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As 37-year-old, unconscious Camilla continued reliving her memories from between five and six years before the aquarium incident, she was appalled to note Eros’ psychic involvement in the slow but sure disintegration of her marriage with Cameron. The boy, twelve and going on thirteen, was already quite adept with the powers of Nigrovum that he was born with: after all, he was half Camilla, half Nigrovum, so he was a natural born psychic.
Eros would scan Cameron’s mind for all of his feelings of self-hate and despair over Camilla’s cheating on him; then the boy would simply use Nigrovum to expand those feelings a touch beyond what the microscopic ovoid aliens in Cameron’s blood were already expanding. So subtle was this extra expansion that neither Cameron nor Camilla had been aware that Eros was doing it.
The boy would also scan his mother’s mind for all her guilt feelings about sleeping around behind Cameron’s back, and subtly expand them in the same way, so as to ensure she’d never have the moral strength to confront her husband with her slutty ways. Indeed, this would ensure that she and Cameron would be increasingly non-communicative over the next year or two, and the end of their marriage would thus be inevitable.
Camilla, 32 at the time, fully understood how shameful it was that she’d been more comforting to Alain than to her own husband, both of them low in self-esteem, but the younger man far more appealing to her. She hadn’t slept with Alain since their time in the hotel, but she wasn’t having sex with Cameron either.
Though her desire to have sex with her husband was moribund to say the least, the latency period that Camilla had psychically imposed on Eros was gone, now that he was entering adolescence. One afternoon in mid-June, he was standing outside his school, waiting for his mother to pick him up and drive him home. Three young men–grade twelve students about to graduate from a nearby high school–were also waiting nearby for Camilla, since they were as fascinated with Eros’ hot ‘Goth-looking’ mom as he was.
“I wonder what his mom’s wearing today?” one of those older boys said, deliberately audible enough for Eros to hear. “Black spandex and high heels? I hope so.”
“Me, too,” said another of the three boys. “She is so fuckable.”
Eros, who with his unusually large size could easily have beaten the three boys in a fight even without psychic powers, just silently ignored them as best he could, since out of his love for his mom he wanted to respect her wish not to fight.
“Why won’t he fight?” the third boy asked. “He’s a giant for his age, but such a wuss. I don’t get it.”
“He’s a gentle giant, and a mama’s boy,” said the first boy.
“I’ll bet he wants his mom, too,” said the second boy. “How could he not? I’ll bet he wants to say to her, ‘Mommy! I’ve been good. Can I sleep with you tonight…please?” The other boys laughed, while Eros tried desperately to control his anger. The second boy continued his mockery. “‘Mommy, I’ve eaten all my vegetables. I’ve finished my homework. I cleaned my bedroom. See? I’ve been good. Can I, Mommy? Please, please, Mommy. Please!'” All three boys now had red faces from laughing so much.
Eros, no longer able to contain himself, rushed over to the first and second boys, grabbed them by the necks, picked them up, and shoved them hard against the brick wall by the front door of the school. Now the boys’ faces were red, almost purple, from his squeezing of their necks. His black eyes looked hatefully into each boy’s eyes alternately; the third boy backed off in fear.
Camilla, in a tight red dress, high heels, and heavy makeup, came quickly to the scene after getting out of her car. “Eros, let them go!” she shouted. “Let them go!”
“But Mom, they were insulting you!” he said, looking back at her. The boys tried punching him in the gut, but he used Nigrovum to make his gut feel as if it were made of brick; so the only pain felt was in the boys’ fists.
“I don’t care what they were saying about me, or you,” she said, now standing behind Eros. “Nice boys don’t fight. Let them go.”
“But Mom, I was just–“
“Mommy likes nice boys, not bad ones.”
“Oh, please don’t call yourself that here at school. It embarrasses me.”
“Let them go!” she shouted angrily. He did, and the two boys fell to the ground, coughing for breath. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s go home.” She, coming up only to Eros’ shoulders in height, nonetheless took him by the hand as if he were a toddler, and they went to her car.
“Yeah, go with Mommy, Eros!” the third boy taunted.
“Just ignore them, sweetie,” she said softly to her son.
“Go on, have at her!” the third boy shouted. “You know you want to, Oedipus!”
“It’s not worth it, baby,” she said to Eros, though it was illegal bahis getting harder for her to control her anger, since the memory of schoolboys taunting her as a child was never far from her mind.
“Hey, Ms. Fox!” the first boy, now having finally regained his breath, shouted. “You look so fine in that dress.”
“Do a striptease for us sometime,” the second boy, also no logger gasping for breath, shouted. “We’re all eighteen years old. What do you say?”
“Nah!” shouted the third boy. “She’s probably ugly under her clothes, with a smelly cunt, too!” The boys all laughed loudly.
Camilla, exploding with rage, used Nigrovum to visualize the last speaker suddenly having a huge aneurysm, which ruptured, in his brain. The young man staggered, then fell to the ground, instantly comatose. The other two boys knelt down to see what was wrong, then they looked back up at her: before she got in her car, she looked at both men with threatening eyes. You bad-mouth me, or Eros, again, she mentally communicated to them, and you’re next.
By the time paramedics had arrived, about fifteen minutes later, to help the boy on the grass, he was dead.
Two months later, Camilla had taken the bus downtown to go shopping alone. It was a hot August night in Montreal, and she was wearing only a gold-coloured dress and matching high heels; the dress came down half-way between her thighs and knees.
It was about 10 PM, and the stores were all closing. Walking along a relatively empty street, Camilla felt an urge to go down a dark alley. Going in, she thought neither about why she suddenly wanted to go that way, nor about how her black hair, black eyes, and pale skin were feeling the tingling sensation they always had when they changed back to her original blonde, blue eyes, and peach-coloured skin, a transformation she hadn’t intended to make.
In the dark, she saw a side door with a light coming out the window. There was a small flight of steps leading down to the door, which led into a basement. She went down those steps, with little conscious awareness of what she was doing. As she opened the door, she felt her individual will completely disappear.
She walked in the room like an automaton, then closed the door. Before she could even react to the sight of six seated masked men in black tuxedos, she felt her dress being psychically torn off her body in one quick mental pull. Now completely naked before the six men, she stood with her mouth and eyes wide open in shock. She was psychically compelled to kick off her high heels and drop her purse on the floor. Never allowed to cover herself with her hands, she then was made to walk in the middle of the room, so all the men, seated in a circle, could get a good look at her body. Inwardly, she was terrified, but outwardly, she acted as though nothing was wrong, in perfect compliance to the men’s wishes.
“Good evening, Camilla,” said one of the men. “It’s so good to see you again…all of you.” The other men chuckled as they all ogled her tits, pubic hair, and ass.
“Get on the floor on all fours, so we can see your pussy and asshole,” a second masked man said.
“Oh, OK,” she said, as if high on drugs. She got on all fours, and three of the men came up to her. One got behind her, unzipped his pants, and pulled out his cock. Another stood before her mouth and took his hard cock out of his pants. The third man got on the floor and slid under her, then pulled down his pants and underwear.
The man behind her used Nigrovum to lubricate her anus and rectum, then he slid his cock inside. The man in front shoved his long, fat cock in her mouth quickly, forcing her to deep-throat him. The man under her psychically levitated his ass so he could get his cock in her pussy.
The other three men sat and watched the fucking. Her wet lips and tongue expertly slid and rolled up and down the shaft of the man in front of her, as though she were willingly sucking him off; but, of course, she was only blowing him by coercion. The same was true of her pussy and rectum as they hugged the cocks pumping in and out of her. The man under her played with her tits as he fucked her pussy. After a minute or so of fucking, Camilla came all over her pussy-fucker’s cock, balls, and thighs. Then all six men took off their masks.
Out of the corner of her eye, Camilla was horrified to see the face of Dr. Lee, one of her professors during her first under-graduate year! Then she looked at the other two men watching, and she saw Dr. Lawson and Dr. Martin!
That can’t be, she thought as she felt the cock of the man in front of her sliding in and out of her mouth. Those three teachers all died. I went to their funerals. They can’t be masked men: the masked men are far more politically powerful than mere profs, aren’t illegal bahis siteleri they?
She looked up at the man she was blowing, and saw the face of Dr. McVie, who looked down at her with a malicious smile. Terrified, she took his cock out of her mouth and jerked him off as she looked below and behind her: to her dismay, she saw the faces of Drs. Cage and Abruzzi, respectively. Helpless to resist, she then took ‘McVie’s’ cock back in her mouth and resumed sucking.
“No, we aren’t really your teachers,” ‘Lee’ said before putting his mask back on and changing back to his original looks. “Like that young man you killed two months ago, they’re all dead, their demises hastened by our psychic expanding of their own fears and anxieties.”
“They will still blame their deaths on you, though, when you see them in hell,” said ‘Lawson’ as he put his mask back on and changed back to his original form. “For they sense only your energy on them, the energy of your fears and growing despair, the energy from the come you spewed on them.”
“We just made ourselves look like them to scare you,” the third watcher said, now with his mask back on, too. “Because fear is what we want in your come, fear-energy for our rituals.”
Though she was scared of these men, their cocks felt great in her pussy and asshole. They wanted her to enjoy the sex, because they needed her to come. Even the big cock in her mouth was mouth-wateringly tasty to her. She came a second time, drowning her pussy-fucker’s groin. The man she was blowing came in her mouth: she gulped it all down, futilely hoping again to get his dominant energy to enter the Nigrovum in her blood. Her ass-fucker came in her ass; again, she gladly received it, hoping to gain his power. Those three men pulled their cocks out of her, got up, scooped her come off her cunt-fucker’s thighs, and put it in jars. Then they put their cocks in their pants while the next three men got ready to fuck her.
These three men turned her over to lie on her back, with her legs raised up so they’d have access to her asshole as well as her pussy. Again, they pulled out their hard cocks and shoved them in her wet pussy, still-lubed ass, and salivating mouth. She screamed and squealed not from fear–though she desperately hoped someone outside the room would hear her–but from the pleasure of feeling these three men’s cocks going in and out of her. Always, her bullies were great lovers. As they fucked her, her three previous fuckers talked to her.
“You see, fear is crucial to our maintaining our power over the world,” said the man who’d fucked her mouth. “Fear of terrorism, fear of global warming, fear of the bad economy. When people are afraid, they’ll follow any strong leader they can find. They’ll let him do whatever he wants, as long as they’re fooled into thinking he’ll protect them. They won’t ever notice how he’s fucking them–the same way you’ll be unaware of how we fucked you tonight, when we make you forget after letting you go.” The other men laughed.
“All of the people who were your lovers, who died of fear and despair in the Nigrovum in their blood? We precipitated their deaths,” said her former ass-fucker. “We made your old school chum Akemi carve your name on her chest; we drove her to despair by expanding the pain of her heart-ache after you rejected her.”
You bastards, she thought. She wanted to bite the cock of the man she was blowing, but she had no control over her mouth…he did. Besides, part of her liked sucking his cock.
“Same with Bob, your first porno photographer,” said the man who’d fucked her pussy. “We made him want to rape and kill that Vancouver girl, and put links to kiddie porn on your website. We psychically expanded the dark thoughts in his mind, made him act out his perverted fantasies, and drove him to despair and death in jail.”
Fuck you, she thought, coming all over the groins of her pussy- and ass-fuckers. They kept on fucking her as her come spewed out; this confused and disoriented her, for she was terrified at what she was hearing, but thrilled with what her body was feeling. Her pussy was the wettest it had been to date, with a big cock filling her up completely and massaging all her vaginal walls, exciting her G-spot and A-spot. What made this fuck all the hotter was the fact that she hadn’t been having any sex with Cameron, so this was her first fuck since Alain. The men kept shedding insights on her past.
“Whenever you were getting it on with your teachers–blowing Grisham in his classroom and Callahan almost catching you? Our Vancouver men psychically arranged that,” continued her first pussy-fucker. “We’ve always wanted there to be an element of fear in your fucking, like when Callahan caught you in Mr. Pierce’s office, and ate your pussy. You came on her face, giving her canlı bahis siteleri the fear-energy in your Nigrovum. It was the same with that repentant lecher Pierce, though he and his soon-to-be gay lover, your old friend Michael, turned things around for themselves and grew spiritual, like your dad, Don, and Ravinder.”
“We tried to terrorize Pierce and Michael, but like your dad, they got too powerful, with strong psychic barriers,” added Camilla’s first ass-fucker. “Those two fags are actually trying to free a girl we’re using in Seattle, a girl like you to pass Nigrovum on to male lovers there. Pierce and Michael have had some success liberating her. Ultimately, though, they’ll fail, as will your dad, the former priest, and Dr. Singh.” This speaker’s voice sounded familiar to Camilla.
“Our Vancouver men helped arrange your gang-bang in the abandoned building, again, to arouse fear in you, and fear in your five teachers of being caught by the police,” said the first man she’d blown. “Those punks finding you was also planned. Our Vancouver men wanted you, running naked on the streets of Vancouver at night, to be terrified. It didn’t matter if the punks had raped you, or if Guy and Dirk had fucked you in their apartment–as long as your fear-energy had been passed on to other people; so they’d all be in the hellish realms of the other world, influencing the fears of the living in this world, for our political purposes.”
She sprayed more come all over the groins of the men fucking her pussy and ass. She sucked the cock in front of her with increasing speed and vigour, not only out of a wish to end this gang-bang as quickly as possible, but because she was simply enjoying blowing a guy. This second trio of men all came in her mouth, pussy, and ass, and she again hoped to absorb their psychic power. The men scooped her come off themselves and off the floor, and put it in jars for future rituals. After pulling their pants up, they did another visualization, exchanging the fear-energy she’d come on them with the dominant energy they’d come in her. Psychically blocked again, she was completely helpless to stop them. Her hopes to gain their power were again frustrated.
“When the Vancouver punks fought Williams, Burgess, and your other gang-banger teachers, the punches they exchanged passed their blood on to each other in their cuts and bruises,” that familiar voice said, from the man who’d fucked her ass. “Their getting of each other’s blood on them spread the fear-energy in the teachers’ newly-gotten Nigrovum on to those punks. I wish I could have thrown punches at that faggot Michael who hit me; I wish I could’ve gotten my revenge on them as I’m getting on you, but his and Pierre’s force field was too strong for me to get past.” The speaker took off his mask: it was Jim again! “Remember me, bitch? Mr. Anonymous! And I’ll be safely anonymous again, when you leave here, forgetting us all, and what happened tonight!” He put his mask back on.
She was allowed to put her high heels back on, and to get her purse; then they used their psychic power to make her walk back outside, still nude.
Made to forget completely what had happened, and still moving without any control over herself, nude Camilla helplessly walked back onto the street, unable to use her hands to cover herself. It was now about midnight, and there were still some people walking about and driving in cars. Her heart was pounding with fear.
What happened to my dress? she thought. Why am I naked all of a sudden? It must be the masked men’s doing again; they’ve made me forget what they just did to me. Automatically, as when she’d come out of the swimming pool naked two years before, Camilla put up an emotionally numbing psychic dome around herself, to nullify her trauma. Putting up this dome had become a habit whenever the masked men terrorized her, so she could continue to function in her day-to-day life. The masked men also wanted her to do this, so she would never despair and destroy herself as Candice, Don, and Agape had done, ultimately to come out the hellish tail of the ouroboros, and be spiritually liberated in the heaven of the serpent’s head. The masked men wanted her to hover in a hellish state forever, full of an ever-renewing hope that was always being frustrated.
She continued walking along the street, as if thinking she had clothes on, for her body language falsely showed no signs of embarrassment; so complete was the masked men’s continuing psychic control over her. Her hands just hung at her sides, never covering her tits, pubic hair, or ass.
Suddenly, a chubby man in a car drove by and stopped to check out this fascinating sight. He was in his forties and balding; he saw her face and instantly recognized her. He rolled down his car window and put his head out.
“Camilla? he asked. “Is that you?”
“Yeah,” she said, still as if on dope. Nonetheless, her photographic memory made it possible for her to recognize him quickly, in spite of her psychically-imposed stupor. “David Pollock? You live here now?”
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