Camilla Ch 96

37-year-old Camilla was reliving, in another out-of-body vision, a memory twelve years before the incubus gang-bang ordeal her naked body was still suffering in the public aquarium in Montreal, an ordeal that was now beginning its second week.

In this memory vision,

Camilla was twenty-five at the time, but looking twenty-one because of Nigrovum's slowing of her ageing process. She, in her 'Goth' look, went into her six-year-old son's bedroom on Sunday afternoon in late September. She was shocked to see how he was dressed. He was in a pink dress and girls' black shoes, and he had clumsily applied her makeup all over his face!

"Eros!" she yelled. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"You like boys dressed like girls," Eros said. "And I wanted to please you."

Remembering her sexual meaning whenever she spoke of 'wanting to please' someone, and psychically knowing he had the same meaning, Camilla felt a chill from the sound of his words.

"Baby," she asked, "you used your power to make Emily buy those clothes for you, didn't you?"

"Yes," he said, looking down at the floor in shame.

Kneeling before him, she said, "OK, sweetie, get out of those clothes."

"But Mommy, I thought you'd like this."

"Not on my son. You're dressing like a boy, and

only

like a boy." She used a cloth to wipe the makeup off his face while he reluctantly took off the dress. He was even wearing girls' panties! "Oh, Eros! That's disgusting!"

He began sobbing. "B-but, those men you like w-wear girls' underwear."

She held his cheeks in her hands and looked in his eyes. "Baby, mothers and sons cannot be lovers. People in families can't be boyfriends and girlfriends."

"Why not, Mommy?"

Remembering her tragedy with her father, she looked away from Eros, and fighting back tears, answered, "Because that kind of love leads to t-terrible things." She looked back in his tear-filled eyes, and psychically began putting him into what psychoanalysts call the latency period, effectively ending his Oedipus complex...at least for the time being. She aimed her eyes straight at the boy's, and said,

"You will stop thinking about loving me, now."

"I will stop thinking about loving you, now,"

he said obediently, in a trance.

"You'll stop thinking about love,"

she said.

"I'll stop thinking about love."

"You'll stay uninterested in love and sex until you're a teenager."

"I'll stay uninterested in love and sex until I'm a teenager."

"And when you are interested in love again, you'll want

other

girls, not me."

"And when I am interested in love again, I'll want

other

girls, not you."

"Good boy," she said, then finished removing the makeup and changing him back into boy's clothes. She left him to play with his toys, then went into her bedroom.

She sat on her bed.

Poor Danny and Brian,

she thought;

both of them died earlier this year, because my Nigrovum drove them crazy. All of this craziness is my fault. It's all got to stop. Way too many people have died. If Eros dies from it, too, I won't be able to bear it; I'm amazed I've been able to go on after losing both Candice and Daddy. I must put an end to my sexual promiscuity; but sex just gets more and more addictive, with every new lover I have.

Between all my sexual conquests and my graduate research, I'm completely neglectful of Eros,

Camilla continued in her remorseful meditation.

I have my MA, and I'm beginning work on my PhD thesis, but surely by now, at twenty-five, I've finished sowing my wild oats. Eros has no father, but he needs one. And it's high time I got a husband.

A father will discipline my boy,

she went on in her thoughts;

identification with a father figure should end his Oedipus complex for good. The obligation to be a good wife and family woman should discipline me, and help me calm my nymphomania down. At least I have to try to calm it down. Maybe if I mediate on spiritual things, as Ravinder used to advise me to do, I can get Nigrovum to help clean the slut out of me.

The man I choose will have to be great in bed,

she thought.

He'll have to keep me satisfied, so I won't cheat on him. He'll have to have a lot of Daddy's personality, as well as the physicality of Danny, Sean, and those other sexy boys I've enjoyed over the years. I'll put out psychic feelers all over the York campus tomorrow; then when I've made a choice, I'll reel him in. He'll see me nude in

Club Ritz

, he won't be able to resist me, and we'll get married.

*************

The man she chose was a professor who'd taught her when she was working on her MA: Dr. Cameron Fox, a tall, thin, and handsome man in his late forties. He seemed perfect--smart and gentle, like Agape, but with the shy boyishness of all her former 'priests'. She also knew, from a psychic scan of his thoughts, that he'd never married.

In

Club Ritz

the next Friday night, she sent a psychic signal out to him.

Dr. Fox,

she mentally told him while he was sitting at home, reading a book.

Come to me. See my body; you'll never forget it.

He felt inexplicably compelled to put his book down, get his car keys, and go out to his car. As he was driving out of his neighbourhood, he felt her psychic voice pulling her in the direction of her strip joint. He didn't know where he was driving, but he was going down all the right streets to get there, thanks to her psychic magnetism.

Dr. Fox, come see me naked; you'll love what you see.

In about twenty minutes, he'd arrived.

She'd psychically changed back to her original blonde, blue-eyed, peach-skinned look; she was wearing high heels and a black evening gown that hugged her body so as accurately to show off her curves. Her face was heavily made up, as usual, with bright red lipstick. As soon as she saw him walking around in the bar like an automaton, she rushed up to meet him.

"Dr. Fox! Hi!" she said in feigned surprise and a wide grin. In her uninhibited 'Kitty' persona, she threw her arms tightly around his waist.

"Hi," he said shyly, startled by her forwardness. "Wait: you're Camilla Mennon, aren't you?"

"Yep," she said, still hugging him, and rubbing her belly against the growing protrusion in his pants. "So good to see you here. How are you?"

"Oh, fine," he said, embarrassed at how his erection was poking into her thigh. "I normally n-never come to places like this, but something--I don't know what--somehow lured me here."

"I know what: you came to see

me

." She looked up at him with a Siren-like gaze.

He chuckled bashfully at her answer. "Yeah, perhaps."

"I'm going onstage soon. Come up to perverts' row and watch me."

"Oh, uh, I'd feel too embarrassed."

"Why? Don't you find me attractive?" She pouted.

"Oh, no," he said. "Quite the opposite. You look lovely and elegant in that dress. An absolute lady. I j-just think watching you strip would tarnish that divine image of you."

"Or make it sexier. Come on: I want you to see everything up close, in detail." She took him by the arm and led him to the tip rail, where he reluctantly sat, embarrassed at being associated with oglers.

She went onstage, moving to the beat of 'Boogie Nights', by Heatwave. By the time the synth melody began playing in the middle of the song, she'd unzipped her dress at the back and let it fall to the floor, revealing her white bra and panties. He blushed, but was totally entranced with this paradoxical tramp of a lady.

Her second song was 'September', by Earth, Wind, and Fire. At the first moment when Philip Bailey's high falsetto was heard, Camilla took off her bra, wiggling her breasts with agape eyes and a wide-open mouth, mirroring the reaction on Dr. Fox's face. As the song was fading out, she pulled down her panties, blithely standing frontally nude before him with a smile on her face.

After taking off her black high heels, her third song began: 'Les Fleurs', by Minnie Riperton. She crawled around with her legs spread out and her butt pushed out, so her beige, wrinkled asshole and pink pussy were in clear view of Dr. Fox's rapt eyes. It was hard for him to reconcile the intelligent grad student he'd taught the preceding year, so enchanting in that dress she'd had on not even fifteen minutes before, with the naked trollop who was so joyfully showing off the crudest parts of her anatomy to him. All the same, that irreconcilable juxtaposition also thrilled him, for those two opposing elements were equally desirable to him in a woman.

He'd been most impressed with her as a student in his class; she was one of the brightest he'd had the pleasure of teaching. He'd always found her attractive, with that hypnotically pretty mouth--so deliciously adorned with cherry red lipstick; but he couldn't imagine, in a million years, her ever feeling the same way about him. He'd also never expected to see the other end of her alimentary canal, or any of the rest of her so coveted body, so insouciantly exposed. Indeed, those two flowers, her vulva and anus, were being so generously displayed before his fascinated eyes that he was about to start counting the folds in her skin when the song finally ended. She got off the stage, taking her clothes with her; and he just sat there, stunned, before getting up and sitting at a table at the side of the bar several minutes later.

She hadn't gone with him to his table because she'd promised, before going onstage, to give lap dances to another customer in a private room. As she rubbed her ass against the man's hard-on, she psychically monitored Fox, to make sure he was still in the bar.

Three songs later, she left the private room and looked for her former teacher, who was still sitting at his table with a stunned look on his face.

"Hi sir," she said in her 'Kitty' voice when she reached his table. "Want some table dances?"

"Oh, uh, sure," he said timidly, fearing more embarrassment from her so carefree exhibitionism, but not wanting to be rude and reject her, either. Besides, deep down, he craved another look at her sweet body. "How is it that such an intelligent young woman like yourself can be content to work in a place like this?"

"Two reasons," she said. "The money I make is astronomically abundant, and I like it when the men I find attractive know what I look like naked."

"But what if you have to get naked for men you don't like?"

"I have ways of making such men stay away from me. Believe me, that's not a problem."

"So the men you strip for, do you usually sleep with them?"

"It's been that way for me in the past," she said, "but now I'm thinking about finding Mr. Right, actually."

"Oh? And how do you hope to do that in a place like this, with so many leering pigs?" he asked.

"I got you here, didn't I?" She grinned wickedly, as if confessing her sorcery with her eyes.

His jaw dropped. "I felt s-strangely compelled to come here. Was that somehow your doing? Some kind of witchcraft?"

"No," she lied. "Let's just say you were controlled by a power much too mysterious to comprehend."

"Fate?"

"Maybe."

A new song began, and she got up, swaying her hips to the music. Sensing that he liked seeing her in her dress, she left it on for the first thirty seconds of the song before unzipping herself at the back.

"You are really beautiful," he said.

"Thank you, sir," she said. "Speaking of beautiful,..." She pulled her dress down to her feet. He was delighted and surprised to see that when her dress came off, she was nude, for she hadn't bothered to put her underwear back on after leaving the stage. Those large breasts, and that pretty brown pubic hair, were gloriously on display.

She sat on her chair, facing him, and brought her feet up. She was reaching over to take off her shoes.

"Oh, no!" the high heel fetishist said. "Please, leave them on. Your feet look more beautiful that way."

"OK," she said, then spread her legs out wide. He was as amazed by the casual look on her face as he was by her blatant display of her pussy. Indeed, he coveted her seeming self-confidence as much as he did her body.

Then she got up, turned around, spread her legs out wide, and bent over. Again, she looked back at him, upside-down from between her legs, with a perfectly content expression as the earthy beauty of her caramel asshole and strawberry eclair pussy were showing, just inches from his mesmerized face. The timid man could not understand her lack of inhibition, but it excited fantasies in him that he had stored away deep inside his mind.

Several more table dances went by, with her occasionally grinding on his hard-on, to confirm her psychic calculation that his cock was a thick seven inches.

At the end of his fourth table dance, she rested a while, since he wanted to cool off his embarrassing lechery and just talk to her. The sensitive man wanted her to know he respected her, in spite of her job, and in spite of his hunger for her.

"Is it OK if I take off my shoes for a minute, sir?" she asked. "My feet hurt."

"Of course," he said.

Taking off her shoes, she said, "I know you like me better with my shoes on, and I want to please you, but my feet are killing me. I may have blisters." She put her sore feet on his pointy lap. "Could you rub 'em for me, please?"

"I'd love to," he said, gently massaging away.

She didn't have blisters, but there was chafing. "Here," she said, spreading her legs as he rubbed. "I'll let you see my pussy for free, as a thank-you for soothing my feet." He blushed, and tried to look furtively at her cunt while seeming to look only at her feet. She used Nigrovum to make the chafing go away within seconds, but she allowed him to continue rubbing, since she knew he was enjoying it.

"I'm going to have to go now," he said with the most sincere of reluctance. "I have some things to do at home tonight."

"OK," she said, pulling her feet down and putting her shoes back on. "I'll see you in York soon."

"Yeah," he said, getting up and beginning to walk away. "Bye."

"Oh, wait, she said, getting up and, still naked, following him towards the front door of the strip joint. "I'll walk you out."

"Oh? Don't you want to put your dress back on first?" He had his hand on the door.

"No, that's OK. People see me naked all the time. I want to please you by letting you see my body for a longer time."

"Oh, OK." He opened the door with a mixture of nervousness and excitement. She followed him out onto the sidewalk. He watched the cars go by, hoping he wouldn't see a police car.

She turned around for him. "OK, sir, get one last good look at me."

"Oh, please, call me Cameron." He blushed as he looked up and down at her soft, peach-coloured buttocks. Some people passing by were taking out their cell-phones and getting pictures of her.

"But sir," she said, spreading her legs and bending over so he could see her asshole and pussy again. "It doesn't feel right, me calling you by your first name. As my teacher, you're my superior; I should show you the proper respect."

"Oh, no," he said, his face turning from red to purple, and hoping no one he knew saw him with her. "I'm n-not superior to anyone; I'm barely anyone's equal. Please, just call me Cameron. It would make me feel m-much better."

"OK, I'll do whatever you want--Cameron." She spread her labia and anus wide open for him.

"I'd better go, as m-much as I don't want to." He couldn't cease to be amazed at her boundless security with her body.

"OK, did you get a good look?"

"A most complete look. You're absolutely flawless, Camilla. Good-night." He walked away, looking back furtively at her body.

"Bye," she said, then straightened up and casually went back into the strip joint.

*****************

The following week, blonde Camilla saw Dr. Fox walking along the York campus towards the building where his office was. She, in a tight pink T-shirt and jeans, ran up to him.

"HI sir--I mean, Cameron," she said in her 'Kitty' voice.

"Oh, hi," he said, smiling and genuinely delighted to see her.

"Going to your office?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," he said.

"Can I come with you?"

"Sure."

Right after they got in his office and she closed and locked the door, she undid her jeans button and began unzipping herself.

"W-wait a minute," he said, sitting at his desk. "Maybe you shouldn't do that here."

"I locked the door, sir," she said, pulling down her jeans and showing off her light green panties. "We won't get in any trouble." She then began taking off her runners and socks.

"Maybe not," he said, remembering old rumours about a girl--sometimes blonds, sometimes black-haired--seducing York profs right on the campus and in their offices. Since he'd seen her with her black-haired 'Goth' look in his classes the previous year, he was getting nervous. "Maybe no one will know, but frankly, I'll still feel uncomfortable."

"Why?" she asked, pulling off her T-shirt and revealing her light green bra. "You've already seen everything, and if I'm not uncomfortable with it, neither should you be." She sensed, nonetheless, that he knew she was the rumoured York slut. "OK, I won't take any more off. Look, men like it when girls take their clothes off, and I just want to please you." She sat on his lap, delighted with the bulge pushing up from his crotch.

"You know, you're a very wicked young lady."

"Well, I won't be a bad girl if you don't want me to be," she said, switching from her 'Kitty' persona to her shy, insecure 'Angel' persona.

"Well, I do want you to be bad...and at the same time, I don't."

"I'll do whatever you want me to do," she said.

"Why do you want to do whatever I want?" he asked.

"Oh, I-I don't know. I just want you to like me." She shyly frowned.

"Why is that so important to you?"

"Look, I'm a bad girl, but I wanna change, and be good. I've done a lot of bad stuff in my life, and I wanna change...and redeem myself." She, as 'Angel', began softly sobbing on his shoulder.

"You're that naughty girl on campus everyone talks about, aren't you? Sometimes blonde, sometimes black-haired, causing scandals with all the profs."

"Yeah, but I'll stop being bad...for you." She looked in his eyes almost fearfully, hoping he would see the sincerity on her face.

Now seeing the insecure girl underneath the uninhibited one he'd been so awed by, he felt all the more drawn to her. He could see the human being behind the goddess. "Oh, OK. Don't cry. I'll give you a chance to change."