Camilla Ch. 085

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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 mersin escort 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 kocaeli escort 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 samsun escort 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.

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