On Tuesday afternoon, Candice’s despair from not having Camilla back was in an agonizing conflict with her will to live. These two powerful feelings, of course, were magnified by the Nigrovum in her blood: her fading, yet still existing, hope to win Camilla’s love, was striving against that that heavy weight of depression, like large rocks on her back; and that love Candice had for Camilla was still a potent, Nigrovum-intensified drug.

The conflict she felt was excruciating, like trying to lift those impossibly heavy rocks with neither the option to let them fall off her aching back, nor the option to give up, lie on the ground, and be crushed under their weight.

The only option Camilla had given Candice to get her back was a terrible one–killing Carrie, Agape’s fiancee and the object of Camilla’s jealousy. Though Candice certainly didn’t want to kill anyone, she imagined that, with the aid of those psychic powers she shared with Camilla, maybe she could at least evade being caught by the police, as Camilla had all but guaranteed.

Of course, Candice knew that once Carrie was out of the way, Camilla would focus on her incestuous obsessions with her father, and Candice would continue to be ignored. Camilla’s hopes of having Agape, however, were even weaker than Candice’s were of getting Camilla back; and perhaps through patient, rational dissuasion, she could make Camilla give up her mad plan to murder Carrie. A dead Carrie wouldn’t make Agape any more of a willing lover for Camilla than a living Carrie would, and this reality would have to be accepted by Camilla sooner or later.

Candice called Camilla on her cell-phone. “Hi Camil,” she said.

“Will you take care of Carrie for me?” Camilla asked.

“I’ll consider it,” Candice said weakly.

“Good; I’ll come over and stay with you for a while,” Camilla said, less out of satisfaction with Candice’s answer than out of a need for a new place to stay, since Dr. Lawson wanted her out of his apartment by 6 PM that day. “I’ll bring my stuff over around 5: 30, OK?”

“Great,” Candice said, suddenly feeling those psychic ‘rocks’ come off her back, and feeling good for the first time in over a week and a half. “I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

“Bye,” Camilla said, and hung up.

Camilla couldn’t understand how she could have been kicked out of two lovers’ homes in so short a time, knowing how addicted Drs. Martin and Lawson were to her charms. They’d both been fully–and repeatedly–exposed to Nigrovum in their exchange of bodily fluids with Camilla during sex: surely that sex addiction had grown strong enough to override any other needs and wants of those two men.

Perhaps Dr. Martin’s watching of my paranormal dreams threatened the security he got from his skepticism about such things, she thought; and keeping his skepticism was more important to him than even sex. Perhaps Lawson’s dread of rumours and scandal–what had led to his divorce ten years back, as he’d once told me–was a greater fear than getting no more sex from me. Nigrovum does affect everyone differently, of course: look at what it’s done to Dr. Singh–poor crazy guy with his weird conspiracy theories. When was the last time he wanted sex from me?

Camilla–with her ‘Goth’ black hair and eyes, and pale skin–arrived with her bags in ‘Goth-looking’ Candice’s apartment around 5:45 PM. Candice, already naked and famished for lesbian sex, practically dragged Camilla into her bedroom.

Candice hurriedly helped Camilla get out of her T-shirt, jeans, sneakers, socks, and light-blue bra and panties; then naked Camilla lay on the bed on her back. Candice got on top of her, softly kissing her on her lips and cheeks. Camilla put her arms around Candice and just received her love.

Candice moved down to Camilla’s neck and nuzzled on it for while before going down further to her breasts. Her lips embraced Camilla’s right nipple and sucked on it tightly, while her left hand fondled Camilla’s left breast. Then her mouth moved over to the left breast, and her right hand gently squeezed Camilla’s right breast, pinching the nipple. Camilla, softly moaning, ran her hands through Candice’s black hair.

Now Candice’s roaming lips and tongue went down to Camilla’s belly, which she kissed and licked briefly before going down to her pussy. Camilla spread her legs open wide and lifted them up, giving Candice access to both her pussy and asshole. Candice sucked on Camilla’s clitoris while fingering her anus; then her mouth and finger traded places. Candice slid her finger deep inside Camilla’s cunt, gently poking at her A-spot. Camilla’s moans were ascending in pitch to squeals. Candice gently kissed Camilla’s buttocks.

Then the girls got into a 69 position, with Camilla on top. Camilla licked and sucked on Candice’s clit while Candice sucked on Camilla’s labia. Camilla slid her finger inside Candice’s wet pussy, tickling her G-spot. Candice resumed licking Camilla’s asshole while fingering her dripping wet cunt. Both girls were moaning and squealing louder and louder.

Sensing Camilla’s imminent orgasm, Candice brought her wide-open mouth down to receive the gushing; her finger tickled Camilla’s clitoris, and a waterfall of come filled up Candice’s mouth, puffing her cheeks out. Some come dribbled out the sides, but she swallowed most of it. Candice came soon after, and Camilla licked away the sweet ooze.

They lay side by side and cuddled as they caught their breath.

“Let’s never fight again,” Candice said.

“Are you gonna kill Carrie for me?” Camilla asked. “I can get a gun for you, and we’ll use Nigrovum to make sure you don’t get caught.”

“If I consider it, will you consider another idea?” Candice asked.

“What’s that?” Camilla asked, her patience thinning.

“Killing Carrie almost certainly won’t get you any closer to fucking your dad again. He’s dead against incest, and you know it.”

“Candice, I know this has been hard for you; but if you really want me for a lover, you must help me get my dream lover.”

“Do you really want blood on your hands, knowing you probably still won’t have him?”

“Candice, you have a week to make up your mind. If by next Monday you don’t shoot her with the gun I provide, I’m out of here, never to return.”

“Camilla, why do you have to treat me like this? I love you,” Candice said, starting to cry.

“If this is too hard for you, baby, I can make it easier for you.” Camilla gave Candice’s cheek and neck several soft wet kisses; then suddenly, she bit her hard on the neck. Candice screamed, but Camilla psychically silenced her. Keeping her teeth a half-centimetre or so inside Candice’s skin, Camilla now focused on all of her hatred of Carrie and sent the psychic energy into Candice’s bleeding neck. Camilla’s teeth dug in deeper and deeper, drawing more and more blood, which she sucked in and drank, allowing none to spill out onto Candice’s skin or onto the bed. So intense was the hateful energy that Camilla passed into Candice’s body that, again, its focus got distorted.

Camilla pulled her teeth out while keeping her lips on the bite wound; then she used Nigrovum to heal it. She looked at Candice’s neck: it was as though it had never been bitten.

“Oww, that hurt, Camil,” Candice sighed. “But it was kinda hot, too. Please say I’m yours.”

After kissing Candice’s cheek several more times, Camilla whispered in her ear, “You are mine, you always have been mine, and you always will be mine…for ever, and ever, and ever.”

Candice felt that murderous hatred now swimming in her blood, making it easier for her to kill; but the distortion of that hate deflected it from its original object. Candice now had a strong, if vague, urge to kill. Whom was she to kill? Carrie? Herself? The ex-priest? Camilla? Agape?…


On Wednesday after leaving York University, “Goth” Camilla went to Dr. Mason’s house for her second therapy session. As the sign on the front door had invited her to do, she simply opened it without knocking, walked in, and went to the large back room where he was, sitting at his chair and writing on his notepad. As she entered the room, she removed that psychic dome from around her, the one that was protecting her from psychological pain by numbing her emotionally. She knew that crying before Dr. Mason turned him on.

She sat at her chair, facing him, and hoping he’d like her in a tight T-shirt and jeans.

“And how are you today, Camilla?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said. “You wanna fuck me again?”

“Business before pleasure, sweetie,” he said, chuckling in embarrassment, and even some guilt, at his having taken advantage of her ‘vulnerability’ the last time. “Let’s talk about your father again. You want him, but your mother died. Is there a new love in his life?”

“Yes,” Camilla growled. “Carrie. But she’s in the way only for the moment.”

“Oh? Do you plan to get her…out of the way?”

“I hope I can get my dad to see the light about her.”

“I see, that she’s wrong for him, but your Ms. Right?”

“Of course. You yourself support consensual incest.”

“Yes, but only if he consents,” Mason reminded her.

“If she’s gone, he won’t be distracted by her,” Camilla said, careful not to imply killing Carrie.

“And how will a lack of distractions make him want to have sex with his daughter?”

“He’ll be more focused on my hot, irresistible body. You know that, Doctor.” She smiled lewdly at him.

“I certainly do,” he said with a lecherous smile of his own. “Intimately. But what’s your father’s attitude towards sex?”

“He’s a strait-laced conservative, unfortunately. Yet strangely, his saintliness makes him all the hotter to me.”

“Forbidden fruits are sweetest, eh?”

“Oh, yeah!” She licked her lips.

“You consider him a saint. Does he have religious beliefs?


“Is he a fundamentalist?”

“I wouldn’t go that far; I mean, he and Carrie have sex regularly–ugh! But he is a devout Catholic.”

“Well, I don’t see extreme prudery sliding over into unrestrained lust,” Mason said.

“How could that happen?” she asked, leaning forward and fascinated with the idea.

“Extremes tend to dissolve into their opposite extremes, if pushed too far. Often religious fundamentalists are so rigid that their repressed desires explode from all the pressure, and when they fall from grace, they fall hard, engaging in lewdness that would shock even most liberals.”

“Really?” Camilla began to see a kind of hope. If I can make Daddy really sexually uptight and repressed after Carrie’s…gone, maybe he’ll explode with sexual tension, become a pervert, and finally want to fuck me, she thought; Dr. Mason, you’re brilliant. Look for a great lay in the next few minutes.

“Yes, sometimes these opposites attract, like the head of the ouroboros biting its tail,” Mason said. “But I wouldn’t count on that ever happening in your father’s case, Camilla.”

“Why not?” she asked with a pout.

“Look, how serious is his relationship with Carrie?”

“Very. They’re engaged,” she said with an even more bitter frown.

“Well, that’s it, isn’t it? Look, if you love him, if you truly love him, don’t you want him to be happy?”

“Of course. But happy with me.”

“Well, if you truly love him, isn’t his happiness more important that satisfying your desires?”

“But he…won’t be happy with her.”

“How do you know that?” Mason asked.

“I…just know!” Her lip was beginning to quiver.

“You just wish for that to be true,” he corrected.

“But I know it’s true. It’s got to be true. I…heard Daddy and Carrie fighting once.” She began sobbing.

“Oh, come on, Camilla. Even in the best of relationships, there are at least a few fights.” He gave her a tissue.

“She’s…all wrong for him.”

“She’s all right for him, and you know that. That’s what really upsets you. You’re jealous. You envy Carrie’s happiness.”

“Well, what am I gonna do?” she shouted, crying loudly. “I’m in love with Daddy; I can’t let go of him.”

“Come here,” Mason said. She got up, walked over, and sat on his lap; he put his arms around her and rocked her gently back and forth. “A healthy resolution to your Electra complex is to find a man to replace your father.”

“Nobody can replace my daddy,” she sobbed.

“Let’s search together for possibilities.” He kissed her on the lips, picked her up, and carried her up to his bedroom. He put her on the floor standing up, and as she continued crying, he took off her white T-shirt, her blue jeans, her pink bra and panties, and her sneakers and white socks. He sat on the side of the bed, admiring the naked girl’s beauty.

He then pulled down his pants and underwear, and she sat on his hard cock, slowly feeding it inside her wet pussy. As his manhood went inside deeper and deeper, her sobs changed into sighs of ascending pitch, in a hot crescendo. When his cock got three-quarters of the way in, she came, flooding his lap with her cooze.

Up and down her torso bounced on his cock; she squealed staccato soprano notes with each poking of the tip of his cock against her vibrating A-spot. The thick sides of his erection brushed thrillingly against her G-spot, making her whole body shiver with pleasure. She came a second time, and not even one full minute of fucking had passed.

He smiled to see her tits bouncing joyfully with the rest of her body; he had his hands on her ass, squeezing her buttocks. “Oh!” he moaned.

“Oh, oh, oh! Fuck! Fuck! Ah!” she screamed, coming a third time. She got up, pulling his cock out of her soaking pussy. “Let me…suck you off.”

“OK,” he panted. She knelt between his legs and held his cock in her hand, bringing it up to her mouth. She looked up into his eyes as she kissed and licked the tip of his cock; then she put it all in, deep-throating it.

She played with his balls as she quickly jerked her head in small movements, keeping the full length of his shaft in her mouth and throat. After a few more seconds of deep-throating, she pulled her head up, taking a half of his cock in her mouth, then going down a quarter deeper. His cock continued going in three-quarters of the way, then out a half, in three-quarters, and out a half. Her tongue vibrated against his bulging corpus spongiosum, and her fingers continued tickling his scrotum and gently shaking his balls.

She sensed he’d blow his load soon; so her wet lips tightly slid up his shaft to his knob, then pulled off with a popping sound. She slid her hand up and down his cock, keeping it pointed at her face. Then he came: a blast hit her nose–she screamed and giggled; a second shot hit her in the right eye–another scream of delight; a third spraying hit her on the left cheek; and a final spouting hit her on the lips. She looked up at him and giggled.

As they caught their breath, he looked down at her pretty, smiling face, made even prettier by his come dripping off her nose, cheeks, and chin. “Sweetie,” he said, “you must find a man to replace your daddy.”

Her smile quickly disappeared.


After leaving Dr. Mason’s house, Camilla returned to that park near Don Josiah’s home. She reset her psychic dome, and felt her emotional pain quickly being numbed into a comfortable apathy.

Sitting on that same swing as last time, and watching the sun setting, she sent a psychic message to the ex-priest’s home: If you want me back, bring your gun and bullets to Club Ritz on Friday night. She could feel the psychic energy leaving her body in emanating vibrations, and floating over to where Don was.

“Candice won’t kill Carrie, nor will Don; that’s pretty certain,” Camilla said. Still, I can stay with Candice for a week till I find a new man to shack up with, she thought: Why pay full rent when I can get a guy to? And who knows? Maybe Candice will surprise me and actually kill Carrie. She has the hate I put in her; she just has to use it. Maybe he will, if I can get him desperate enough to do it. But probably nobody will help me. I’m probably going to have to shoot Carrie myself, with my six-shooting finger.

Camilla looked at that tree she’d tried to shoot the last time and missed. Hitting a target–be it a tree or a moving one like Carrie–wasn’t going to be easy.

I could just give Carrie a psychically-induced heart attack, Camilla thought; or I could have her die in a car accident, as I did Mrs. Holland. But I hate Carrie so much for taking my daddy away: I don’t want her to die in some ordinary way. I want her death to be cold-blooded; I want it to be violent; I want her to suffer. I hate her so much! She looks so much like Mommy: oh, I can’t stand that! (Hell, I look like my mom…though it works on me.) Also, since Carrie’s now fighting with Daddy, he can now see how bad she’ll be for him. If he knows I shot her, he’ll see how much I love him, and how much I’m willing to sacrifice for his well-being. Then he’ll know that I’m the right woman for him, and he’ll want me as much as I do him! It’s a perfect plan!…if I can just get my aim right.

The Nigrovum was intensifying her hate so much that not only was it distorting her aim, it was also distorting her ability to reason. Still, she wouldn’t stop trying.

As before, she visualized her finger as the barrel of Don’s pistol, with one of his bullets in it. She concentrated and concentrated for several minutes, vividly imagining what the gun would feel like, its weight, the metal, the hollow barrel, and the bullet situated at the tip of her index finger. Soon, she could again feel that heavy, stressful weight on her finger, the dull pain where her psychic ‘bullet’ was waiting to be shot, and her wobbly aim, caused by her heated up, poisonous hatred of Carrie.

She aimed at the tree as best she could and fired, feeling the ‘kick’ and the sharp pain in her finger. She was lucky in how her shots were never loud: there was just a mild popping sound; she was unlucky, however, in missing her target again. She hit a tree to the left this time.

“Damn!” she said. “When am I gonna hit that fuckin’ tree?” She brought her bleeding finger to her lips, sucked the blood away, and used Nigrovum to heal the cut. How am I gonna make sure my bullet pierces her heart if I can’t even hit a tree? she thought.

She then went to the nearest bus stop, and took the bus back to Candice’s apartment.


Late in the afternoon on Thursday, Camilla was on the bus from York to Candice’s apartment. She was checking her e-mail on her iPhone: one message was from Dr. Singh. Instead of being another warning about Satanists using Nigrovum to enslave the world with desire, the title of the message said, ‘Brahman is an infinite ocean.

“Ravinder, you’re nuts,” she said, deleting the message without even reading it. Had she bothered to read it, then considered Josiah’s spiritual progress, she would have seen a striking similarity between the men; then she would have realized that Singh was as far away from insane as he could be.

Suddenly, her phone rang. She answered it.

“Camilla, it’s me, Patrick,” her caller said. “I’m sorry about what happened Monday night.”

“Oh, that’s OK,” she said in her ‘Dolly’ voice.

“I mean, I know you enjoyed the sex,” Patrick said, “but I had no right to blame you for my wife’s death.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” she said, knowing perfectly well–but not really caring–that she was largely the cause of his wife’s death. “Take me to dinner tonight.”

“OK; Giovanni’s, 8:00?”

“Sounds good; see you then,” she said.

“Great. Bye.” He hung up.


That night at Giovanni’s, Patrick and Camilla had been seated, and a waiter had received their orders. She had all her original body colours, and she was wearing a blouse, tight black leather pants, and silver high heels. A white fedora that she’d worn into the restaurant was sitting beside her at her booth. As they waited for their food, they chatted.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said, fighting back sobs. “I blame you for Lisa’s death, yet it’s like I’m addicted to you.” He started crying. “I’ve never been so…obsessed with a girl…as I am with you, and I don’t know why. Lisa appeared…in my dreams…last night. She accused me…of raping you. She said…that I betrayed her…just for a fuck. I asked her…how I could redeem myself, and she said…I should love you…the way I should have loved her.” He held his sobbing face in his hands.

“Sounds good,” ‘Dolly’ said, without a trace of emotion, being numbed still by her psychic dome. “Love me tonight. But I gotta go poo-poo; excuse me.” Camilla got up and went to the bathroom.

He could only be stunned by the apathy he saw in her.

As she crapped on the toilet, she thought, Patrick is no fun as a cry-baby. I’ve gotta get him in better spirits if I’m gonna get a good fuck from him tonight. She sent this psychic message back to him: Cheer up–if you do what I want you to do, I’ll love you forever. She felt the warm energy radiate out to him at their booth. “See?” she said, crapping out her last turd. “I use Nigrovum for good.” She wiped her ass, washed her hands, and returned to their booth.

“Sorry for all the crying,” he said, wiping his face with a tissue. “I’m in control now.”

“Don’t feel bad,” ditzy ‘Dolly’ said. Then, smiling lewdly at him, she said, “But your wife was right: you did rape me, you know.”

“I did not,” he said, cheering up and getting turned on.

“Yes, you did,” she insisted, affecting bashful modesty. “I should call the police.”

“You loved it. You were coming buckets.”

“Uh, Patrick, keep your voice down,” she whispered.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, blushing. “Sorry.”

They had their meal, and he paid for it. Then she put her fedora on her head, and they left the restaurant.


Patrick drove Camilla to his house, and they went up to his bedroom. As he sat on the bed, taking his shoes off, he watched her get on the floor on all fours. Still with all her clothes on and her fedora on her head, she was looking at herself in a mirror and pushing her ass out, with her legs spread wide open.

He got on the floor behind her and started kissing her on her tight black leather pants where her ass-crack was.

She looked back at him as he continued kissing and adoring her callipygian behind. “You’re worshipping my bum,” she said with a giggle, always in her ditzy ‘Dolly’ persona.

“Yes, I am, Goddess,” he said, still kissing and sniffing.

“But I’m all stinky down there. Remember, at Giovanni’s I went poo-poo.”

“No problem,” Patrick said. “I’ll just take you into the bathroom and wash you clean.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said; then they both stood up.

She took off her fedora and put it on the dresser. Then he unzipped and unbuttoned her pants while she unbuttoned her white blouse. He pulled her pants down to her ankles while she took off her blouse and dropped it on the floor. Then he took her silver high heels off and got her feet through the leg holes of her pants while she took off her light green bra. Finally, he pulled down her light green lace panties, exposing her pubic hair in its original brown colour, and she pulled her feet through her panties’ leg holes.

The naked girl turned around, facing the door out that lead to the bathroom; and he, squatting, opened her buttocks to see her brown asshole, still with a bit of unwiped shit on it. The faecal smell was strong.

“I told you I’m stinky down there,” she said.

He picked her up and carried her into the bathroom, placing her standing in the bathtub. He turned on the water and lathered up the soap. She squatted with her legs open so he could see her pussy: he soaped it up thoroughly inside and out, smearing the lather on all her vaginal walls. After rinsing her cunt clean, he had her turn around. She got up and bent over with her legs spread out so he could see her asshole; he cleaned it out as thoroughly as he had her pussy, getting the lather deep inside her rectum, washing the shit off all her rectal walls. She moaned at the sensitive touch of his hands.

After he rinsed all the soap away and dried her off, he sat on the toilet and she bent over, with her freshly-cleaned asshole and pussy just inches from his delighted face. She looked back at him as he sniffed.

“Am I all clean?” she asked.

“Immaculate,” he said.

“Wanna put your thing in me now?”


He picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on the bed on her back. She opened her legs wide so he could see her pussy, then raised her legs up high so her asshole would also be visible. Then he got naked and put his face between her legs.

First he vivaciously licked her asshole, sliding his tongue an inch or two inside the orifice. She moaned her thanks. He sucked on her already hard clitoris, then her labia. Finally, after a few more licks, he got up and pointed his dick at her cunt.

On top of her in the missionary position, he pushed his cock inside her wet pussy: she sighed in higher and higher pitches, her voice getting louder and louder. She came as soon as his cock was all the way in, poking against her A-spot. He started thrusting aggressively inside her, and she screamed and squealed over top of his baritone moans and grunts. She came a second time.

He put his hands on her tits and gently squeezed them as he continued fucking her. He was incredibly horny, but hadn’t come yet, and this surprised him. Normally, he’d come right around this time, but while he was as hard as could be, he felt he could still fuck and fuck. He’d never felt like such a stud before, and he couldn’t understand why.

She, of course, knew why: she was the reason why, using Nigrovum to keep him hard and at a plateaued peak of extreme excitement without reaching the point of no return and coming. She wanted a good, long fuck, and she was going to make sure he gave it to her.

She came a third time, screaming in whistle register. As he kept fucking, amazed that he wasn’t even getting tired, she thought about him as a possible man to kill Carrie. Though she’d like to do the murder herself, she debated with herself about whether it would be safer just to have someone else do it; then she’d be even less likely of being implicated for the crime. Her accomplice would accuse her, and she could deny it, calling him crazy. After all, all her lovers were crazy…as she of course was.

She came a fourth time.

“Do you…still wanna go?” he panted, still thrusting. “Unh!”

“Yeah,” she sighed. “You…haven’t got…gooey yet. Ah!

“But surely, you’ve had…your fill. Oh!” He pulled his dick out.

“Oh, I know,” she said, as though a lightbulb had just flashed over her head, even though she’d always planned to do this. She quickly flipped around so she was on all fours, pointing her ass at him. With her legs spread out and her asshole showing, she looked back at him, her eyes telling him exactly what she’d allow him to do.

“It’s OK if I do that?” he asked, amazed at her permissiveness.

“Sure. I let men put their things in there all the time. Look at my poo-poo hole. Doesn’t it look used to you?”

“Well, I guess. So you’re really OK with it? It won’t hurt?”

“Sure, it’s fine with me. I want to please you, because you made me gooey four times tonight. You always make me gooey, and I want to give back.”

“Well, what will we use for lubricant?”

“Well, there’s lube in my purse, but I prefer using my goo.”


“Yeah, just smear my goo all over my poo-poo hole, and all the way inside. Then put your thing in. You know you want to, Patrick.”

“I love you,” he sighed. He lubed her ass with her come, smearing it all over the orifice and deep inside her rectum. Then he slowly, carefully slid his cock inside. Again, his sensitivity gave her incredible pleasure, and when he got all the way in and had been pumping for a few seconds, her vagina was already wet. She hadn’t even been fingering her clitoris: his anal stimulations were getting her very excited, and she had two anal orgasms during this ass-fuck.

He loved the tight feeling of her asshole: such a pretty thing that she’d been kind enough to indulge him with. Ever since he’d met her, she’d generously shown it to him, let him finger it inside and out, let him sniff and lick it, and now she was actually letting him fuck it! What an incredible girl.

After a few minutes of intense ass-fucking, she finally released him psychically, allowing him to come. Not wanting to soil her rectum, he pulled his cock out of her ass; she quickly turned around and knelt before him.

“Stand up, Patrick,” she said. “Get gooey on my face. Men like that.”

“OK,” he said, standing up on the bed. She held his cock in her hand, pointing it at her face, and squeezed it a few times. He splashed his come on her nose: she screamed with delight; he then came on her cheek–she giggled; after that, he sprayed in her right eye, and she screamed and giggled like a little girl getting hit with a water pistol. Finally, he shot a blast of come on her lips and chin.

They lay side by side on their backs, cuddling. As he slowly fell asleep, Patrick thought about his promise to his wife’s ghost to love Camilla as he should have loved her. Not wanting to be bothered by any incubi, Camilla set up thorough psychic barriers, and they both went to sleep.


Patrick woke up on Friday morning to the sweet sensations of Camilla’s lips and tongue on his hard-on. He looked down at the naked girl as her mouth went up and down on his cock.

“Oh, oh!” he moaned. “Are there…no end…to your talents?” he asked in sighs. “Ah!” He came in her mouth, and she swallowed it all, not missing a drop.

“I thought you’d like to wake up like that,” she said, giggling.

“You are…so considerate,” he panted, kissing her on the cheek.

They got out of bed, and he got dressed. She, always naked, went out to the bathroom to clean her mouth out with mouthwash.

He heard the doorbell ring, and went downstairs to get it. She also went downstairs and into the kitchen.

“You may want to go back upstairs and put your clothes on, Camilla,” he said. “Two friends of mine are coming in for a bit.”

She psychically sensed Patrick’s taste for Candaulism, and she also could feel how one of those two friends was handsome, forty-something, and well-endowed. “That’s OK, Patrick,” she said. “I don’t mind if they see me.”

“Oh, OK,” Patrick said with a mixture of uncertainty and titillation. “Come in, guys.”

The two men, the handsome one and a younger, corpulent one, went into the living room with Patrick. Nude Camilla came out of the kitchen to meet them, gleefully displaying herself. “Hi guys,” ‘Dolly’ said with a grin.

“Oh, my…God,” the two men said together, their eyes agape and their jaws dropping to the floor.

“How do I look?” she asked with a giggle, turning around for them and smiling at the handsome man. “My name’s Camilla.”

“Flawless,” the handsome man said. “I’m Gregg.” He held out his hand and she shook it. “More than pleased to meet you.”

“You are fuckin’ hot!” the fat man said. “I’m Dan. Show me your pussy!”

“Dan,” Patrick chided. “Behave. Enjoy what you get. No more.”

You’re not interested in me, she psychically told Dan, looking intensely in his eyes; Just ignore me.

Dan stared at his shoes for the rest of the visit; the others didn’t care.

“What brings you here?” Patrick asked Gregg.

“Just sayin’ hi,” Gregg said. “And returning your DVDs.” He smiled charismatically at her. “What brings this goddess here, Mr. Recently Widowed?”

“She’s helping me get over the pain,” Patrick said.

“I’m sure she is,” Gregg said. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Camilla, you have an incredibly beautiful body.”

“Why, thank you,” she said with another giggle. “Wanna see my goodies?”

“I’m aching to,” Gregg panted.

She, always smiling, sat on the coffee table and spread her legs out so Gregg could see her pussy. She opened her labia out wide so he could see inside. His mouth and eyes were as gaping as her cunt was.

Then she turned around and got on the coffee table on all fours, showing Gregg her asshole. She looked back at him, her eyes asking him how he liked the view.

“Breathtaking,” Gregg sighed. “And you use that pretty hole for pooping?

“Yep,” she said, laughing out loud. I’m a lap-dancer at Club Ritz, she psychically told Gregg; Come on over and see me sometime.

Patrick went over to speak privately to Gregg. “As I was saying,” Patrick whispered in Gregg’s ear, “I’m hoping she’ll replace Lisa, and I’ve been making a lot of progress, if you know what I mean. Enjoy the show, but don’t get your hopes up, buddy.”

Don’t you get your hopes up, buddy, Gregg thought.


That night at Club Ritz, Don Josiah dutifully arrived with the pistol and a box of bullets in a small gym bag. He sensed what she wanted to do with them; but he was confident that, psychically monitoring her with the utmost subtlety, he could make sure she wouldn’t succeed with her plans.

She went up to him in a crimson evening dress, high heels, and the usual harlot makeup. She knew he was starving for her charms, and she’d use that to her advantage.

“Hi, Don,” she said, hugging him. “Sorry, but what I told you before still goes: it isn’t working out between us.”

“What can I do to get you back?” he asked, with a tone of desperation in his voice. “I want to save you; then I can save myself.”

“Do you still desire me?” she asked, smirking lewdly.

“Absolutely,” he said, panting and still conflicted. “In body and soul.”

“You can’t have me. In fact, I don’t think I should even be giving you lap-dances. It’ll just make it harder for you to let me go.”

“Oh, come on. Please,” he begged. “Just one lap-dance, please?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“What can I do for just one lap-dance? Then I’ll never bother you again.”

“Well, there is one thing you can do.”

“What’s that?” he asked eagerly. Though he wanted to prevent her from doing what he sensed she would do, he was starving for the pleasure of even something as small as one lap-dance from the girl he’d been addicted to. “What do you want me to do?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you after the dance,” she said. “First promise.”

“Alright, I promise,” he panted, knowing full well the risk he was taking. “Whatever it is you want, I promise to do it for you.”

“OK,” she said with a grin, and took him by the hand, leading him into a private room. He sat on the sofa; a new song began, ‘Stripped’, by Rammstein. She swayed her hips slowly, turned around, and pushed her ass out at his face, shaking it mere centimetres from his nose.

It took all his strength to enjoy her beauty without succumbing to it. As much as he wanted to delight in her sensuality, he also didn’t want that pleasure to be a detriment to his spiritual progress; and he wanted to save her…from herself. He couldn’t let his lust distract him from his subtle plan of letting her think she’d fooled him, when he was in control all along.

Her dress came off, revealing her black lace underwear. She squeezed her breasts against the sides of his face, then took her bra off, wiggling her tits and slapping them against his cheeks. She turned around, pushed her buttocks against his face, then moved her ass from side to side, letting his face feel the material of her black lace panties sliding against it. She pulled her panties down to her ankles, took off her shoes, then pulled her feet out of her panties’ leg holes. She was now completely naked.

She opened her legs wide and bent over so he could see her pussy and asshole up close. She looked back at him, upside down from between her legs. She had that calm, Mona Lisa smile again, but he was no longer fooled by it. This ‘Eve before the Fall’, naked and not ashamed, was in no state of grace: she had terribly sinful thoughts swimming around in her brain, and he knew that. He saw all of her naked soul as well as all of her naked body: nothing was hidden.

Still, he wanted her.

She sat on his pointy lap, and started grinding aggressively on his hard cock. He smelled her fragrant hair, and fondled her large breasts. Then he put his hand down between her legs and began fingering her wet pussy, tickling her hard clitoris. They moaned in unison, an octave apart from each other.

His indulgence in his lust was half-real, half-acted, for he knew she was using Nigrovum to scan his mind for any plans to circumvent hers; he did have such plans, but he couldn’t allow himself to think about those circumventions at that moment. He could only play the role of horny King Herod to her scheming Salome.

She was hoping, by getting him extremely hot, to make him let his psychic guard down so she could know his real thoughts. Did he secretly know about her plan to kill Carrie? Was he going to try to use his own psychic powers to stop her? For good or ill, all she could sense was his burning lechery.

She rubbed her ass hard on his cock, more and more aggressively, while his fingers were tickling her clitoris and rubbing against her G-spot. He kissed her on her neck and shoulder, and she reached back and fondled his cock. Keeping his plans far back in the deep recesses of his mind, he thought only about how turned on he was…and gladly!

In their horniness, they decided to play a game with Nigrovum: they decided to synchronize their orgasms. Indeed, in a few more seconds of intense fingering, grinding, and fondling, they came at the same time.

The song ended, and and she cleaned him up as best she could in the shower area. “OK,” she said. “I gave you your dance; now, do me my favour.”

“Anything, Goddess,” he panted with a slavish, lustful obedience in his eyes and voice. “I’ll give you anything: jewellery, diamonds, anything. What do you want?”

“Give me that bag,” she said, looking intensely in his eyes and psychically prompting him to do so. In the weak-willed lasciviousness that he’d just plunged into, he seemed easy to manipulate.

“OK,” he panted acquiescently. “Take it.” He gave her the bag, and left, walking out of the strip joint in an almost mechanical manner.


When he got home, far away from her psychic ‘radar’, he thought about his desperate plan, and how risky, even foolhardy, it obviously was.

Giving her my gun! he thought; What stupidity! I must be as mad as she is, knowing what she plans to do with it! I can’t even say what she’ll do, it’s so horrible, so insane. Still, if I hadn’t given her my gun, she’d have just thought up some other plan to kill Carrie. Maybe she’d have bought another gun: if she uses my gun, it’ll be easier to monitor her psychically than if she uses a gun I don’t know about. If she plans to kill Carrie another way, it’ll be harder for me to monitor her plans, not knowing what she wants to do. At least this way, I know what she’s going to do, and I can psychically monitor her better. I must tell Agape and Carrie, though telling them will get them so worried, and I’d hate to get that sweet woman scared. I hope Camilla doesn’t psychically scan the bullets I gave her, and find out they’re blanks! If she finds out, and buys real bullets, I can psychically turn them into blanks at the last minute, when she goes to shoot Carrie. I’ll psychically monitor Camilla 24/7, alerting myself when she takes the gun to shoot Carrie; I’ll even set up a psychic ‘alarm clock’ in my mind to alert me if Camilla wants to kill Carrie when I’m sleeping. If my plan succeeds, Oh, God, make it succeed! I can let Agape know in time; he will stop her with his own psychic powers, and she’ll be given the help she needs, committed in an insane asylum if necessary. Please, Camilla, don’t find out about the blanks!

July 2018
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