed and lay beside her. Lying on their backs with their arms around each other, they slowly caught their breath. She reset the numbing psychic dome around herself.
Now he could finish his analysis. "Apart from your family troubles," he said, "your main problem is narcissism. You call yourself a goddess, and while I'd agree you are one in the metaphoric sense, you seem to take the idea literally. You're proud of your ability to control others, and you even imagine yourself as having superhuman abilities."
"Haven't I demonstrated some of those abilities for you, Doctor?" she asked.
"Well," he said evasively, "that remains to be conclusively proven, as far as I'm concerned. In any case, your...um, talents, aren't my main concern; rather, it's your emotional conflicts that I'm interested in. As for your narcissism, we'll work on bringing that down over the next few sessions."
"Anything you say, Doctor," she said, smiling as his come continued dripping off her cheeks and nose.
After her appointment with Dr. Mason, Camilla went by her father's house. Standing before it on the sidewalk, she could hear Agape and Carrie talking loudly with each other. Since she wasn't close enough to a window, she couldn't hear clearly what they were saying; her hatred of Carrie, however, gave her enough motivation to assume that her father's bride-to-be was shouting mean things at him.
The Nigrovum inside her caused that hatred to swell, distorting her sense of what Agape and Carrie were feeling at the time; Camilla, therefore, psychically had no idea what emotions were actually floating around in that house, but she assumed they could only be bad ones, and she walked away feeling perfectly justified in her wish to remove Carrie from his life.
Don't worry, Daddy, she thought; I'll get rid of that bitch, and you'll be free. I'm killing her for you, my love.
She went to a bus station, and took a bus to a park near Don Josiah's home. Meanwhile...
"Here it is!" Agape shouted down from the bedroom. "Your blue dress is in the bedroom closet! I told you it wasn't in the laundry room! Don't come up; I'll bring it down to you!"
In the park, Camilla was alone, and the sun was setting. She sat on a swing, facing a tree a dozen yards away. She pointed her right index finger at the tree and visualized one of those bullets in the box in Josiah's dresser drawer; she imagined it shooting out of her finger, as if it were the barrel of a gun.
She concentrated, thinking carefully about every detail of the bullet as she'd psychically 'felt' it inside the box: the feel of it, the weight, the copper jacketing, and the gunpowder inside. After a few minutes, her finger felt as though it were 'loaded': a heavy weight put stress on her finger, and a dull pain was where the 'bullet' lay, waiting to be shot.
Then she visualized the pistol she'd seen in Josiah's dresser drawer. She tried her best to visualize the internal ballistics of the bullet firing through the barrel of the pistol and leaving identifying marks on the bullet, even though she had no experience of ever firing a gun, let alone any knowledge of ballistic fingerprinting. Still, she tried her best to fake it, for she needed to make the gunshot seem to have come from Josiah's gun, so he'd be blamed for the murder, and there'd be minimal chance of her being blamed.
Now she focused on the tree, imagining it was Carrie. Camilla's hatred for that woman swelled up inside her, once again distorting her sense of her surroundings. Though Nigrovum always obeyed her commands, it did so reluctantly if it sensed hostile energy, having antipathy for such feelings. This reluctance is what caused that distortion.
She 'fired': there was a great 'kick' to her finger as the 'bullet' shot out; her finger felt a sharp pain, and there was bleeding. She didn't hit the tree she was aiming at, though: she hit a tree to the right, and several yards behind it. She went over and took a close look--there was a real bullet-hole in the tree.
"Wow," she said, breathing heavily and with her dishevelled hair flying all around her head. "I can do it: I can create a bullet out of nothing, and fire it from my finger as if it were a gun. I'm a goddess." Still, I missed, she thought; I'm no marksman. That was like when I killed Mrs. Holland. I meant for her car to hit a tree or something, but in my anger I kind of blacked out psychically, and her car hit another car, killing everyone in both of them. I didn't mean to kill those other people, but I guess they were collateral damage.