At 6:30 on Saturday evening, Camilla sat at a table in
Club Ritz
, waiting for Marcel to arrive. Candice was giving someone lap dances, so Camilla was alone, free to contemplate her current sexual situation.
Unlike her first fuck with Agape, Friday night was much more successful: those dirty old towels had absorbed all of her come, and he didn't get any on himself. She remembered her conversation with him on Saturday morning vividly:
"Did Carrie come over last night, Camilla?" he asked when his daughter came into the kitchen and kissed him on the cheek.
"No, Daddy," she said, starting to prepare coffees for both of them.
"Well, when we were partying, I would have sworn I'd made love with her in the living room," he said.
"No, Daddy, that couldn't have happened," she said. "I was with you the whole time. You must have passed out and dreamed the whole thing."
"I guess," he said, with a confused look in his eyes. "Funny thing: she had the body of a twenty-year old."
"If you saw that, then you were definitely dreaming," she lied.
She hated having to lie to her father, but if she'd said his girlfriend
had
come over, he may have asked her about it later, and she would have denied coming over; thus making him realize his daughter had lied to him in a much more incriminating way. So Camilla had covered all of her tracks--her father hadn't the slightest suspicion she'd made him commit incest with her.
Her body tingled with pleasure from knowing she'd successfully made love with Agape, an extra pleasure she correctly sensed was Nigrovum aiding her delight. These upbeat feelings encouraged her, knowing what Dr. Singh had told her about the dangers of fear, depression, and despair. She sensed that he was right about those deadly emotions, for whenever she felt low, something seemed to weigh her down further...this had to be Nigrovum adding to her gloom. Whenever she felt distressed, as when she first realized she'd had sex with her father, her body shook with an agitation that made her almost topple over, as though she were standing where an earthquake was hitting. Again, she figured this was probably Nigrovum adding to her anxieties. She'd have to e-mail Dr. Singh and ask him about these feelings she'd been recently having.
One thing she'd forgotten to do on Friday night was set up the psychic barriers; her dreams weren't nearly as bad as they could have been, though. Three new incubi enjoyed her in a gang-bang: Miles Holland, Dr. Davis, and M. Larre! They were, respectively, fucking her mouth, her pussy, and her ass.
She pulled Miles's cock out of her mouth. "You all died?" she asked, then started licking the underside of his cock.
"Yes, unfortunately," he sighed. "It...wasn't your fault; it was...the bitch's.
Oh!
"
"Still, sorry," she said between licks.
Had Agape come into her bedroom at that time, he'd have sworn his daughter, lying on her bed with her flickering tongue out, was doing an impression of Linda Blair in the climactic scene of
the Exorcist.
"I...don't blame...you either," said Dr. Davis as he pumped his cock in and out of her cunt. "Some...mafia scumbag took...me out.
Unh!
Knowing what...my wife was doing...with that marine, I kinda lost...my will to live, anyway."
"Oh, no," she said, then took Miles's cock back in her mouth.
Someone watching the dream would have seen a poking bulge in dreaming Camilla's right cheek.
"Me, I did...too much speedball," Larre said as his cock probed her asshole. "I was depressed about...the future of...my business. I wanted to...get high to...cheer up.
Ah!
"
Again, anyone in her bedroom watching her would have seen her pussy and asshole gaping, with the vibrating movements of invisible cocks going in and out of her.
"We're not...mad at you," moaned Miles. "We just...wanna fuck you...to cheer up...down here...in hell."
She pulled his cock out of her mouth with a popping sound. "Hell?" she asked.
"There's that little bitch!" Collette shouted as she approached them; but the four lovers used their combined psychic power to throw the ghost of Camilla's angry mother far away. The fucking continued.
Though Camilla was sad to know these three men had died, she found it pleasant to know that not all of those ghosts were malevolent. In fact, when she'd woken up from her very wet dream, she cheerfully replaced her come-soaked bedsheets, and considered not setting up psychic barriers for those nights when she hadn't found a lover. Those dream-fucks were fantastic, in more than just the literal sense. She just had to keep the bad ghosts away.
She looked over at the front door to the strip joint, and just then, she saw a tall man walk in. She instantly recognized him as Marcel: he wore a light orange dress shirt and black pants. Remembering the Facebook photos of her that he especially liked, she wore the jean shorts and light green sleeveless top she'd had on in the photo he'd commented on, saying, 'Sweetie-pie!' This reaction of his made her correctly sense that his fantasy girl was essentially like her shy, submissive 'Angel' persona--the one Mr. Grisham liked, only with more girlie giggling. Seeing him approach her table, she immediately went into character.
"Camilla?" Marcel asked.
"Marcel!
Bonsoir!
" she said in a gleeful, high-pitched voice. She got up and hugged him. With her head level with his chest, she looked up at him and said, "You're so tall and I'm so short." Then she giggled like a little girl.
Looking down at the pretty girl in an affectedly avuncular attitude, he said, "Yes, you're just a little baby, aren't you?"
"Mm-hmm," she said, still hugging him, doing a sexy pout, and looking up at him with glowing, childlike eyes. "Hey, let's go into a private room so I can give you free lap dances."
"OK," he said. She took him by the hand and led him into a private room. He sat on a couch, and she sat on his lap. "You're wearing the outfit you had on in my favourite pictures of you."
"Yeah," she said, 'shyly' giggling. "I still remember your reaction to a picture my friend, Candice, took of my bum; I was in these shorts, and I stuck my bum out at her camera."
"I remember that one. I said, 'Callipygian!'"
"That's what I like about you, Marcel: your comments are so much smarter than what most guys say--like, 'ooh, baby, nice ass, I wanna bite it!' You don't say things like that. You're sophisticated; you have class."
"Merci, chérie."
"De rien.
Speaking of my bum, wanna see it? I wanna get naked for you." She got up and unzipped her shorts.
"I'd love that," he said, smiling as he saw her shorts fall down to her feet. He ogled her white panties as she pulled off her top with a wiggle of her breasts. "What I like about you is your warmth and friendliness on Facebook. When a man my age gives compliments to pretty girls your age on the internet, they usually react with rude hostility." Now she was dancing around in only her shoes and panties, with her hand down in front, fingering her clitoris. "Now, many men are rude enough to the girls to deserve rudeness back, but not all of us do. You're different: you actually encourage me, you naughty girl."
"That's 'cause I think men your age are sexy," she said as she pulled down her panties.
"You shaved," he said, admiring her hairless
mons veneris
.
"D'you like it?" she asked, pulling her feet out the leg holes of her panties. "If you don't, I can grow it all back, faster than you can imagine, believe me."
"Oh, no, no, no; I like it. It's beautiful."
"Thanks." She kicked off her high heels. Raising her arms up in the air and swaying her hips in a proud display of her frontal nudity, she said,
"Me voila, en fleche."
"Oui, ma belle."
"And here's my bare bum." She turned around for him and stuck her ass out at his face as she had in the photo Candice had taken of her.
"Callipygian."
She giggled her thanks. "Wanna touch?"
"How much of you am I allowed to touch in here?"
"
