The Palmist Ch 03

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Everyone in this story is at least 19 years of age. Everyone.

*****

By the end of the second run my dick was fully hard, and I noticed a little spot on the front of my pants from pre-cum soaking through. As I was no longer surprised by the recreated events, or the actors' words, I found the second viewing more arousing. Lila had said I could watch it as many times as I wanted, so I started it a third time. At certain points I paused it, to gaze upon the Katrina actress longer. I couldn't resist bringing my palm down to my crotch to rub my dick through my pants, and at some point I came very close to cumming. Presumably Lila's ban on ejaculation had expired, since this was my first "session", but of course I didn't want to cum right there in the little room, certainly not all in my pants.

So I stopped, and got up from the chair. After pacing around the room a little, and considering whether to watch the video some more, I thought: Well, this is pathetic. This video relives some of the story of my heartbreak, and I *know* the goddam story. So I why am I sitting in here getting so aroused by it? It's time to go out and talk to Lila.

In the front room, Lila had me bring over one of the stools from her consultation area, and sit on it, facing her, as she sat in a very plush-looking antique high-backed chair. Her eyes were above mine, and mine were approximately aligned with her breasts. Needless to say, she smirked, looking very imperious as she sat before me.

"I'll need to prepare for your second session, David, and that will again require a week or two. And during that time, every night in bed, you will continue to think about those 5 subjects I gave you before. And you will not masturbate or cum during that time..."

I groaned, and was very tempted to bolt upright from my stool to object.

But she quickly added, "You'll cum tonight, though. Do you work tonight?"

"No."

"'No, ma'am'."

"Oh, uh.. no, ma'am."

"The tent and air mattress you used that night when you camped... Were those yours? Do you have those?"

"Yes."

"Good. OK, then, tonight at 10:00, I want you to go in your bedroom, and set up that tent inside it. Obviously you won't need to stake it down or anything. Put the air mattress in it, and pump it up. Then place a pillow on it. You're going to pretend that pillow is Katrina. You're going to drape a blanket over it, and then slide your head under the blanket. Your legs should hang off the end, so your crotch is right at the end of the mattress, just like it was that night. You're going to imagine Katrina saying, 'I want you to taste my pussy, David.' Then you're going to use the pillow to pretend you're licking Katrina's pussy. You're going to relive that night in the tent, except now you're going to imagine how pleased Katrina is that you are cleaning up her pussy, cleaning out all the cum left by that hot guy she fucked earlier. You're going to think about how happy she is that you're doing that, and think about how much you love her and want to please her.

"And you're going to do that until you cum in your underwear, humping yourself against the mattress. And when you cum, you're going to say, 'I love you, Katrina. I love you, Katrina.' Say it again and again, until you finish cumming. Don't touch yourself as you're cumming. Just keep pretending that you're licking her, and saying 'I love you, Katrina' right into her pussy."

I sniveled as I thought about how humiliating this would be, and I cast my eyes to the side a time or two, looking away from Lila.

Then Lila said, "You still love her, David. Do you not?"

I sighed. "Yes. I do."

"So then there's no point in denying it, and there's nothing wrong with imagining you telling her so."

"Well... yeah, but I mean... I wouldn't tell her so while ... you know..."

"Licking her new man's cum from her pussy?"

"Yeah!"

"Yes, you would."

"I would??" I asked, in challenge.

Lila just nodded, and smirked. I sniveled, and thought, Like hell I would.

Then Lila said, "Like I said, start at 10:00 tonight. I'll expect you to call me by 11. Call me right afterward, from the tent, before you take off your cummy underwear. When we speak tonight, I expect you to have just finished. Understand?"

"Yes. Yes, ma'am, I mean."

"Good boy. Bye, David." She sounded just like the Katrina actress when she said that, and it startled me.

"Um... Bye, ma'am." I rose to leave.

That night I followed Lila's instructions, and called her from the tent set up in my bedroom, having just performed cunnilingus on a pillow, and with over two weeks' worth of gooey cum saturating my underwear. She answered and said, "Hello, David."

"Hello... ma'am."

"How do you feel?"

"Well... to be honest ... I feel ... really ... bummed. And ... ashamed ... and silly."

"Good."

I sniveled. "Good?"

"Mm hm."

"How is it good?"

"Well, I mean... don't you think you *should* feel ashamed, and silly? I mean ... what kind of a man goes down on a pillow, pretends he's eating another man's cum from his ex-girlfriend's pussy, and then tells her he loves her as he's cumming? Hahaha. I mean..."

"Well, exactly!" I heard her continue to chuckle, and I said, "I don't understand this ... this therapy, or whatever you call it."

"I know, hun. I know you don't. But Lila does. You trust Lila, right?"

"Well ... I mean ... I want to, but-"

"Do you want to know why a counselor-type therapist won't work for someone like you, hun?"

"Why?"

"Because they wouldn't subject you to this kind of experience, where you linger on the pain of what happened to you. Do you feel a little like Lila is rubbing your nose in it?"

"Yes!"

"A therapist wouldn't do that to you, but Lila knows you need it to get across that gap we talked about. This is the path along your fate line, to get moving again along your heart line. I know this because I know palmistry, but a therapist doesn't read palms and just doesn't know this. They do their best with the expertise they have, but they are missing crucial information. So they will try to get you back on your heart line too early, and in ways that don't work. They'd try and build up your confidence, and both you and they would think it was working. So you'd start to feel like you were ready to get out there again, and try a relationship with someone new. But you'd pick someone just like Katrina, and, sooner or later, she would break your heart again, just like Katrina did. You'd be right back in the therapist's office, and right back to the old methods that didn't work before.

"David, hun, I've helped so many men in your situation that I've lost count. I'd say at least a dozen, maybe twenty. Some are still in the gap, and I'm helping them now. A few disappeared for a little while, but they all returned. None are missing currently, ha. And like I say, at least a dozen made it across the gap. So that's why I say my success rate is 100%."

"OK..."

"Here's what I want you to do now, David: Are you at the end of the mattress? Or are you on it?"

"I'm on it."

"Is the pillow still there?"

"Yes."

"OK. I want you to go to the end of the mattress, and slip off those cummy underwear. I want you to put them on the floor of the tent. ... David? I don't hear you saying 'yes ma'am'."

"Oh.. yes ma'am. I'm sorry."

"Are they off?"

"Hold on, let me put the phone down ... OK, they're off."

"OK, now I want you to set the phone down beside those cummy underwear, and then I want you to put your mouth down into that cum, and start licking and sucking it up, and as-"

"Ewww."

"I know, hun, it sounds gross. But it won't hurt you. You know women eat cum all the time, right? I want you to lick and suck up that cum, and as you do so, I want you to say things like, 'I love you, Katrina' and 'I'm so glad you had fun with that guy from Trentstown tonight' and 'I hope I made you feel good when I licked his cum out of your pussy' and 'I love you so much' and 'I don't blame you for cheating on me, Katrina, you were right to cheat on me' and 'I'm licking up my own cum for you, too, Katrina' ... Things like that."

"'You were *right* to cheat on me'? You want me to say *that*?"

"Yes."

"But she *wasn't* right."

"David, I wouldn't tell you to say it if I didn't have a purpose in mind. It's late, hun. My shop is closed. And you must have realized, after seeing that video, that it cost me more than 100 dollars to have it made. At this point I'm operating at a loss. So don't argue with Lila tonight. After you say 'yes ma'am', I want you to put the phone down, and let me listen while you lick up that cum and say those things."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, with resignation, and got down to the task. I tried not to gag as I felt my own salty cum go down my throat, and I repeated the various painful, humiliating things Lila had directed me to say.

After a while Lila said, "Have you licked and sucked up all of it?"

"Well, I think I got all I could. Some soaked into the underwear."

"OK, hun, here's what I want you to do: I want you to sleep there tonight, right where you are. Right at the end of that mattress, on the floor of the tent. I want you to put your head so it's lined up with where Katrina's feet would be. Imagine if she were lying on her stomach, her toes would hang over the edge and be right in your face. And while you're thinking about that, and waiting to fall asleep, I want you to have those underwear in your mouth, and be sucking on them to get more of that cum out. Imagine Katrina lying there sleeping peacefully and feeling so happy that you just cleaned her new man's cum out of her pussy and then licked up your own for her, too."

I sniveled, but said, "Yes ma'am."

"You won't cum again until your next session, David, but starting tomorrow, each day I want you to call Lila. Call me once a day. It can be anytime you want, and if I don't answer, you don't need to leave a message, just try again a little later, until we speak."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, and tomorrow, leave that tent up. We're going to use it tomorrow night, too."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Bye, David."

"Bye ... ma'am."

The next day when I called Lila, she told me to use two pillows that night, putting them side-by-side on the air mattress in the tent. I was to imagine the second one was her new man. I was to sit outside the tent for a little while, and imagine listening to sounds of sex between Katrina and "dude from Trentstown" coming from the tent. I was to imagine Brittany emerging from her nearby tent as I sat on the ground outside, catching sight of me sitting there like an idiot listening to Katrina flagrantly cheating on me, and imagine her smirking at me as she walked by, to go to another part of the campground. Then I was to sit for a few minutes, continuing to pretend I was listening to Katrina being pleasured inside. Then I was to imagine Brittany returning, and smirking at me again as she walked by and entered her tent again.

Once I had thoroughly stewed in this already-humiliating-enough fantasy, I was to imagine the guy from Trentstown saying, "Dude.. I made a mess in your girl. Why don't you come in here and clean it up." I was to imagine Katrina laughing when he said that. Then I was to crawl into the tent, slide my head under the blanket, and perform cunnilingus on the Katrina pillow, and imagine both pillows laughing at me. Finally, I was to sleep at the end of the air mattress, imagining that both pillows had told me not to touch myself, because they were ready to sleep.

The next few nights involved fantasy scenarios, born in Lila's mind out of her highly unorthodox methods for "helping" men like me, in which I was to imagine Mindy and her boyfriend in the tent, or Megan and Derek, or Brittany and Ryan. Each day Lila asked me if I saw Mindy or Megan on campus, and if so, what had happened?

On the sixth night, I was so horny while trying to fall asleep, and had gently gyrated my hips around enough, that I had an accident and came in my underwear. Though I didn't touch myself with my hand before that, as soon as I realized I couldn't avoid cumming, I quickly brought my hand to my crotch and pressed hard, maximizing the sensation of each contraction. This was the first fully satisfying orgasm I'd had in three weeks.

Afterward, I lay on the floor of the tent, feeling ridiculous. I crawled out of the tent, took off my messy underwear, wiped my crotch with tissues, grabbed a fresh pair, and went in the bathroom. I cleaned myself with a hot rag, then I went down to the living room and turned on the TV. I didn't want to think about ridiculous, painful, humiliating scenarios involving being mistreated and feeling like an idiot. I found a good movie and lost myself in it, eventually falling asleep in the recliner.

I woke up when I heard my parents making breakfast in the kitchen, so I got up and ate with them. Then, even though I'd been up late, I decided to stay up, shower, and study some before my first class. I didn't think too much about Lila, and didn't really want to. I put off calling her until later in the day. But eventually I realized she would probably be displeased if I skipped a day. So I called.

"Hello, David."

"Hello."

" ... What's wrong, hun? Something bothering you?"

"Um. No. I'm doin' OK."

"Did you touch yourself? You touched yourself, didn't you? Don't lie to Lila."

"Umm, no. No, I didn't."

"Are you trying to tell Lila a white lie, hun? Did you cum, David?"

I sighed. "Yes. I did."

"'Yes ma'am', you mean."

I sniveled. "Yes, ma'am. I did cum. I couldn't help it, I'm sorry. I had an accident."

"Tell me what happened, hun."

I told her, and when I described pushing on my dick after the ejaculation began, she said, "Don't you think that counts as touching yourself, David? You lied to Lila."

"Well... I just... I just meant I didn't touch myself before that. I didn't touch myself to make myself cum."

"David, honey, you know what I mean when I ask you questions. You have to be completely honest with me, you mustn't try and deceive me. It's counterproductive to what we're trying to do."

"But what *are* we trying to do?? I mean ... these ... humiliating-"

"David, I can't *make* you trust me. You're going to have to decide for yourself if you really do. But I'm a busy woman. And I'm a busiNESS woman. I have a thriving practice here. I do readings for all *kinds* of people. Do you think I take this much time with all of them, not getting paid directly for it? I could have typed up two weeks' worth of daily instructions for you in advance and charged you 100 or more for them, but I'm working with you day by day, which is better, because I can monitor exactly how you're coming along ... and charging you nothing."

I sighed, nodding in agreement, though she couldn't see me, and said, "Yes, I ... I see what you mean. I'm ... I'm sorry ..."

"Well, hun ... I'm afraid you blew it this time. We'll have your second session two weeks from today, even though I'll be ready before that. Come into the shop in two weeks, don't touch yourself yourself in the meantime, and every night think about the kinds of things we've been talking about. We won't speak or see each other until your next session. Now ... what do you say?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She hung up. I put the phone down and cried.

Over those two weeks of being cut off from Lila, I began to feel lost. As crushingly humiliating as it had been following her nightly prescriptions of painful things to think about in bed, over the previous three weeks, and as suprisingly degrading and belittling as her customized video had been, I still felt like she was the only one who cared about my pain and heartbreak. It was also somehow much more arousing to entertain all the thoughts she had put in my head, before she prohibited contact with her. For all these months, I had felt wronged, felt like Katrina injured and offended *me*. But now I felt like *I* was the offender, that *I* had displeased Lila, and disappointed her. I discovered it was much more painful for me to feel like the hurtER, than to be the hurtEE. I felt like if Lila suddenly appeared before me, I would instantly throw myself to my knees, hug her around the thighs, and tearfully beg her to forgive me.

Finally, I made it to the end of the two weeks. I walked into Lila's shop and found her in consultation in the front room. She excused herself from the client. I watched her hips sway as she led me back to her kitchen. She wore a full-length billowy print skirt with suns, moons, and stars all over it, and open-toed sandals, her toes painted a rich, deep purple color. Just as we stepped into the kitchen, I said, "Um, ma'am ... I just want to say I'm sorry for what happened." She whirled around gracefully (as all her movements were always graceful) and said, "What do you mean, David?"

"I mean ... I know I wasn't supposed to, uh ... touch myself ... and, uh ... you know ... I'm sorry ..."

She smirked. "Are you sorry enough to lie down flat on the floor, on your belly, right now?"

"Um ... you want me ... uhh ... OK ... I guess ... if you want."

She just nodded.

"Um ... yes, ma'am." So I lay down flat on my stomach, right on her kitchen floor. She stepped forward and placed her feet just in front of my head. I peeked up and could clearly see the ridge lines on all ten of her toes.

"Do you have my money, David?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I didn't reach for my wallet, since somehow it didn't occur to me that she wanted me to do that from my position flat on the floor. But she said, her voice a bit testy, "Well, then give it to me."

"Oh. Um, yes ma'am." I reached and got my wallet from my back pocket, brought it around to open it with both hands, just above her toes, and pulled out the 100 dollar fee. These motions caused my already-erect dick to press hard against the kitchen floor. With one hand, I reached up to hand Lila the cash. She bent at the waist to close her hand around it sensually.

As I heard her rifling the bills from one hand to the other, to count them, she said, "David, I want you to kiss each of my ten toes, and each time say 'I'm sorry, ma'am.' Go down the line and kiss each one. Do it quickly, I have a client waiting."

"Yes, ma'am." I craned my neck forward, and also slid forward a bit on the floor, and kissed each toe, saying "I'm sorry, ma'am" each time.

When I finished, she squatted down and sat on her ankles in front of me. She placed a hand under my chin to lift my face to look at hers, and said, "Good boy, David. I forgive you." She smiled warmly (at least this time, it looked like a smile to me, not a smirk). It made me feel pleased ... and proud ... and happy.

"Stay right there," she said, as she stood up and went to her kitchen table. Then she dropped a pad of paper onto the floor in front of me, and a pen, and said, "All right, David, while you are waiting, and from right there on the floor, I want you to write, 'Katrina was right to cheat on me' over and over. Keep writing it until I come back in."

"Yes, ma'am."

As I wrote the line again and again, at first I thought, Well ... of course Katrina was *not* right to cheat on me. But I know Lila has some kind of purpose in this, and something inside me trusted her and wanted to believe that her unorthodox methods would reveal their wisdom in time. But after writing "Katrina was right to cheat on me" fifteen or twenty times, I began to wonder ... Was she right? Is cheating sometimes justified? Had I done something which made her choice inevitable? Surely her choice to seize upon an opportunity with the guy she met at the concert could not have happened if she had not had some unmet need. So ... given that such a need *was* present ... was I to blame??

"Katrina was right to cheat on me"

In all these months of nursing my broken heart, and feeling so hurt ... had I ever considered Katrina's feelings? Even once?