Camilla Ch. 066

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On Friday morning in Candice’s apartment, the naked girls woke up in each other’s arms.

“Good morning, Camil,” Candice said, stretching and yawning. “Thanks for staying over with me last night.”

“Gladly, sweetie,” Camilla said, kissing Candice on the cheek. “Did you sleep well?”

“Perfectly,” Candice said with another yawn.

“Good. The psychic barriers are obviously working. Our troubles with horny ghosts are over. We just have to remember to set up the force fields every night, and we’re safe.”

“What if we forget one night?”

“Well, then the incubi will bother us again, and we’ll be motivated to remember to set up the barriers again the next night,” Camilla said; then she took her iPad out of her purse. She went online and checked out her Facebook page, hoping to find some enthusiastic reactions to her recently posted photos.

One of her long-time Facebook friends, Marcel, was a handsome 43-year-old Parisian who constantly complimented her on the sexiness of her pictures. For one new picture of her in a tight-fitting black and white striped dress, he called her ‘Deesse! [Goddess!]’ For another recent picture, one of her sexily posing in jean shorts and a light green sleeveless top, he typed in English, ‘Sweetie-pie!’ She giggled her flattery at this new reaction, then said, “Merci, monsieur,” as she typed it.

“Who are you talking to?” Candice said as she got out of bed.

“This French guy, really good-looking, always tells me how much he likes my pictures.”

“I’ll bet he’s a stalker,” Candice said as she put on some pink underwear. “You know how many creeps are out there in internet-land.”

“Yeah, it’s obvious he wants to fuck me, but he seems nice; and I’ll totally let him have his way with me if he comes over here, or if I go over there.”

“Camilla, I really worry about you,” Candice said as she put on some jeans and a T-shirt. “One day you won’t be so lucky with all these guys you turn on. What if one of these creeps tries to rape you?”

“I’ll use Nigrovum on him,” Camilla said, totally unruffled. “I’ll put his balls in a psychic vice; he’ll be begging for mercy.”

“Another thing I’ve been thinking about: we never use condoms–what if we get AIDS, or herpes, or something?”

“I’ll bet Nigrovum can cure us. Ravinder said in a recent e-mail that he and his colleague scientists are looking into its healing powers. They’re trying to isolate its good qualities and separate them from what it is in Nigrovum that makes people crazy: so far, no luck.”

“That’s just it, Camil: you’re always using Nigrovum as if it were a crutch. What if we use it too much, and using it so much is what makes us go crazy?” Candice sat beside Camilla, stroking her hair.

“We don’t use it all that often, sweetie,” Camilla said, pecking Candice on the lips. “Don’t worry so much about what’s gonna happen to us.”

“Actually, what’s gonna happen to us is exactly what I’ve been worrying about: I’m lonely. I hate being here in this apartment all alone, knowing you’re over there with your Dad and I can’t have you. I miss having you in my arms in bed. I feel like I’m losing you.” Candice was almost sobbing.

“You’re not losing me; you just had me in your arms,” Camilla said, kissing her again.

“And missing that tonight will make it hurt all the more.”

“Baby, we’ll make love onstage tonight, OK?”

“And what about Desiree?” Candice asked with a look of jealousy in her eyes.

“So that’s what’s bothering you,” Camilla said. “OK, I’m sorry about eating her out so many times lately: I won’t do it with her so much.”

“How about never? And how about with fewer guys, too?”

“Oh, come on, Candice. I need cock like the starving need food.”

“I need you like the starving need food.”

“Candice, I’ve been screwing around so much because I’m starting to get creepy feelings for my dad; maybe it’s the Nigrovum making me crazy, but I need all the other men to distract me from him.”

“I thought us coming to Toronto would make you stop fucking so many men. Your mom said you were with all those teachers because they were substitutes for your dad; if you were with your dad again, you wouldn’t need to fuck so much. Now you’re fucking so much more.” Candice started crying.

“Candice, my mom didn’t know shit about me,” Camilla said, hugging Candice. “She never listened to me. ‘Substitutes for my dad’ doesn’t come close to explaining why I fucked so many of my teachers back in high school. It’s not as simple as that. I worshipped those men, just as I worship Daddy. I’ll bet I worship my university profs even more.”

“And you’ll fuck them too, eh?” Candice asked in loud sobs.

“Look, I’m sorry I’m making you so jealous, baby, but I’m a nympho: I can’t help it. There’s something about feeling a big cock pumping in and out of my pussy–there’s nothing like it. I’m getting horny now just thinking about it. I love you, Candice, and will always güvenilir bahis enjoy making love with you, regularly, but I can’t go without men. Cock drives me wild. What’s more, I have my own jealousy: I get crazy every time Daddy sleeps with Carrie, as he did two nights ago when I went out with Father Josiah. Fucking the priest made my jealousy bearable.”

“Eww! Camilla, with a priest? Have some boundaries.”

“Sex is good for Father Josiah–he desperately needed to get laid, to relieve his sexual repression.”

“Giving him Nigrovum will be good for him?” Candice asked with a sneer.

“It will if he uses it well: he’s a priest; I’m sure he will use it for good. Dr. Singh is using it for spiritual enlightenment–successfully. Father Josiah can teach me to use Nigrovum the same way; we both can use it that way.”

Not if you’re fucking all the time, Candice thought. She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Camilla, always fascinated with Marcel, her French Facebook friend, saw on her profile page a song he’d written and posted there. An electronic dance, funk-oriented song simply called ‘Camilla’, it was written in surprisingly fluent English. Marcel sang and played all the instruments, which were mostly keyboard sounds, with a guitar solo and some bongoes. Eager to hear it, Camilla clicked PLAY:

Camilla, you make me feel a raging fire in my heart.

Let’s get together; in my life, please play a bigger part.

Your eyes, like cloudless skies–they make me wanna fly to you.

Your lips, so sensuous–you don’t know the things they can do.

Your bust, it’s so unjust that it’s so far away from me.

Your skin, so milky smooth, and there’s only some I can see.

Down there, it’s so unfair that I don’t get to come and play.

What can I do to make you mine? I don’t know what to say.

Camilla, you’re the ideal, a perfect woman to love.

No better girl exists down here, nor in heaven above.

You are so fine; your place, or mine? I need you in my arms.

As lovely as your photos are to show your many charms,

I need you near, so I can hear your sexy, purring voice.

I must have you, you must have me, we really have no choice.

You are my Muse, I so enthuse to see your lovely face.

You’ve carved in my heart an obsession I cannot erase.

“He is so talented!” she said when the song ended. “His singing, the guitar solo, the keyboards, the drums: he’s amazing! And he did it all for me: I totally wanna fuck him.”

“Oh, come on, Camil,” Candice said as she came back into the bedroom after brushing her teeth. “You know nothing about the guy. His singing wasn’t all that great, you couldn’t hear the words all that well, because it wasn’t mixed well, and what words you could hear weren’t all that well written. He could be a total loser in real life…and he probably is.”

“Hey, don’t knock my song,” Camilla said. “Marcel’s a lot better than most of the pervs who comment on my photos. And his English is better than most English speakers’. So many guys just say boring shit like, ‘Oh, baby, you so hot.’ But he’s a gentleman: he’ll say things like, ‘I wish I could do more than chat with you on Facebook. I’d rather dip my pen in your ink-well, and with your ink, make you read how I really feel.'”

“You think that’s better writing?” Candice asked with a sneer.

“It isn’t Shakespeare, but it’s more creative than what most guys say.”

“How do you know he’s an OK guy? You’ve never met him face-to-face.”

“I wonder if Nigrovum can give me an idea of what he’s like,” Camilla said, sitting up on the bed and closing her eyes.

“Here we go again, Nigrovum’s the answer to everything,” Candice said skeptically. “I thought you didn’t use it all that much. One day it’ll fail you.”

“Shh…just a minute.” Camilla began concentrating. She visualized as vividly as she could Marcel’s face and personality, remembering it from all the photos she’d seen of him, as well as remembering much of what he’d written to her. Then she visualized Paris, thinking of all the famous places there: the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Seine River, the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, and the Louvre. Next, she visualized a black bird flying all the way from Toronto across the Atlantic to Paris, seeking him out there.

Candice waited quietly but impatiently, annoyed and always jealous.

Finally, after about five minutes, Camilla psychically found him: she could psychically feel his heart beating. To know what his sexual tastes were, she enflamed that heart of his.

Indeed, Marcel in Paris found himself suddenly thinking lustful thoughts for Camilla, right in the middle of his sleep. He dreamed he was making love to Camilla right then: he was fucking her pussy, her ass, her mouth, and her tits. After coming on her face, he dreamed she’d pissed on his chest. She found no other significant desires to worry about.

Satisfied that the türkçe bahis worst of Marcel’s sexual proclivities was a thing he had for golden showers, Camilla opened her eyes and said, “No worries.”

“He’s OK?” Candice asked.

“Yep,” Camilla answered.

“Are you sure?”

“Reasonably. Apart from the usual things a guy wants to do with me–fucking my pussy, ass, mouth, and tits–he’d like me to pee on him. I have no problem with that: I’ve done it all before.”

“And what if you dream of giving him a golden shower, and you wake up having wet the bed?” Candice asked. “I hope that’s one of the nights I’m not in bed with you.”

“Psychic barriers, remember?” Camilla said. Then she typed a private message for Marcel and posted it. This is what it said: “I’m very flattered that my pictures please you so much. Really. BTW, I loved your song, it was very sweet of you. Check out my website: If you like my Facebook photos, you’ll love these.”


That night at Club Ritz, Camilla was finishing a table dance for a handsome forty-something man in the main area of the bar. She put her knee against the bulging erection in his pants, leaned forward, and brushed her soft right arm against his right cheek as she rested her arms on the sofa to his right. The song ended.

“Can I have another table dance?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said in her uninhibited ‘Kitty’ persona, his perfect fantasy. “Why don’t you have some lap-dances with me in one of the private rooms? They’re lots of fun: I’ll let you touch me…all over.”

“I’m sure they are fun, but I don’t have all that much money,” he said. A new song began.

“I can give you one more table dance,” she said. “Then I have to go onstage.” She put her tongue in his right ear and rolled it around.

“Really?” he moaned at the sweet sensation of her tongue. “I’d like to give you a tip when you’re up there.”

“Alright!” she said with an ear-to-ear grin. “Thank you. Have the money in your mouth, and you can put it in my pussy.”

“I’d like that, but, I’d like it better if I could put it, um…somewhere else.”

“Where? Between my tits?” She stood up and turned around.

He shook his head nervously, worried that she would not like where.

“In my butt-crack?” She opened her buttocks wide and showed him her asshole, correctly guessing that’s where he wanted to put the tip.

“In your anus? Is that OK?” He was shaking now.

“Sure,” ‘Kitty’ said, not at all bothered by his proclivities. “Be careful, though, OK? You don’t wanna give me a paper cut.”

“Oh, I’ll be careful.”

She bent over with her legs spread out wide so he could see her asshole and pussy. Looking back at him upside-down from between her legs, she said, “So, whenever I’m bent over like this, you’re not looking at my pussy; you’re looking at what I poop out of.”

“Yeah,” he said with a blush. “Sorry.”

“That’s OK, I don’t mind. Lots of men like my poop-hole, that’s why I always show it: in fact, I let men fuck my ass all the time. It’s fun.”

“Do you really?” he asked, bending forward to get a better look at the pretty brown hole ‘Kitty’ had insouciantly told him she’d allowed cocks to enter.

“Mm-hmm,” Camilla said. “Do you think my asshole is pretty?”

Staring at those puckered, chocolatey anal lips, he panted, “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He was as amazed as he was appreciative that she didn’t seem to think his fetish was a perversion. Just to make sure she wouldn’t think less of him, he added, “Oh, your pussy’s pretty, too. I love your large clitoris.”

“Thanks again,” she said with a giggle. “Come closer and sniff my butt.”

“Gladly,” he said, leaning closer, bringing his nose mere millimetres away from her butt-hole, and greedily sniffing away.

“Am I stinky?” ‘Kitty’ asked, not at all worried if she was.

“Nope; you’re perfectly clean,” he said.

“So you like the smell?”

“Oh, stinky’s OK, too.”

“I don’t understand how a man could like the smell of my stinky poo,” she said.

“Sure, if it’s your stinky, why not? A goddess’s poo smells better than a mortal woman’s perfume.”

“You’re so sweet,” she said, sitting on his lap. She briefly rubbed her buttocks on his happy cock, a thick six-and-a-half inches that she clearly coveted for that night. Then she got up, turned around, and leaned forward, pushing her forehead against his. She started fingering her clitoris and sighing genuine excitement.

“You masturbate a lot when you work, don’t you?” he asked, noting how often she’d played with herself during their previous table dances.

“Oh, yeah,” she sighed as her finger kept tickling her hard clit. “Don’t you?…It’s fun.”

“Yeah, I do, but not in public, of course.”

She, giggling, sat on his lap again, this time facing him. Then she put his right hand on her left hip and let it rest güvenilir bahis siteleri there.

“I thought we were only allowed to touch in the private rooms,” he said, surprised and aroused.

“Yeah,” she said. “But you’re giving me a tip, and I like you, so I’ll let you have a little extra fun.” The song ended, and she got up, reaching for her underwear and dress.

“So I owe you thirty bucks, right?”

“Yeah,” she said as she put on her white lace bra. He put the money on the table as she put her white panties on. She put the money in her purse and put on her dress, a green one with a flower pattern on it. Then she slipped her feet into her black high heels, and she and the man went over to the stage. He sat at the tip rail, and she went onstage.

“And now,” called out the DJ, “Let’s give a big hand for this very sexy lady…here’s Camilla.”

Everyone cheered as she began dancing to her first song, “The Rockafeller Skank,” by Fatboy Slim. As she danced, she often twirled around, making her dress fly up so everyone could see her panties. She unzipped and removed her dress when the song slowed down, then began dancing in her underwear as the tempo returned to its original fast tempo.

Her second song was “Rock The House”, by Gorillaz. At the first chorus, her bra came off with a joyful wiggle of her big tits and screams from the men watching. At the second chorus, she pulled down her panties, with more cheers from the audience. Seconds before the song ended, she took off her shoes.

Her third song was “Double Bass”, again by Gorillaz. Completely nude now, Camilla crawled about the stage with her legs wide open so both holes were clearly visible to everyone watching. Of course, she remembered to give her tipper lots of chances to see her from behind, since that’s where his fetish was. He salivated at the sight of her liquorice pussy and caramel anus. After making sure he’d got a good eyeful, she rolled on her back with her legs always wide open, again fingering her large clitoris. He just stared in awe.

Three minutes into the song, she crawled over to him, since he had a twenty-dollar bill tightly rolled up and sticking out halfway from his mouth. She put her ass in his face, opening her buttocks wide. He reached forward and carefully slid the bill inside her wide-open anus. She used Nigrovum to guide the money inside without giving her a paper cut; it went in halfway, she closed her anal lips around it, and he gave her asshole an enthusiastic kiss. Everyone watching was cheering.

She crawled back to the middle of the stage so the men could see the money sticking out of her pretty brown asshole. The song ended, she–still on all fours with her ass showing–slowly pulled the bill out of her butt-hole, and then got up. She got off the stage, remaining naked and taking only her purse with her; she went with the man back to their table.

“Twenty bucks,” she said. “How generous of you; but you could have paid for a lap-dance with that.”

“Putting the money in your beautiful ass was a unique pleasure,” he said as they sat down. “Besides, if I pay for one lap dance, I’ll want more and more, I’ll never stop paying, and I’ll soon run out of money. I’m a teacher, and don’t make all that much.”

“Would you like to fuck me tonight?” ‘Kitty’ asked him in her bold, but usual relaxed way. “Let’s go to your place, Teacher.”

“I’d love to,” he said, panting at the thrilling offer, “but I’m married. I’ll just have one more table dance, and then I’ll have to be on my way.” He was clearly nervous about being tempted to adultery.

As she began another table dance, she pressed her forehead against his as before, and masturbated again. Maybe we won’t do it tonight, she thought; but we will another time, I assure you.


That night, though she hadn’t found a suitable lover and lay in bed in Agape’s house all disappointed, Camilla at least remembered to set up those psychic barriers so everyone she cared about–Miles, Dr. Davis and his wife, Candice, her father, and Bob–wouldn’t be bothered by incubi.


That night in Candice’s apartment, she was sad and lonely in bed; a shot of heroin was her only comfort, and Nigrovum tempered the excesses of the drug.


On Saturday night, M. Larre came to Toronto again for another party, at the same house as before, and he’d invited Camilla, Candice, Desiree, and several other strippers. Dr. Davis, hungry for sex and suspecting his wife was with that American marine again, came to the party, too.

Camilla had Larre’s cock sliding in and out of her hungry mouth, and two men’s cocks were pushing in and out of her even hungrier pussy and asshole. As she felt those three joysticks probing her, she thought, I’m no longer starving.

Candice also had cocks pumping in and out of her mouth, pussy, and asshole; though she didn’t receive them with Camilla’s level of enthusiasm, her mind was so torn up on marijuana and ecstasy that her body didn’t care.

Desiree was sucking a man off as another was giving it to her doggy-style in her pussy; a man to the left of her had her hand stroking his cock.

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