Monday was Labor Day, Camilla's last day of summer vacation before beginning university. That morning around 11 AM, she and Candice woke up with a blanket over them to cover up their nakedness; obviously Agape, who was in the kitchen, had woken up earlier, gone down into the living room, and seen the naked girls sleeping there on the floor; he then put a blanket over them.
"I'll bet your dad was more than surprised to see us like this," Candice said as she reached for her dress.
"I'll bet he's thinking about other things right now," Camilla said, remembering how she almost committed incest with him the night before; then she put on her clothes.
"About what happened last night between you and him," Candice said. "I'm..."
"I don't wanna talk about it," Camilla said in visible agitation.
I need distractions from Daddy, she thought; I need men...
lots
of men.
When they finished getting dressed, they went into the kitchen. Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in front of him, Agape was clearly hungover and in terrible pain. Camilla simply touched him on the shoulder and Nigrovum did the rest: within seconds, he felt much better.
"What the hell?" he asked. "My hangover just died suddenly. If I didn't know better, I'd swear your touching me on the shoulder made me better."
"We have friends in high places," Camilla said. "Comes from our Catholic faith, you know." The girls sat down with him.
"Whatever," he said. "What happened last night? These parties of ours just get wilder and wilder, and more and more surreal. Was it all a dream, or was it real? I can't tell."
"We were all really high, Mr. Mennon," Candice said. "You could have been hallucinating."
"Could be," he said. "Was Carrie here? She sure seemed to be."
"No," Camilla said. "You must have been hallucinating, or dreaming."
"What I remember of what happened," he said, "I sure hope it was all a dream."
I wish it had been all a dream, Camilla thought.
******************
It was a rainy afternoon, Candice had unhappily gone back to her apartment, and Camilla sat in her bedroom, depressed by the weather she saw out her window, and troubled by what she'd almost done with her father the night before. To take her mind off her worries, she got out her lap-top and got on Facebook, eager to know what Marcel thought of her porn website. She sure found out.
She and Marcel were instant messaging each other. She was as wet as he was hard.
"Do my pictures please you, Marcel?" she typed.
"Oh, sweetie: I'm enjoying some of them right now," he typed. "Your body is even more beautiful than I could have imagined."
She typed, "LOL". Naked, she was masturbating on her bed.
"Are you on camillacome.com now?"
"Yes," she typed. "What are your favourite categories?"
"'Ass', 'Public', and 'Peeing' for your pictures. I've seen and love all the videos, except for the BDSM ones: I can't bear to see you getting hurt. POV is so wonderful--I can fantasize that I'm making love with you, sweetheart." At his chair, he was masturbating, too.
"LOL."
"I didn't reply to you until now because I wanted to see absolutely everything first," he typed. "I wanted to know your lovely body as well as you do: now I know it thoroughly."
"LOL. Name your favourite gallery so I can see what you enjoyed seeing." Her pussy was soaking from her fingering.
"In the 'Ass' category, there's a gallery called, 'Wicked Weekend'. Click on that one; I'm looking at it now."
"OK, just a minute. I have only one free hand. You know what my other hand's doing."
"My 'other hand' is doing the same thing, sweetie."
"LOL," she typed. "I'm on it: 'Wicked Weekend'. Which are your favourite pictures?"
15.jpeg, 17.jpeg, and 18.jpeg."
She looked at all three pictures, and giggled in excitement at what she saw: pictures of her by a backyard swimming pool on the grass. In the first, she was standing and bent over; in the second, she was on all fours; and in the third, she was kneeling while spreading her buttocks wide open with her hands--all three pictures showcased her pink pussy and pretty brown anus. "Marcel, do you want to put your thing in my bum?" she typed.
"Yes," he typed. "Also, my lips and tongue."
"You want to put them in my pussy too, though, right?"
"Of course, as well as in your pretty mouth, and my manhood between your titanic tits."
"LOL."
"I worship every inch of you," he typed.
"What's your favourite POV video?"
"It's in the 'Peeing' category; there's one called 'When You Gotta Go, Go on Me.'"
"LOL," she typed, then clicked on the video. When clicking
PLAY, you see naked Camilla squatting over 'you', looking sensually into 'your' eyes, and pissing all over 'your' chest and neck. "You' look down and see the line of golden juice spraying out from her urethra, and her hand has her pussy spread wide open so 'you' can see everything. When she's finishing, she squirts a few more short splashes out, making a high-pitched yelp with each squirt. 'You' say
thank you
to her, get some toilet paper, and wipe her pussy dry. Then she thanks you.
THE END
.
"So, you want me to give you a golden shower?" she typed.
"Oh, yes, my goddess," he typed.
"LOL."
"Are you still touching yourself?"
"Oh, yes, my god: I'm almost there; please type something sexy."
"I'd love to make you lactate when sucking on your creamy breasts," he typed. "I'm sure your milk is the sweetest. Then I'd lick your pretty vulva till you came, and lick away all the sweet nectar there, for your whole body is candy."
A brief pause, then she typed, "Oh, my God! I came: thank you, Marcel."
"My pleasure."
"Have you come yet?"
"Almost: say something sexy, my goddess."
"I want you to shoot your come all over my face; then I'll wipe it off with my fingers and suck them dry, as I wish I was doing to your big cock right now."
Another brief pause. "I came.
Merci
."
"
De rien
. Let's do cyber-sex again...soon."
*************
That night, Camilla had come home from
Club Ritz
early, since it was another disappointingly slow night and she lacked a lover. At the same time, she was almost glad she didn't have a new lover, for she was worried about whether Nigrovum was a blessing or a curse. Why hadn't Dr. Davis or Mr. Holland shown up? She'd sent out psychic signals for them to come, and that usually worked, but not this time. She didn't send out any for Father Josiah, for she was feeling a little guilty about fucking him. Indeed, guilt was the dominant mood of that whole night for her.
So guilty did she feel that not only did she set up particularly strong psychic barriers to protect all of her living lovers, as well as Agape and Davis' wife, but she also did something she hadn't done since just after her escape from that Satanic mansion by Grouse Mountain, in the Vancouver area: she prayed for spiritual help.
God,
she prayed,
though I doubt so much of what the Church teaches about You, I do believe in You, and I need Your help. I'm so confused. I don't want to hurt anybody, but I know I have. People have died because of me. I don't want that to happen anymore. I believe You gave me this power: please help me to use it well. All I want to do is please people, to make them feel good. If You don't help everybody I fuck, at least help those I care about the most: take care of Candice--make her give up the drugs; don't let Mrs. Holland's ghost hurt Miles; keep Davis and his wife together, even though I fuck him sometimes; help Father Josiah to stay a good Christian, in spite of how I tempt him; help Dr. Singh to understand Nigrovum better; and most of all, keep my Daddy well. He's such a beautiful man...all of him. Save me from myself, God:
don't let me commit incest with my Dad!
O, God, I think I'm going crazy. Don't let Nigrovum drive me mad the way it did Mr. Baker and Leroy. Please help me.
[Doing the Sign of the Cross]
In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.
*************
At last, her first day of university had come! She woke up on Tuesday morning after having had a most pleasant sleep: this encouraged her to think that God was really going to help her. Indeed, there were no disturbances from any incubi the night before, and she'd had delightful dreams about loving her father in a purely innocent way.
This encouragement made it feel safe for her to be slutty again, so she decided to put on a school-girl kind of outfit: a white blouse, plaid miniskirt, black shoes, and white socks. Though there was no uniform she needed to wear, she knew many men thought her dressing like that would look sexy, and she always wanted to please the men she liked...
teachers!
She briskly walked along the York campus that morning, eager to get to her first class, a Comparative Literature course--Introduction to Erotic Literature. She hurried into the classroom, and sat at the front row of desks, next to a handsome, black-haired man in his early fifties. He had streaks of grey hair that gave him an aura of sophistication: though she certainly liked that, she hoped her professor would have exponentially more of such a sexy aura. Her mature classmate was certainly delighted to have such a pretty girl sit next to him; she had no problem encouraging his lust, but was hoping her prof be even worthier of having his lust encouraged.
He came into the classroom, and she wasn't disappointed with what she saw. The professor was in his late forties, a good-looking brunet who also had some distinguished grey mixed in. He wore a navy blue suit and tie, a choice of clothes that gave Camilla a pleasant reminder of how Dr. Davis dressed. The professor got up to the podium and began speaking to all the students.
"Good morning, everyone. I am Dr. Lawson; this will be our first lecture on erotic literature."
"My God," she said, her heartbeat already accelerating. "He's a
doctor
?"
"Of course," the man next to her said. "All university teachers are called
doctor
. Professors have PhDs:
