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The Addicted Natural Ch. 01

By: blacknight99



The following story is for adults only.

Chapter One – Enter the Antagonist

My story is one of either failure or immense good fortune, depending on your point of view. Something that I wanted very badly was given to me as a gift, but as with almost all things we most greatly covet, it came to me at a price. I was faced with a terrible temptation, and succumbed. Almost every day, I ask myself if I should have done this thing, or if perhaps I should try to undo the knots in this web I've made. Should I forsake my unbridled happiness for what I know is the "right" thing to do? But then I figure ... don't be stupid.

I will attempt to write this in the formal way. Step one: introduction of characters. In the first part of this story, there are four or five in our drama: two protagonists, one antagonist, and a couple "others," who were such minor characters that I won't even mention their names. As for the antagonist, I won't mention him now, either, since I can hardly be dispassionate enough to describe him without prejudice. We'll just get to him as he enters this narrative in the next page or two.

Of the two protagonists, I'm definitely the least noteworthy, so I'll quickly dispatch with myself first. I've always been a bit of a slow starter in life, and while I should have entered college immediately after high school (I even had a scholarship), I went into the Army for four years instead. It wasn't a total waste, since I wound up writing for numerous military newspapers and periodicals; learning the practical side of writing, so to speak. I earned a couple more foundation scholarships in the meantime, and wound up with as much free education as I wanted when I got out. Now, at the time our little story begins, I'd soaked up seven years of higher education, and I found myself a 31-year-old student; the "old man" in just about every class I took. Of course, all good things end eventually, and I knew that very soon, after I got the doctorate, I'd have to move over to the other side of the fence permanently as a prof. The school already had a spot waiting for me. I figured I'd take it.

I was the school's most published student. I did, and still do, freelance magazine articles for the most part. My claim to fame was my appearance. I am so average in every respect that I tend to blend right into my surroundings. No one of any repute ever noticed me. When I asked a guy a question from a crowd, he never looked at me when he answered, he looked at someone else. And that's a real plus in my line of work. You'd be surprised what someone will say when they think the person he's talking to is of no importance. I've gotten some remarkably candid quotes in print. Of course, the "unobtrusive" look has a lot of disadvantages, too; especially in the girl-department. THEY all tended to overlook me, as well.

One of the strange, unimportant "others" in my cast of characters was a famous author who had been given a fellowship at the university. Great deal, a fellowship. A six-figure fee, usually a free apartment or rental house and a living allowance. All one has to do in return is lend his or her name to the university for awhile and either teach or be a guest speaker in the class of his or her choice. This lady, with one successful novel in print and one on the way, chose this opportunity to "get away" and write a third during her fellowship. As a course, she chose a little one-hour, 400-level creative writing seminar for a small class of 30 hand-selected students. 400-level. Read that as: undergraduate. I didn't qualify. I pulled some strings, called in some favors from the dean, and was finally allowed to "sit in" as long as I didn't get involved in the discussions.

And on the first day of the class, there she was. You guessed it, Protagonist Number Two, the real topic of this missive, Brenda Breakman, hand-selected senior English student.

Now, this is the point where I'm supposed to go into great detail about her overwhelming beauty. The truth of the matter is that I wouldn't have really called her beautiful at all. Cute. I'd definitely say she was cute. Small (maybe five-one or two), slight, shy. Mysterious. Maybe that's what attracted me to her. I just couldn't figure her out. She had a sort of unassuming curiosity about her, a sharp intelligence wrapped in a soft exterior. A puzzle.

I'd first met her two years before when I'd been a TA for a sophomore Shakespeare course. I'd considered asking her out then, but there are pretty strict rules about such things, even for Teaching Assistants. And, of course, I'm a pretty shy sort myself. For whatever the reason, I'd blown my chance to get to know her better then, and I hadn't seen her since.

She'd changed. She wore large, owlish glasses that seemed to have very little magnification. Her long, straight, dark hair was now pulled up into a severe bun on the back of her head. She didn't seem to wear makeup, though that didn't do much to distract from her clear complexion. But it was her clothes that really made the difference. Baggy sweatshirts over loose-fitting jeans and suede boots seemed to be the only thing she would wear to that seminar. Week after week, the outfit would change in specifics, but always remain the same in effect. I got the impression she was hiding her figure, which, as I remembered, was really very nice.

I talked to her on the first day of the author's seminar. She remembered me, and seemed to like to chat about this and that. But we never really had much time immediately before or after class, and I either never found the opportunity or the courage to ask her for a date. I think it's what we both wanted. I hated myself for being such a wimp. Maybe I feared a rejection. Whatever the reason, I found myself thinking about her more and more as the weeks went on, and actually fantasized about her at night in bed. She was slowly becoming an obsession. On the Friday our little drama took place, it was the next to the last class on the schedule. If I didn't make my move soon, she might have to remain a fantasy forever. (Is that what I really wanted?)

When I saw her that day, I froze. Gone were the sweatshirt and baggy jeans. A crisp, white blouse, tucked into a pleated skirt, was unbuttoned enough at the top to reveal some ample cleavage provided by an under-wire bra. Her long hair hung behind her in a ponytail. On second glance, I came to believe that the small amount of makeup she wore was intended to hide a sort of permanent blush that gave her a glowing aura. She looked fashionable, sharp and innocent. And provocative. I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

She gave me a little wave from across the hall and started walking my way, when she was suddenly intercepted by a guy who wore a baseball letter on his sweater. She smiled at him and talked for a little while, constantly casting glances my way. I got the impression that she wanted to talk to me, but I didn't know whether I should interrupt their conversation. Then the class started, and my opportunity was gone. After the lecture, the scene was repeated almost precisely, but this time it was a guy from the drama club that nabbed her before she could make her way over to where I stood. Again she kept looking my way, but didn't seem to be able to end her conversation with the guy. I had an important appointment (with "other" #2), and I finally chose to leave her there with her new fan club. Almost immediately, I regretted my decision, but the interview I was rushing to had been planned for more than a week, and I couldn't risk being late.

The article I was considering was about the alleged abuse of "mail-order brides" from India. America men of Indian descent arranged with matchmakers back home and paid a dowry to the girls' families, as well as the costs to have the young women flown to the States for marriage. It was an increasingly popular occurrence that, according to the lady I was interviewing, was leading to consequences that included physical violence and even murder after amorous "buyers" became bored husbands. I met her on campus, took her to my house, and talked to her for almost three hours before she finally left. I wasn't sure how I was going to write the article. It was most certainly going to sell, probably to a large national mag, but I was in the middle of my thesis, and taking time out for this was going to be difficult.

When there was a knock at my door, I originally thought it was my interview subject returning to further plead her case, but to my surprise, it was Brenda. Her appearance had shifted slightly again, and I took in the differences in a few seconds. Her hair, still braided behind her, had worked loose into a few little wisps in places, and her makeup had been retouched, so that there was slightly too much on her cheeks. Her glasses were gone. But the most pronounced difference (it didn't take a trained investigative reporter's eye to see it) was that the under-wire bra was now missing, and her full breasts jiggled slightly when she moved, her nipples prominent beneath the thin fabric of the white blouse. She stood looking up at me with a pleading sort of look, and quietly asked if she could come in. I told her that of course she could, and stepped aside before I realized she wasn't alone.

Enter the antagonist, stage center.

Brenda paused just inside the door and turned back to me uncertainly. "Fred," she said to me, "this is The Great Menlo." She raised a hand slightly, indicating her companion. The guy was dressed in grey slacks, a double-breasted blue blazer, and a white turtleneck shirt. He must have used half a can of mousse; not a hair was out of place. His broad smile showed a mouth full of straight, white, perfect teeth.

"Greg Menlo, Freddy. I'm really pleased to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

I hesitated before taking the outstretched hand. His grip was weak. He sounded just like a used car salesman scenting a sale. Nobody called me Freddy.

"Mind if we come in a minute, Freddy?" he continued smoothly. "I'm a magician and hypnotist, appearing at the Student Union Theater this week. Maybe you've heard about it?" He looked at me questioningly and the smile faded for a moment. "Guess not. Well, I'd like to show you something." He stepped over to Brenda, put a hand lightly on her back and led her through the foyer into my living room.

I felt disoriented and not a little pissed off. Who did this Bozo think he was, coming into my house with my girl and making himself at home? But then, she wasn't my girl, was she? Quietly, I closed the door and followed them.

When I got to the living room, I found Brenda looking around her with a bit of that old intelligent curiosity I'd found so intriguing, but when she saw me again, she seemed uncertain and maybe a little ashamed. Menlo just looked at me and smiled.

"What's this all about, Brenda?" I asked.

She jumped. She obviously hadn't expected me to put her on the spot. She glanced quickly to Menlo, then back at me with a sort of shaken, pleading look. Tears formed in her eyes. I suddenly realized that she had no idea what this was all about. I turned my gaze to her companion, and perhaps he read something in my face. His broad smile faltered for a second, but he pasted it back on for my benefit.

"Freddy, my boy, I'm going to give you a gift," he continued in his best salesman accent. "Absolutely free. No strings attached." Again, my look must have spooked him a little, and the smile became crooked before straightening again. "Sit right there and watch for a minute." He nodded at an overstuffed chair beside me. "Just let me do my thing, and I promise you'll never regret the day you met The Great Menlo."

He seemed to be waiting for me. I felt as if I'd had an advantage and watched it slip away. Begrudgingly, I sat on the arm of the chair. Seemingly satisfied, he turned to Brenda, who was still glancing guiltily around her. She reminded me of a child I'd once seen in the toy section of a department store whose parents had finally found her and were scolding her for having wandered off. I got the feeling that she liked being here, but knew she shouldn't be.

"Brenda," Menlo said sternly, and she quickly turned to him and looked up. "Look into my eyes."

How corny can you get? Look into my eyes? But I watched, flabbergasted, as she did just that. She gave her head a slight shake in a little negative gesture, her lips parted slightly, and she took sort of a half breath as she prepared to object, but he placed a finger gently on her lips to stop her.

"Shhh," he scolded lightly. "Just look into my eyes and relax. That's right. Just relax. You know what's going to happen, don't you? Just let it happen. That's right. Relax."

They made quite a picture. She, a full head shorter than he, looked steeply up into his eyes. His head was tilted sharply down toward hers. Their eyes were mere inches apart.

"Let the feeling happen now," he continued. "Let the heaviness come. The wonderful heaviness. The feeling is embracing you now. Let it happen."

He had a lot more to say, but for once I simply wasn't paying attention. A feeling I had never experienced before was starting to form deep inside me. Rage. I very quickly came to the decision that the girl before me meant a great deal to me, and that something profound was happening to her that I should protect her from. Still, I sat rooted to the spot, watching dumbly as Brenda's arms fell loosely to her sides and she swayed slightly as he continued to pull her into some sort of hypnotic trance. I'd never seen this done before, though I'd read about it, of course. She was totally, completely enthralled. She seemed to want this, to need it. His words were calm commands that she accepted and then responded to immediately. I remember him using the word "obey," and my anger leapt to new heights. He told her to sleep, and her eyes slammed shut. Then she swayed for a moment and leaned heavily against him, her cheek against his chest. He held her lightly in his arms.

He continued to ignore me completely as he talked to her, giving her instructions that I didn't seem to want to hear. All I cared about was my mounting anger. I waited patiently for him to finish. I had never contemplated killing a man before.

I was shocked out of my violent reverie when Brenda opened her eyes and looked about her, but her gaze seemed to bore right through me without any sort of recognition. Then she turned, looked at the couch, calmly walked over to it, lay down and closed her eyes again.

Menlo finally gave me his attention. He bowed a little, as if to a crowd, and swept a hand in Brenda's direction. "Well, there she is, Freddy Boy. She's all yours, body and soul."

"What did you do to her?" I asked levelly. Somehow, I kept my voice from exploding.

"Oh, we had a little fun." He grinned broadly and gave me a little, knowing wink. "Kind of a mousy little girl; intelligent as hell, but that type is always a sure bet in my business. It's the fantasy of the whole thing. They practically go under by themselves." He looked at her as if she were medium-sized trout, caught on a fishing trip with the boys. "This one's a little short in the experience department, but I'm sure you can remedy that, huh, Freddy?" He winked again, then brought his hands up and cupped them in front of his chest. "Nice body!"

He stopped abruptly, startled. Somehow, I was standing, though I don't remember getting up. I think he was finally beginning to understand what I thought of him. He thrust a hand into his pocket, and I saw a flash of gold. A pocket watch. My eyes bored into him. I imagined my fist hitting his face.

"Geez, look at the time!" he stammered. The watch seemed to move a little. I wasn't paying attention. "I go on stage in an hour. Gotta be moving on." The watch moved again.

"What did you do to her, asshole?" I hissed.

"Do? We just got to know each other, 'ya know? You just need to let me explain ...." The watch snapped shut, and danced a little on its chain. I wasn't paying attention. "Nice watch, huh?" he muttered nervously. Again the bit of gold moved. "I use it in my act. Why don't you just relax, Freddy. You look kinda uptight. Just relax, and let's talk about this."

The world seemed to shift at that point, and it crept into the back of my mind that perhaps he really did have the power to alter men's minds; for while he, himself, seemed to remain in solid focus, the living room around me appeared to be moving. My rage did not allow me, at first, to make the proper deduction. The living room was indeed moving, or rather, I was moving across it toward him. But Menlo, waving the watch in front of him, was backing away from me as fast as I was approaching.

"You raped her, didn't you?" I growled.

"Rape?" he screamed. "Christ, Freddy! You need to hear me out, here. You got it all wrong! Everything was completely ..." He groped for the word. "... consensual!"

We were in the foyer, now, and he tripped and fell heavily on his ass. He sat for a moment, holding the watch in front of him on its chain as if it were a crucifix, and his last defense against the oncoming vampire.

"Consensual?" I roared, taking another step toward his quivering form.

"Shit, yes! She wanted it more than I did! Now, just let me explain ...."

I reached out with both hands toward his neck, and he did a sort of duck-and-roll away from me. In an instant, he was on his feet. He thrust the watch back in his pocket, scampered to the front door, and fumbled it open.

"Consensual, Hell!" I yelled. I worked to get my voice under control. "You put her into a trance and filled her head full of your garbage," I said accusingly. "How is this any different than a date-rape drug? It might make an interesting study for the District Attorney's office. I happen to know him."

"Christ, Freddy! Don't talk like that! It wasn't rape, I swear!" He was outside now, backing down the steps toward the sidewalk. "Listen! I've fixed it so that you're the one who can wake her up. Just do it! As soon as she's awake, she's going to want to talk to you, to tell you all about it. Whatever she tells you, I swear it's going to be the truth. As God is my witness, everything she says will be the gospel truth! Shit!" I had started after him down the steps.

"Don't call me Freddy! Nobody calls me Freddy!" I continued to advance.

This seems to have been the last thin thread of sanity for him, for his eyes literally rolled in their sockets, and he let out a high-pitched squeak of a scream. Still backing toward the street, suddenly realizing that I wasn't going to stop, he spun around and ran right into a small sycamore tree next to my walkway. Careening through its branches, he finally made it to the sidewalk next to the street and ran as fast as his legs would carry him back toward the campus.

I stood watching him, and slowly began to wonder why my hands hurt. Looking at them, I was able to get my mind off of murderous thoughts as I tried to unclench my fists. Eventually, my breathing returned to normal, and I walked back inside to the sleeping girl who would forever alter the course of my life.

She lay on her back on the couch, her hands folded on her flat stomach, her face a picture of peace. The corners of her mouth were elevated ever so slightly in a wistful smile. If she was dreaming, it was a good dream. The gentle rise and fall of her chest was the only movement. Her nipples were erect.

I pulled one of the chairs over and sat, leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, watching her. Eventually, I could put it off no longer, and softly said: "Brenda. Brenda, wake up."

Almost immediately, her eyelids fluttered open. She turned slightly to look at me, then raised her arms above her head, yawned enormously, and stretched like a cat. She was smiling. My eyes were naturally drawn to her chest as she arched her back. Seeing where my gaze had settled, she flushed and lowered her arms, but decided it would be silly to cover herself now, and sat up, blushing, with downcast eyes.


The Addicted Natural Ch. 01



"Are you okay?" I asked softly.

"Oh, yes!" she responded immediately. "I always feel wonderful when I wake up from a trance. I feel great!" She smiled broadly at me, then seemed to remember something and looked around nervously. "Is he ... gone?"

"Yes, he's gone."

She seemed to consider this for a moment. "Good."

We sat, saying nothing, for a long sixty seconds. I wanted to tell her that I'd listen to her, try to understand her, protect her, but I couldn't think of a way to begin. Finally, the ticking of the mantle clock drove her to speak.

"Fred, I want to tell you what happened to me today. I want you to understand about ... him; what he did to me. I NEED to tell you." Her voice fell to a whisper. "Please?"

I sat, considering this. Was she going to tell me some fabricated "memory?" Was this something she really wanted, or something he had planned all along? In the silence, she cast her eyes down toward the floor. "Please?" she whispered again. A tear slid down her cheek.

"Of course," I said, a little too loudly. I forced myself to calm down. "Of course, I'd like to listen to you." I stood. "Would you like something to drink?"

This seemed to confuse her. "Um ...."

"I was just making some tea before you came," I explained lamely. "I'd like to finish up and have a cup. Will you join me?"

"Um, sure."

"I'll just be a few minutes. Be right back."

I turned and went swiftly into the kitchen, filled and turned on the kettle, clattered a couple cups a bit, and snuck into the spare bedroom. There, set up in a closet, was an old reel-to-reel tape recorder. Set on its slowest speed, and with a full standard reel (available only on a few specialty internet web sites, now), I can record eight hours of conversation through the hidden microphone in the living room. I had used only three hour's worth in my previous interview. Lots of tape left. I hit the record button, closed the closet door, and went back into the kitchen to finish the tea. I'm not really sure what motivated me to do this. I think that in the back of my mind I intended to use the tape to convince her to press charges against the guy. For whatever reason, I now have a recording of the conversation that followed.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 02



The following story is for adults only.

Chapter Two – In Her Own Words

(The following is transcribed verbatim from tape. I have added my own observations, as well as my own voice from the transcription, in parentheses.)

(When I returned, she was studying the titles of the books in one of the floor-to-ceiling bookcases. "Here's the tea," I said)

If there was a fire, and you only had enough time to save one of these books, which one would it be?

(The question caught me entirely off guard, but I answered honestly. "This one." I took down the autographed copy of James Thurber's "Carnival" and handed it to her. She'd obviously never seen the book before, thumbed through it for a minute or two and smiled at a couple of the cartoons. The first intimacy between us was a literary one.)

I wanted to talk to you today after class.

("I know. I wanted to talk to you, too." 30-second pause as we sat down and sipped our tea.)

I don't know if you noticed that I dressed a little differently today ... (Pause as she took in my smiling nod). This was the next-to-last class in the course, and I was hoping you'd ask me out. My suite-mates and I had a little too much to drink last night, and ....

("Suite-mates?")

In the dorm. There are four bedrooms around a living area. Eight of us in a suite. Evelyn got a case of beer from a guy she's dating who owns a store. We were drinking and talking, and they were kidding me because I never date anyone. Well, I told them there was this guy in my writing class I was hoping would ask me out, and they sort of turned the whole evening into a "let's dress up Brenda" project. Sue did my hair, the skirt and blouse are from Tommi, Jill lent me one of her bras. You know. (A shrug.) At any rate, this morning they all put on the finishing touches and pushed me out the door.

But before I could get a chance to say hi to you, Bill Thornegate started talking to me, and I didn't know how to end the conversation without seeming rude. Then, after class, James Briggs started talking to me before I could walk over to you. It infuriated me. I couldn't believe it when I saw you walking away! I called after you, but I guess you didn't hear me.

("No, I'm sorry. I didn't. I wish I had.")

Well, I guess I was a little rude with James then. It just made me so mad! I told him no, I didn't want out with him! And then, while I was standing there ready to cry, Bill came back up to me and asked me if I wanted to go get some lunch. I was standing on the steps of the Lit building, looking across the street at the Pink Pig Diner, and I made up a lie. I told him that I already had a lunch date, and I turned my back on him and walked over and right into the diner.

I felt miserable. I didn't know what I was going to tell the other girls, and I knew they were going to give me the third-degree. I really just wanted to be alone, so I walked all the way to the back of the dining area and sat down in a booth facing the wall. I ordered a Diet Coke, and just sat there. But not much more than a few minutes had gone by before HE was there.

He seemed polite enough. He asked if he could sit with me, but before I could respond, he'd slid into the seat opposite me. He had a cup of coffee. He reached his hand across the table to shake, and I just instinctively shook it while he introduced himself. He said he was "Menlo the Great." (Pause as she thought a moment.) Come to think of it, I didn't know his first name until he introduced himself to you here. I longed to tell him that I wanted to be alone, but he never gave me a chance ... he talked constantly, never pausing, unless he'd asked me a question. I felt very uncomfortable at first. I mean, he was a stranger; and he was a lot older than I am. In his thirties, I'd guess.

(I didn't interrupt to tell her that I was in MY thirties.)

He told me he was a professional hypnotist, and I guess I was a little interested in that, despite myself. He talked on a little about his act at the Student Center Theater, and how it was a little unpredictable being on stage with a bunch of college students, because they could be sort of impulsive. He paused then, and I asked him if he'd ever had anyone on his stage he couldn't hypnotize. I think it's what he wanted me to ask, because he seemed to relax then, and he spoke as if he was lecturing a student. I couldn't believe I'd encouraged him to get into a more intimate conversation, when what I really wanted him to do was leave me alone!

He told me that he studied the audience before he went on stage, and he could sort of tell which people would make good subjects. As he said this, he pulled a pocket watch out of his front pocket, and snapped it open and glanced at it. "Great," he said, as he shut it again. "Lots of time before I have to worry about my act. It's great to know you have lots of time." But as he kept talking, instead of putting the watch away again, he just sort of held it loosely in his hands. He likes to gesture a lot, and he'd transfer the watch from one hand to the other, but it stayed pretty much in the same place, just above the table.

He told me that he could easily hypnotize about eighty-percent of the men who came up on his stage; at least, those that weren't actively trying to resist him. Ah, he said; but he could hypnotize 100 percent of the women. He said that he wasn't trying to sound sexist or anything, but women had a different mindset than men, and he claimed that he could "tune in" to their basic emotional needs; that he seemed to be able to sense what he needed to say to put them at ease and get them started down the path toward a deep trance.

As he said this, I tried to keep eye contact with him, but I found I couldn't do it. His eyes ... there's something very ... disturbing about them. His pupils are too big, and too dark. Very black. I felt really uneasy looking at him, so I just let my eyes stay on the watch as he held it. It was very shiny, and it seemed to catch the light perfectly, almost flash from time to time. It had a thin gold chain, but he didn't hold it by the chain. He just sort of held it like it was ... nothing very important. It was just something to be holding while he talked on and on.

He told me that he could especially spot a "Natural." A Natural was a woman who could be placed under hypnotic control very, very easily, and very, very deeply. The thing that made her a Natural was that she was much happier in a hypnotized state than she was awake. He had to take certain precautions, or she literally might never wake up. He'd never met a "Natural" man. He told me that he's looked, but he's only found women with that trait. About one-in-a-thousand, he said. They're rare, and very special.

He told me that the Natural appears to be very intelligent, but that's a little deceiving. She always makes good grades, but she has to work for it. She usually studies very, very hard, and spends long hours in the library and at her desk. I think I nodded at that. I knew just what he meant. I have to study almost all the time to get good grades. Then he went on to say that Naturals are always a little tired because of that. They never really get enough sleep at night. I know what he meant by that, too. I'm tired a lot.

He said: "I use this watch in my act to help my subject focus her attention. That's all she really needs, is just to focus on something like the watch, and that will enable her to begin to relax. She's already tired because she studies so hard, but she never has the opportunity to really, really relax." And I wondered again why he didn't swing the watch on its chain for me, to show me the way he did it in his act, but he didn't really seem to care about the watch; he just kept holding it loosely in his hands, and it just kept flashing. He didn't seem to know it was catching the light and flashing like that. I did understand what he was saying about relaxing, though. It was easy to relax if I focused on the watch.

Then he said: "The most important thing in my act is to let my subject know that there's no hurry about going into a trance, that she really has all the time in the world. Lots of time. No hurry at all. Just like us. Lots of time to relax." I know that that should have rung all sorts of alarm bells in my head, but it didn't. It was just the way he said it. He was so matter-of-fact. He'd already told me he had lots of time. Saying it again just seemed sort of normal.

And he said: "The next step in my induction is to let her realize how tired she really is. She doesn't know, you see. She studies so hard, and she's so tired all the time, that she just sort of keeps on going and going; and until she focuses on something, something like the watch, and she relaxes completely, then it's not until now that she finally realizes how very, very tired she really is. That's when the heaviness comes: the heaviness in her arms. It's not until then that she realizes just how very, very heavy her arms actually are. That's because she's so tired. So very, very tired, that her arms are very, very heavy, and it's really sort of a nice feeling. If it was you, you'd understand that the heaviness is a very pleasant thing. So nice, being heavy. So heavy ...."

(30-second pause. During this time, I was studying her very closely. Her hands had fallen, lifeless, into her lap. She was looking at some imaginary point in space in front of her, off at an angle from me. She was deeply engrossed in her story, but it was not until now that I realized she had been hypnotizing herself. Her mouth was open slightly, and she was utterly relaxed, reliving the moment. I reached out and gently nudged her arm. I spoke almost at a whisper. "Brenda?")

Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!

("Would you like to take a break? We can come back to this later.")

No! Oh, no! Please. I won't do it again. Please let me keep telling you!

("Sure. Take it easy. Take all the time you want. I'll listen. I want to know.")

(Deep breath, almost a sigh)

Anyway, he kept telling me that his Natural, the girl he would hypnotize; her hands and arms would get heavy, pleasantly heavy, and that was when she first realized what she really wanted: just to let go of all her troubles and all her worries and let him help her go into a trance. She was just starting to understand that that's what she needed; needed more than anything else in the world. He just sort of went on and on about that, and I think I let my mind wander a little, because instead of listening then, I began to realize that there was something wrong with my arms. I couldn't move them. My hands were just sort of lying in my lap, and I couldn't even budge them. I wanted to tell him that there was something wrong with me, but I didn't want to interrupt him, because that would be rude.

I was really tired; more tired than I think I've ever been in my whole life. Now, he was talking about how his Natural would be so wonderfully tired, and so wonderfully heavy, and so wonderfully relaxed that she was really past the point of all resistance. The thing she wanted most was just to submit to the wonderful sleep that was coming for her. All she had to do was focus all her attention on the watch and his voice, and sleep would come for her and she could surrender and follow him as he led her into the special place she wanted to be. It was something she wanted more than anything! She wouldn't want to wake up. That's why she had to obey. She had to obey him completely. That way, when he led her to the place she wanted to be more than anything else, he could lead her back. And that made sense to me. Of course he would have to bring her back, and since she didn't want to, she would have to obey him or she would never wake up.

That's when he began telling me that I must look only at the watch, and listen only to his voice; that there was nothing for me except the watch and his voice. And I swear that that was the first time I actually even thought that it was ME he was trying to hypnotize. It was as if the idea was always there, but I'd just been ignoring it. And now it sort of washed over me like a revelation that comes too late. I thought "Oh, my God! He hypnotizing me!" but I didn't know what to do about it. It never even dawned on me that I should look away from him or stop listening to his voice. After all, those were the things he was telling me to DO; and he was telling me to obey him, and somehow I just didn't seem to know that I could do anything else.

And then the strangest thing happened. It was as if a thick fog had rolled into the diner, and it was obscuring everything except the watch. I could see the watch with crystal clarity, but everything else just sort of went away. At the same time, I realized that I couldn't hear anything else in the diner. No voices, no clattering dishes, no clink of silverware, nothing. Total silence, except for his voice. It was so strange, and yet so ... comforting in a way. All I had to do was submit and obey, and I could surrender and follow him to the place I most wanted to go in the whole world. I didn't know where that place was, but suddenly I wanted nothing more than to find it.

He told me to "Surrender and sleep!" and I did. Immediately and completely. Oh God, it was wonderful!

(20-second pause)

I opened my eyes, and I was a little girl, sitting on my mom's lap. The knee of my jeans was torn, and my leg was scraped. I was crying. I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn't, or didn't want to, wake up. She was comforting me, stroking my hair, telling me everything was going to be alright. I snuggled into her chest, sucking my thumb, feeling the softness of her cotton dress, the lumpiness of her bra underneath, the spongy softness of her breast beneath that. I could hear the liquid thumping of her heart. She held me in her arms and told me to go to sleep because I was so tired. And I did.

And then I was grown again and standing on the roof of a building downtown. There were other buildings towering above me, but I knew that I was still pretty high up. The wind was wet and cool, and I began to shiver. I realized that I didn't have any clothes on, and I knew that I had been in such a hurry to leave my room that I'd forgotten to get dressed. That was silly, and again, I knew that I must be dreaming, but I didn't even know which sleep I was dreaming in. Was I just asleep, or was I dreaming that I was asleep, and this dream was a product of that? I couldn't figure it out; so I was suddenly resolved to make the most of this dream and just get through it somehow. There was a terrible storm coming, and I had to get inside. A door in a little structure was sticking up from the roof, so I walked over and opened it. There was a flight of stairs going down, and as soon as I'd gone down a few, I became aware that with each step I took, I was actually, physically, going deeper and deeper into my hypnotic trance. This disturbed me, but there was really nothing else to do. I couldn't stay above in the storm. There was nowhere to go but lower ... and deeper.

When I emerged from the staircase, I found myself in the furniture section of a department store. There was no one else there, and I began to wander around a bit. Then, I saw a man, obviously an employee, walking toward me. I puzzled a little about my predicament, since there was nothing anywhere around that I might use to cover my nakedness. But irrationally, I decided to just walk past him as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. Oddly enough, he didn't seem to notice. After I passed him, I found myself standing in front of an escalator, under a sign that said: "Express Escalator to the Basement." While I was trying to make up my mind what to do, I happened to glance back at the man that I had just passed. He was just standing there, openly leering at me. He had only pretended not to notice me! He was taking in my every feature. He wanted me! I quickly got on the escalator.

Immediately, I realized what I'd done. I was now going deeper and deeper into my state of hypnosis, and this route was going to take me all the way down. I thought for a moment about going back to the furniture department, but that nasty man was up there, and I knew what HE would do to me! I could actually, physically, feel myself going deeper. It was not unpleasant. In fact, I was really enjoying it, but I somehow felt that I shouldn't be. Does that make sense?

All of a sudden, I became aware that the sides of the escalator were made of glass. I could see out, easily viewing the next floor as I descended into what was obviously the women's wear section. The trouble with that was that the people on this floor could also see me! No one seemed to be paying any attention, though, and I was beginning to think that I would escape unnoticed, when an elderly lady looking at blouses happened to glance up and see me. She hated me, I could tell. She thought I was whore, coming into this store in the nude. She thought I was ungodly, and interested only in sex. I wanted to tell her, to explain to her, that I had only forgotten my clothes, that I hadn't done this on purpose; but then I was going deeper, deeper past the women's wear floor, to the floor below.

This was the men's wear level. Three guys were looking at a display of boots, and one looked up and spied me almost immediately. He laughed and pointed, the others following his gaze and gawked at me. I blushed furiously and started walking downward, hoping to end my humiliation quickly. But strangely, inexplicably, my breasts seemed to bounce and jiggle much more than they normally would. I stopped, and their wobbling motion finally settled and they became still. I was mortified. Before I descended below this level, I couldn't help but look back at the men. The "pointer" was laughing hysterically, using his hands to emulate my jiggling breasts, as one of his buddies laughed along and stared at me. The third one, though, wasn't laughing at all. He was leering. The way he looked at me left little doubt: he wanted me! Wanted to take me sexually; wanted to do things to me I didn't even know about. I shivered. It excited me, and that made me more ashamed than ever.

On the next floor, Winter Wear, a woman with a very short haircut was looking at black leather jackets. She also looked at me, curiously at first, but then she increasingly acquired the gaze of the man above. She wanted me, too. Sexually. I couldn't take much more of this. With a sense of self-disgust, I realized that I was very wet between my legs.

And finally, it was over. The escalator ended, and I stepped off. I was as deep as I could go, both in this building, and in my hypnotic state. I was a little awed. I didn't know what to expect. I was at one end of a long hallway, but it was poorly lit, and I couldn't see the other end. There were doors to either side, and they all seemed to have writing on them. Cautiously, I approached the one nearest me on my right, and saw the name "Jennifer" written on it. Below the name, in flowing script, the words "Submit and Obey" were literally etched into the hard wood of the door. I couldn't make any sense of it. Tentatively, I tried the knob. The door was securely locked. On the opposite side of the hall, there was a door with the name "Suzy" and the same etched inscription, also locked.

Slowly, I walked down the hall, looking carefully at the doors on either side. Betty, Wanda, Nancy, Dawn, Rhoda; the names just went on and on, and below each name, the same words were etched into the wood. And suddenly it became very clear to me. These were the Naturals. Menlo's Naturals. Each had been given her own room here in his "Hall of Conquests." Somehow, I knew that each one of them had given herself to him, not just hypnotically, but sexually as well. For the first time, I knew that I was going to join them. I was going to become the latest in this long, long line of girls who would give themselves to him.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 02



And then all of a sudden, I was looking at a blank door. No name. The words "Submit and Obey" were still there, but they were painted on rather than being etched. The door next to it was also devoid of name. For a moment I didn't understand, but then I turned and looked at the door on the other side of the hall, and there I was. "Brenda." Below my name, the words were painted, not etched. I stood looking at it for the longest time, then took a deep breath and turned the knob. Locked! I felt a little panicked. This was my room! I suddenly knew that I wanted in there; I didn't want to turn back now; I really NEEDED to become a part of this. This was my special place, and I wanted inside!

I came to realize that this was a riddle of some sort; a test. I had to fulfill some task to prove myself worthy. I stared at my door for long minutes. Why was my "Submit and Obey" painted, while the Naturals who had come before me had their inscriptions etched? And then I knew. It was what he had told me before. If I didn't obey, I'd never awaken. I must obey everything, EVERYTHING, I was told while in this room. That way, when given the instruction to wake up, I would do so at once and immediately, just as I would obey every command. I must submit to this obedience to gain entrance. I spoke the works aloud: "Submit and Obey," and at once the words on the door began to glow red hot. They were obscured by smoke for a moment, but when it cleared, they were etched deeply into the wood. There was a click, and the door swung open.

I wish I could describe it to you, my room. I can't; I can't remember. It's like the best dream of my whole life, but when I wake up it fades away. I try to hold it, but the good feelings I have when I awaken from trance sort of distract me, and I can't remember the specifics of it. I can only tell you that it's the best place I've ever been, and I can't wait to go back! I do remember that when the door closed behind me, it sealed forever, and I can never get in or out that way again. But that's not important. When I go into trance, I'm just ... there! There's a bed in the middle of the room, and it's the most wonderful, most comfortable, softest bed in the whole world. He talks to me while I'm on the bed, and I talk to him, but I can't remember what's said. I'm naked, of course, but that doesn't seem to matter at all. I do know that I loved it there. I didn't ever want to leave. It was magnificent.

And then he told me to wake up, and of course, I did.

We weren't anywhere near the diner. It took me awhile to realize that we were many blocks away, over on Harper's Bay Lane. I yawned and stretched, and felt wonderful, and he told me we were going to walk a little more. He offered me his arm, and I tucked my hand inside his elbow and let him lead me. I could tell it was what he wanted. He was talking about his Naturals again, and just like in the restaurant, he sort of prattled on and on. But I think he was deliberately trying to embarrass me, because he didn't hide the fact that he had had sex with each of them.

Then suddenly, after a whole block, I gasped. I think it was the aftermath of the dream that caused me not to be aware of it sooner. I had been nude in my dream for so long that it felt almost natural. "What happened to my bra?" I screamed.

He seemed annoyed that I had interrupted him, and in fact, I suddenly wished I hadn't. I wanted to tell him that the bra wasn't mine ... that it was borrowed; but I just couldn't let him know that! He told me that the bra was in my purse, and that he'd made me go into the bathroom in the diner and take it off. He said it was very becoming, but he liked me better without it. And, with my hand still on his arm, he continued to stroll down the street as if my bra was of no importance at all. And then, mortified, I said "My panties!" but I'm afraid it sort of came out as a squeaky whisper.

"Ah, those," he said, and he reached into the pocket of his sports coat and pulled them out. "Hope you don't mind my keeping these. Sort of a souvenir."

And that made it official, I guess. He was going to have sex with me. I was about to become one of his statistics. My panties would be his trophy. I was surprisingly calm about the whole idea. He continued to lead me, strolling along the street, talking

.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked him quietly.

He barked a laugh. "Anything I want," he said.

He must have seen a little panic in my eyes, but he didn't try to placate me, he just told me what was next. "Do you see the end of the lane down there?" he asked, pointing. I nodded. "Well, when we get there, I'm going to hypnotize you again. And that ought to put you over the edge, although I'm beginning to think you're there already."

"Where?" I asked.

"Addiction," he answered calmly. "Not physical, of course, or even mental addiction. Psychological. It's probably the most powerful type of addiction there is. But, as I say, I think you're probably already there." He looked at me compassionately. "Now, don't worry your pretty little head about it too much. It's not as if you're going to have to turn to a life of crime to feed your need. Anyone can be trained to put you under. It won't be bad. And you DO like it, don't you?"

I shivered, but I held his arm tighter.

He told me that he almost hadn't had the opportunity to meet me today; that he'd gone looking for the Natural he'd made the last time he'd given a show here a year ago. Her name was Dawn – I'd seen her on one of the doors – and he'd wanted to look her up because she'd been a real wildcat in bed. Dawn had gone under almost as easily as I had, he told me, and had been easily addicted. She'd do anything for the opportunity to go back to her "special place." After she'd worn him out in the bedroom, he'd put her under and had a really in-depth talk with her.

She had just broken up with her boyfriend, and was miserable. She had been the one to break it off, and now she had serious doubts. He had been a control freak, not only in the bedroom, but in just about every aspect of her life. When they went out to dinner, he'd insist on ordering for her without asking her what she wanted. He had insisted she move in with him, and then wanted to pick out what she wore, what she cooked, what she did in her spare time. Lately, he'd introduced her to bondage, and then he'd actually whipped her. She'd left him after that, but deep down, subconsciously, she had loved the loss of control. He excited her. And more to the point, she loved him. Menlo planted a couple post-hypnotic commands in her, cleaned her up, and had her lead them over to this guy's apartment. He had given her to him, "body and soul." (She used her fingers to make the quote marks.) He taught the guy how to put her under, and then he just left her with him.

This morning, Menlo had gone looking for her, and when he finally found her, he discovered that she's "pregnant out to here" (she used her hands in front of her stomach to illustrate his comment), and after a little questioning, he found that her boyfriend is now her master, her husband, and the father of her baby, "in that order." So he said goodbye to Dawn, and had gone looking for a new Natural.

Maybe he was just making it all up, but the story really shook me. Could he do that to ME? Just GIVE me to somebody, like a possession? I should have felt disgusted. But I felt .... I mean, I couldn't stop thinking about ...

(22-second pause. She was obviously fighting some sort of inner battle. She wanted to tell me everything, but for some reason, she also wanted to suppress this thought. Eventually, she left the statement unfinished and shifted to the next part of her story.)

All at once, he stopped walking and turned to me. It took me a moment to understand. We were at the end of the lane. There were no houses here, just that little park. Do you know the one I mean? He looked down at me and I thought "This is it! If I let him hypnotize me again, I'll be addicted forever." But when he told me to look into his eyes, I did just what he said. They were sort of scary, and very dark, but I couldn't look away. He told me to relax, and I told myself: "I can't do this. I can't let him!" But I did. All the strength just seemed to flow right out of me. I couldn't hold my arms up, and I knew I was lost. This was it! I was going to let myself become addicted! When he told me to surrender, I didn't even think about it; COULDN'T think about it. I wanted to sleep so badly. I was giving my soul to him. And in return, he gave me my room back. Suddenly, I was just there. No door, no dreams. Just naked in my bed, in my room.

We talked some more while I was there on my bed, but again, I don't remember what it was about. Then he made me do something ... something inside the room. There's something else there ... but I can't remember what it is. I just know that when he told me to wake up again, we were over on Hobart Street, standing in front of one of those houses that offer rooms for rent. Do you know which ones I mean?

And I knew right away, that this was it. His place. He was going to take me inside and do it to me. He reached out with his hand, but I backed away a little and shook my head. This seemed to really surprise him, but he wasn't upset.

He said: "Let's just go inside. You can ease my loneliness, and then I'll hypnotize you again." And without thinking, I put my hand in his and let him lead me to the door. I wanted to scream, I was so disgusted with myself! Just the mention of putting me in a trance had me following him like a puppy.

"How can I feel this way?" I asked miserably. "I only just woke up! Why do I want it so badly already?"

And he said: "You don't understand the nature of the addiction. It's not like other forms. Perhaps I shouldn't call it 'addiction' at all. It's really a NEED. It isn't dependent on the passage of time. If I leave you tomorrow and you are never hypnotized again, your need will not increase. It will always be just as it is now. And if you've just awakened from a trance, it will still be the same."

I confess that the idea of my never being hypnotized again had me a little panicked. It still does.

(15-second pause.)

His room is on the first floor, and he unlocked it and took me inside. Right away, he turned me toward him and started unbuttoning my blouse. It was happening so quickly! I was very nervous.

"I not very good at this," I told him, feeling very meek. "I've never really had a boyfriend."

And he said: "I know."

I was afraid he didn't understand. I wasn't fighting him, but I wanted to make him happy in return for giving me my special room. "I'm not a virgin," I told him.

And he said: "I know."

So, if he knew I wasn't a virgin, then he knew about Uncle Brad. (16-second pause. She kept looking at me, trying to make up her mind.) I should tell you about Uncle Brad.

("You don't have to, Brenda.")

No, I want to. I need to. It happened during Spring Break of my sophomore year, the semester after I had your class. My mom came and got me and drove me down to Iowa to see her sister on the farm. It started out to be a nice visit, but on the third day, Mom and Aunt Reida decided to drive into the Quad Cities to go to a mall. I didn't want to go. It was an hour and a half each way. So I stayed and helped Uncle Brad with some of the chores around the farm.

Late that afternoon, he told me to come out to the barn and see what he had there. He was growing his own marijuana, and he rolled a joint for me. He said he and Aunt Reida had little parties of their own. I smoked one, and got really, really high. And then, all of a sudden, he was all over me. I fought a little, but he was very strong, and with the pot and everything; well, the way he was kissing and touching me really did feel sort of nice, even though I didn't want it to. He got my pants off somehow, and rubbed me and sort of pinched my clit, and all the while, he was kissing me. Finally, I just sort of gave up; but when he shoved his ... his cock into me, it hurt something awful. He held me down and pushed in and out of me for about a minute, maybe less, when his whole body got all stiff and started to shake, and I knew from what other girls had told me that he was coming. When he rolled off of me, I ran inside the house without my clothes and locked myself into the bathroom.

His cum was ... well, it was everywhere! It was all sticky and stringy and it smelled like ... well, nothing I'd ever smelled before. I cried awhile, then took a long bath, and then took another one. I was bleeding a lot, and at first I thought he'd really injured me, but it was just my period starting. I didn't tell him that, though. In the back of my mind I was sort of hoping that he'd worry at least a little bit about getting me pregnant. Mom and I left the next day, back to college, but I didn't see him – he was out in the fields. I've never seen him again.

And ever since that day, I've been afraid of letting myself get into a position where a guy is going to do that to me again. That's why I dress the way I do, to sort of discourage guys. They leave me alone, and that's okay by me. (Pause.) I've never told anybody about that ... you're the first.

Well, I mean, I must have told Menlo about it, because he knew I wasn't a virgin. But I didn't want this sex to be bad for him. I wanted him to enjoy it. I was almost certain I wasn't going to be a "wildcat," or anything, but I felt as if I should do SOMETHING to make it special for him. But I didn't know what that something was. Shouldn't I be kissing him or something? I didn't really want to. I was so confused. I'm very shy, and it was all I could do not to cover myself when he finished taking off my blouse and skirt.

Then I thought about one other thing he might be concerned about. "I'm on the pill," I told him quietly.

And he said: "I know."

But if he knew about the pill, then he knew about ... about ....

(25-second pause. I wasn't going to rush her here.)

If he knew about the pill, then he knew about ... you.

("ME?" I'm afraid I shouted this. Immediately, tears sprang to her eyes. I didn't how to react. I was sorry I'd yelled at her, but ... ME!? She was crying steadily now.)

Please ... don't ... hate ... me! (Little sobs punctuated the words.)

("Hey," I said gently. "Hey, now! Don't cry like that. I don't hate you. I like you a lot. I'm just trying to understand, that's all." I kept trying to soothe her for a full minute while she got hold of herself. Finally, she was able to continue. She couldn't seem to make herself look up at me, and spoke down at her hands resting in her lap.)

I think about you sometimes. No, that's not really true: I think about you a lot. I guess I had a real crush on you in Lit 204, but I knew it was just foolish. You couldn't date a student; I knew that. And even after Uncle Brad, I had all these crazy thoughts about you; being with you; doing things with you; letting you do things to me. At night, sometimes, I'd lie in bed and think about you, and I'd ... I'd .... well, (shrug) ... you know; just think about you. I've seen you around campus several times. I've even walked by here to see where you live, but you never saw me, and I never spoke to you because I didn't want you to think ... (shrug) ... you know.

But I knew you weren't dating anybody, and when we wound up in the writing class together, I thought maybe you'd really ask me out this time. You seemed to want to. At least, I told myself you did; you were just working up the courage. And when you did, I was going to say yes. And when you took me out and you tried something with me, well, I was going to let you. My roommate, Sarah, during sophomore year; she told me all guys are after just one thing! And she certainly should know, she dropped out for a year to have a baby. And after Uncle Brad, I sure believed it! But when you tried something with me; well, I wasn't going to try to stop you. I'd already decided. And I didn't want you to feel pressured or anything, so I started taking the pill about five weeks ago.

And now Menlo knew about it, about my feelings. I had no secrets from him. He knew everything. So there was nothing else to say or do. I just stood there, and he started running his hands all over me; my breasts and tummy. He told me to spread my legs apart, and I did, just like that. And he put his finger inside me and started rubbing while he leaned down and kissed me. His breath smelled like stale cigarettes.

He pushed me onto the bed, and I just sat there, watching while he undressed. He was very careful with his clothes, and he hung up each thing as he took it off. My blouse and skirt were just sort of lying there in a heap on the floor. I kept thinking the whole time that I ought to be doing something, but I didn't know what. I certainly wasn't a wildcat, that's for sure! I felt stupid and foolish.

And then he was in bed with me. I lay on my back while he felt me up some more and told me how much I was going to enjoy this. He put his finger back inside me and told me how wet I was, and THAT really surprised me. He kissed me again, and I finally put my hands on his shoulders because I couldn't just let them lie there beside me. I really DID want to make it good for him, because if I did, he was going to hypnotize me again.

And then, he finally lost patience with me. He pulled my legs apart and positioned himself above me and he just pushed it right in. I was expecting it to hurt, but it didn't. He was right; I really was wet, because it just sort of slid right inside me. It filled me, but it was all slippery and soft and hard all at the same time. He started pumping me, using the same sort of rhythm that Uncle Brad had used with me, and I gripped his shoulders and wanted to help somehow, but I didn't know what to do. And, just like Uncle Brad, after about a minute, it was all over. His body got all stiff, and his face looked like he was really in pain, but I guess it was just from his pleasure. He sort of growled, but it was more of a yell, and he pumped a few times really hard, and then he pushed all the way in and started shivering and grunting.

He lay like that, on top of me, for the longest time, breathing hard and just resting. Then he rolled off of me, and without a word, he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He didn't come out for fifteen or twenty minutes, and I just lay there on my back, thinking that now I was a prostitute. I really was! That's the definition; I've read it in the dictionary. I had given my body for compensation. He had something I wanted, and to get it, I'd given myself willingly. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.

After the shower stopped, I heard the tap running in the bathtub, but it didn't seem to register. Then, he came out of the bathroom, smiling at me, wearing only a towel around his waist, and told me to come in and take a bath. My body seemed to obey him instantly, and without thinking, I went in and got in the tub. The water was very hot, and I had to sort of ease myself down into it, but after awhile, it felt marvelous. I tried to let my mind drift away and think of nothing at all while he stood at the sink and shaved.

When he finished, he sat on the toilet seat and told me to look into his eyes. And, of course, I did. In no time at all, I dreamt I was floating in the ocean; but then the ocean disappeared, and I was lying in my soft bed in my special room. He hadn't lied. He'd told me that if I comforted him, he'd let me go back there. In my special room, it didn't matter that I was a prostitute. Nothing mattered.

When he awakened me, we were walking again. I didn't ask him where we were going, I just sort of followed along, and neither of us said anything. You can't imagine how I felt when I realized that he was bringing me HERE. How did he know? Nothing made sense.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 02



But it's been that sort of day, you know?



The Addicted Natural Ch. 03



The following story is for adults only.

Chapter Three – The Way It Always Will Be

"What are you planning to do now?" I asked gently. My opinion of Menlo obviously hadn't improved an iota from my previous encounter. I was hoping to somehow convince Brenda to go to the authorities.

She thought about this for a remarkably short time; a few seconds, perhaps, but she gave me the impression that her decision had been carefully thought out.

"I guess I'll go to his show tonight."

"WHAT?" I said it loud enough to make her jump. She looked at me questioningly. "Brenda, there's no way I'm going to let you get anywhere near that asshole; tonight, or anytime in the future! He belongs behind bars, not roaming around playing with innocent women's minds!"

"It's not his fault, Fred," she said quickly, sadly. "I'm the one who needs what he has to offer. I'm the one who ... did what I did because I need the peace he can give me." She paused while I fumed. "I have to go there tonight because he said it was his last night here. He's going to leave tomorrow, and this is the last time I'll have the chance to go to my special place. I won't have to go up to the stage. He doesn't even have to know I'm there. I can sit in the back, and when he hypnotizes some other girl, I'll just let it happen to me, too. It'll just be one last time, before he goes away." She looked up at me imploringly, trying to make me understand. "I need to feel it again, just once more."

I tried to pick my words carefully. How was I going to break this guy's hold over her? "Brenda, you don't have to go back to him. There must be half a dozen professional hypnotists in the Yellow Pages. I'll go with you and we'll get you some help. With patience, we can break this thing, and you won't be plagued by this room of yours, ever again."

"NO!" She was on her feet, a look of utter panic in her eyes, backing away from me in fear. I was totally unprepared for so dramatic a response. She shook her head at me. She appeared consumed with fright.

"Hey! Hey! Calm down!" I said. "Don't be like that! I'm only trying to help."

"Don't take away My Room!" she implored, whining like a little girl. "Please don't let anybody take it away! You don't understand! Please!"

"Okay, okay. Bad idea," I said. "Come on, sit down with me on the couch and let's talk about this. I promise I won't let anyone take away your room!"

I sat down on the couch and put my arm along the back, waiting patiently for her to join me. Slowly, the panic drained from her, and she slumped down beside me. I put my arm around her. It felt good. She sat stiffly for a long moment, then buried her face in my chest and let me hold her.

"Please," she whispered. "Let me go to him; just one last time."

I thought for a minute, but there was no way I was going to let her go back to that jerk. "There must be another way," I said gently. "What if I explained it to a professional hypnotist, and we can just let him take you to you special room. Just that, and nothing else. He could let you stay there for an hour then wake you up. End of session, and I give you my word that he won't try to change you, or change the room. How about that?"

She seemed to consider it for a moment, then she looked up at me with those huge green eyes. "YOU could do it, Fred," she said in a whisper.

It took me a moment to understand her meaning. "Me? You mean you want ME to hypnotize you? I don't know the first thing about it!"

She looked back down at her hands. "I could teach you."

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it again. She had almost hypnotized herself while telling me about the experience, so with her coaching, I just might be able to pull it off. My major concern was trust. Not with her; but with ME. Could I trust myself with Brenda when I had her completely in my power? "In my power!" What an amazingly captivating concept. And she would be, too, if she had explained her experiences truthfully. She'd be mine for the taking. I'd be able to do ... anything!

"Brenda, I don't know ...."

"Please?" she begged.

There was a little devil sitting on my shoulder telling me to DO it, while my conscience voted a firm NO. Now, Brenda was begging me for it. Two out of three. The "ayes" had it.

"Okay, what do I do?"

"Really!?" She snapped her head up and looked at me, hope and excitement in her eyes. "You'll really do it?"

"One condition," I warned seriously. "If I do this, you stay away from Menlo; now, and forever. You don't go near him. Understand?"

"Yes, anything!" she gushed excitedly.

I took a deep breath. It was hard to control my excitement. I had a raging hard-on. "Okay, what do I do?"

She turned to face me. "You order me to look into your eyes," she said matter-of-factly.

I've acted in a few stage plays, both in high school and college, as well as a community theater effort or two, but this was going to take all of my acting ability. If I could just get through this one line without laughing, I felt I would have it made.

"Look into my eyes," I ordered firmly, without even cracking a smile. I felt that line warranted an award of some sort. She stared up at me with big, curious eyes, looking deeply into mine. We stayed like that for several long seconds. "What now?" I coaxed.

"You tell me to relax," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You tell me over and over again; and each time, I'll relax more and more."

There was another pause, and I told her to relax several times, making my voice firm but soft at the same time. Her shoulders seemed to slump slightly.

I paused again, and she took the hint, telling me that her arms had to become heavy now; that a wonderful heaviness was inside her whole body. Without another word from me, her hands plopped down onto her lap, and as she continued to stare up at me, her mouth opened slightly. She was in exactly the pose she had been in with Menlo. When I didn't say anything for too long, she whispered the word "Please!" and I continued as best I could.

"You are so relaxed now," I told her, feeling like a guy on stage who hadn't studied his lines. "So heavy and so relaxed. You feel wonderful, don't you?"

"Wonderful," she murmured, but offered nothing else.

"You have to tell me what comes next, Brenda."

"The special words," she said. She could hardly get it out. "My special words."

Special words? Ah, yes. "Submit and obey."

"Submit and obey," she repeated dumbly. "Submit and obey. Submit and obey." She repeated it over and over, mumbling, as if she were talking in her sleep.

"Shhh!" I said softly, and immediately she was silent. "Tell me what's next, Brenda." I couldn't seem to talk above a firm whisper.

"There is only your voice," she answered in a monotone. "Only your eyes. Then you have to make me surrender; surrender and sleep."

I decided to ham it up a bit. After all, I had suddenly been handed the male lead in this play. "So relaxed," I said, a little more loudly, a little more authoritatively. "So very relaxed. You're so heavy, so wonderfully heavy. And now you see only my eyes; hear only my voice. Submit and obey."

"Submit and obey. Submit and obey," she intoned dully

.

"Only my eyes; only my voice. And now you're sleepy, aren't you? So very sleepy. Surrender and sleep."

It was as if someone snapped off a switch in her hear. Her eyes shut immediately, and she slumped back against the back of the couch; limp and unconscious. The suddenness of it shocked me. I just sat there, staring at her. I gingerly reached out and moved her ponytail, which had fallen across her face. She was smiling, just as I had seen her after my encounter with Menlo.

"Brenda?"

"Yes, Freddy."

Freddy? Her voice was firmer than I had anticipated. She didn't sound groggy or disoriented at all. This was her normal, conversational tone of voice. "Where are you, Brenda?"

"I'm in my room, of course."

I wished I had some course of action planned. "What are you doing? What are you thinking about?"

"I'm just lying here on my bed. I love it here. I don't mind at all that I'm naked. And I'm thinking about you, Freddy."

A little understanding was beginning to dawn, anyway. "Freddy" was her pet name for me. It obviously came to her easily in this subconscious state. No wonder Menlo had reacted with disbelief when I told him no one ever called me that.

I ordered her to tell me about her room, and for several minutes, she described it in some detail. It seems that the bed was the only piece of furniture in her imaginary nirvana, but it appeared to be enough for her. She couldn't say enough about how soft and comfortable it was. The wallpaper was different every time she visited the place, and it was always very old, yet very colorful, rich and picturesque. The chandelier hanging above her bed had small, shiny gold pocket watches interspersed among the prismatic crystals. Then she idly referred to the bed as her "bed of truth."

"Why do you call it that?"

"Because I know that everything you tell me while I'm lying on it is the truth. And, of course, everything I say to you is the truth, as well. Only the truth ...."

The implications of this little revelation became immediately apparent. She would believe everything I told her, without question. It would automatically be considered the truth.

"Can you sit up?" I asked. "I don't mean in your room; I mean here, with me?"

"Of course," she said, and she immediately pushed herself off the back of the couch, sat upright, and opened her eyes. The abruptness of this action caused me to jump a bit, and it took me a moment to realize that while her eyes were open, they stared straight ahead of her at the center of room, unseeing.

"Are you still in Your Room?" I asked

.

She laughed. She really has a marvelous laugh. "Of course I am."

"When I first asked what you were thinking about, you said it was me. What were you thinking about me?"

"I was surprised you are my master. I think that's wonderful! I know I'm going to love having you as my master!"

"Master?" This was only getting better.

"Of course. I have to obey whoever brings me here. I thought only Menlo could, but I was wrong. YOU brought me here, and now I have to obey you. I'd never be able to wake up, otherwise. I must obey."

"Does it bother you, having a master?"

"Oh, no! In my room, I'm free. Free from anxiety, free from pain, free from want. No hunger, or need, or embarrassment, or insecurity. No decisions, no deadlines. Free. I'm completely your slave, but completely free. I've never felt more free!"

What a racket! How long did it take Menlo to think this up?

"Brenda, what did you and Menlo talk about when you were here before?"

"I don't know. I forget when I wake up. I can't remember."

Hmmm. A little experimentation was in order. "Brenda, you will now be able to remember what you talked about before. Think, and you'll remember."

Her brow creased. Slowly, the smile was replaced with a frown, and her head cocked a little to one side. "I'm ... I ... Freddy, I know I can remember, but ...." Her head began shaking from side to side. "Freddy," she said, much more loudly than before, "I know I can remember, but I can't seem to ...." Her voice was increasing in pitch.

In a flash, I thought of an old Star Trek episode in which a smug Captain Kirk had told an android that the truth was really a lie. The fake smoke pouring out of the android's ears from failing to deal with the conundrum wasn't up to Hollywood standards, even back in the 60's.

"Hold it, Brenda," I implored quickly. "It's okay, I was only kidding. Relax! You don't have to remember."

Almost immediately, she stopped her fidgeting, and the smile drifted back to her lips. Note to self: paradox does not mix well with hypnosis.

I decided I'd try something else. "Brenda," I said tentatively, "Are you sure there is no other furniture in your room?"

She actually turned her head to the left and right, looking unseeingly around the living room. "No, only my bed. But that's enough. I love my bed."

"Brenda, if you watch, over to the left, against the wall, I'm going to give you a present. It's a mirrored vanity. A beautiful piece of antique furniture. You didn't notice it before because I didn't let you see it. But you can see it now, can't you?"

A big smile lit her face. "Oh, it's beautiful. Can I go to it?"

"Yes. Go to it, sit down on the antique chair, and describe it to me."

She didn't budge on the couch, but after a half-minute's pause, she continued. "I love it! Oh, Freddy, it's wonderful! The chair is a little chilly on my bare butt, but I don't mind. It has a heart-shaped mirror attached to a silver frame. There are lots of drawers, and I know just what's in each of them; my silver brush and comb, the lipsticks, the eye liners ...."

"Brenda, I want you to look in the mirror. It's a special mirror, and you will be able to look into it and see how beautiful you really are. Your hair is dark and lovely, your complexion young and clear, your body soft and smooth. The mirror reflects your femininity. You are oh, so feminine. You feel SO feminine."

She stared straight ahead, rapt. Her hand reached up to her shoulder, and she let the nails rake gently down her breast and across the point on her blouse where her nipple poked up at the thin fabric. A tear trickled down her smiling cheek. "Oh, Freddy. This is wonderful. This is such a wonderful gift! A new part of My Room!"

Okay, so I knew I could alter the room. The question was how to find what I knew was hidden there.

"Brenda," I'd like you to get up and walk around Your Room a little bit. Do you remember telling me that Menlo made you do something here? I know you can't remember what it was, but I think there is something hidden here. I need you to help me find it."

Her brow wrinkled again for a moment, but then she gave me a determined smile. "Okay, Freddy. I'll try, but I don't see anything else here. Only my bed and my new vanity."

"Is there anything hanging on the walls?"

"No."

"Nothing else in the room at all?"

"No. Only the rugs."

"Rugs? Tell me about them."

"They're braded oval rugs. The bed is on the largest one. There's another one here by my new vanity; sort of in the center of the room."

That was it, I was certain. "Go over to it, Brenda. I think there's something underneath it. Can you lift one edge of it?"

"Oh! Oh, my! There's a ...."

"Trap door," I finished. "There's a trap door, isn't there?"

"Yes." Her voice sounded small and unsure.

"Do you know what's down there, below the door?"

"No. I ... I don't know if I want to know. I ...."

"Open the door, Brenda." There was a long pause. "Is it open?"

"Yes." She sounded a little scared.

"Do you know what's down there now?"

"I am. Everything that makes me ... ME. My soul. When I'm down there, it's the way it always was ... and the way it always will be."

I thought about that for a long minute. It didn't make a lot of sense. Only one way to find out. I may be treading on thin ice here, but no matter what I thought of Menlo, I didn't think he'd set this up in such a way that she could be hurt.

"Go down there, Brenda. Let me know when you have arrived in the room below."

"Okay, Freddy." She sounded like a little girl. After a long moment, she resumed in a voice that was a monotone. "I'm here, Freddy."

"Where are you, Brenda?"

"Here."

"Tell me about it. What do you see? What are you doing?"

"I'm sitting in a chair. I'm just here. I don't see anything."

"What happens here, Brenda? Do you know?"

"Nothing happens here. This is just the way it always was, and the way it always will be."

All right, I could figure this out. I knew I could! But there didn't seem to be a starting place. "Do you remember being her before?"

"I think I've been here, but I don't remember. It doesn't really matter, anyway. It's just the way it's always been ...."

"And the way it always will be," I finished, exasperated.

"Yes."

I got up and paced around the living room. Whatever and wherever this was, it was the place she equated with a soul; and it was here that he had created this "addiction" idea, not to mention the concept of giving sex in exchange for hypnosis. Had he made it irreversible? It certainly sounded like it, with this "way it always will be" rigmarole. But what if ...?

The idea hit me with a lot of force. It sort of put a whole new spin on the idea of "change." If I was right, any changes implemented here wouldn't be considered "changes" at all. They would simply be ... true. The way it always was. Menlo was a genius, the son of a bitch!

I had to try this, had to see if it was true. But I paused a long while, considering. This was nothing to be treated lightly. Whatever I experimented with may well be permanent. After a lot of consideration, I thought I had something. It would be a change in her life, and yet, if permanent, it wouldn't be THAT big a change. I found I was shaking. If this worked, and if I was right, it meant I could do ANYTHING to her; and not only would she be changed, she wouldn't even KNOW it was a change.

"Brenda?"

"Yes."

"Last night, did you get drunk?"

"Yes, a little. I was high, you know?"

"How much did you have to drink?"

"Three bottles of beer."

"No, Brenda, you're wrong. You only had one bottle of beer." I paused and observed her closely. She showed no reaction at all; she just sat there, staring straight ahead. "You see, Brenda, you have a particularly low tolerance to alcohol; you always have. After only one drink, you show the same symptoms that others show when they've had three or four. After only one drink, you feel happy and high; giddy and sort of silly; it's a little hard for you to think normally, but you like the feeling, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "It's always been like that."

I was right! "You like feeling that way, but you are also very aware of your weakness. You have to watch yourself very carefully. You know what can happen if you drink too much. Have you ever been very, very drunk, Brenda?"

"Yes," she answered, without hesitation. "Once, my suitemates and I had a 'girls only' party, and I got so drunk I passed out. The next day, I thought I was going to die! I'd drunk a whole six- ...." She looked suddenly confused.

"Three beers," I said quickly. You'd had three beers. Now you know what three drinks can do to you, don't you?"

She nodded. "I'll never drink three beers again. I felt terrible."

"After two drinks, it will be hard for you to walk or talk," I said, confident now that I was on the right track. "So you must be very cognizant of your weakness, and pace yourself, isn't that correct?"

"Yes," she said, nodding again. "It's important to know your limit."

"But you do like to drink a little, don't you? What do you like best?"

"White wine. I love chilled white wine. But I shouldn't drink too much."

"That's right, Brenda. Very good. You can go back up to your room now, and get in your bed. Please close the trap door and replace the rug when you go up, and let me know when you're in your bed again."

A long minute went by before she told me that she was once again in her favorite place.

"Brenda, do you remember where you've been. Did you go somewhere else in your room?"

She thought a moment. "I think I did, but I don't really remember."

"That's okay. Do you like to drink? What's your favorite alcoholic drink?"

"White wine. I can't drink too much, though. One's my limit. I've always had a very low tolerance for alcohol."

"Do you like pizza?"

"Sure!"

"You have a craving for pizza, Brenda." (I didn't have a lot of spending money at the moment.) "Wake up now."

She blinked several times, then stretched and yawned, just as she'd done when I awakened her before. Again, my eyes were drawn to her outthrust chest, and again she blushed with downcast eyes, but made no attempt to cover herself.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 03



"How do you feel?"

"Great! I knew you could do it to me! I went right under, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. Are you hungry? I was thinking of going out for a bite to eat."

"Pizza!" she squealed. "Could we get some pizza?"

Oh, this was too easy! Everything comes with a price, however, and in this instance, she insisted on "getting ready," which meant, of course, twenty minutes in the bathroom, primping for our first date. It was worth the wait, however. She had taken her hair down, and it was absolutely breathtaking; very long, straight, shiny, and raven black, it hung to the small of her back. Her makeup had been retouched, her blouse tucked into the skirt. The bra must still be in her purse, however, and I made a concerted effort not to leer.

I won't go into great detail about our evening out, except to say that it was perfect in every respect. We walked to the local pub, her hand on my arm, exactly the way she had described walking with Menlo; but by the time we got there, I'd taken her hand in mine and we were like a couple of teens suffering from a terminal case of infatuation. For an hour, we talked, and I was absolutely enthralled by her. She deftly kept steering the conversation back to my work, my writing, my thesis (which was due in a week), and she made several really good recommendations. For the first time, I came to understand that it might be extremely advantageous if my hold over her was more than physical. If she could write as well as she spoke, we might actually undertake a few projects together. I wondered how long it would take her, through a little concentrated tutoring, to surpass my abilities.

All through the meal (we split a medium cheese pie – four pieces for me, two for her), she sipped from her one glass of wine and became more and more animated. By dinner's end, she was absolutely giddy. She laughed at my smallest joke, giggled from time to time, and seemed to blush frequently. Finally, she leaned forward and whispered to me: "I wish I'd worn the bra."

"I think I've made an admiral effort not to stare," I told her with mock seriousness.

"Oh, you've been a right proper gentleman," she said, slurring the words slightly. "But the bloke behind you is making eyes at me." It was an English pub.

"Shall I bop the bloke's block off?" With a snort, she dissolved into a fit a giggles. "Time to get you out of here," I said, and helped her to her feet.

If we hadn't walked home in silence, I might not have been consumed with such insidious thoughts. I realized at the time, strolling with my arm around her, that what I was contemplating was worse by far than the crimes of which I had accused Menlo, but I knew I couldn't resist this overwhelming temptation. If there is a God, I thought, I would surely go to hell for this. And yet, I knew I would do it. The idea was simply too good to possibly pass up.

It was an epiphany, really. I guess we all have our little hang-ups, our little insecurities. Mine, quite frankly, was one of size. I considered myself under-endowed. Not that I couldn't use the equipment I was blessed with. On the contrary, of the half-dozen sexual liaisons in my life, all the ladies expressed satisfaction in my abilities; most had asked for return engagements; and some had even sought a more permanent relationship - which I was inclined, at those times, to decline. And yet, I always considered my size, in the dick department, average at best. I've often wondered if size DOES matter, as the old cliché goes, and lamented that I might never really know first hand.

But if beauty really IS in the eye of the beholder, then my member might appear beautiful indeed in Brenda's eye; for I could make her see anything I damn well pleased.

We stopped in front of my house. "I want you to come inside," I told her.

"I don't know," she said demurely, her eyes downcast, her cheeks crimson. "I've had too much to drink. Maybe I should go on back to the dorm."

I stepped back a pace, which left her, for a moment, swaying wobbly on her feet. I extended a hand. "I want to hypnotize you again."

Without a thought, she put her hand in mine, and I led her toward the door. "You don't have to if you don't want," she said lamely. "I mean, I don't want you to feel obligated ...."

I had her inside by then. "Look into my eyes," I ordered sternly, and without the hint of a laugh. It went very quickly. I'm not a bad actor, and I learn my lines without much effort. I was a little concerned about the possibility of her collapsing on the floor in a hypnotic puddle at my feet, but when the spoken order to "surrender and sleep" was given, she swayed a little, and then nestled into my arms, just as she had done with Menlo that afternoon. In no time at all, I had her body sitting on the couch, as she was during our last session, and her mind in her wonderful room. Then, I wasted no time in having her peel back the braided rug and descending into her "soul" below.

"Brenda?"

"Yes, Freddy."

"Brenda, what I am about to tell you will not alter the way things have always been, but you are about to notice a difference in the way things will always be. Does that make sense?"

She wrinkled her brow. "I don't know," she said quietly. "I don't think I understand."

I tried to pick my words carefully. "You have had relationships with people in the past, and you know how you felt about them then, and how you feel about them now. Do you understand that?"

"I guess so."

"But you've never really had a relationship with me before, have you? You don't know how you might react being with me. It might be totally different with me. It may even surprise you. Does that make sense?"

She smiled. "Yes."

"Have you ever kissed a guy for a long time?"

"Yes, when I was a senior in high school, Reggie McPherson took me parking on a lovers' lane near his house. He kissed me and I let him touched me, but I wouldn't let him go too far. He took me parking there twice, but I ended it after that. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to stop him from going all the way if I did it again."

"Do you remember the feeling it gave you to have him kiss you? Describe it to me."

"It made me all excited and fluttery inside. I felt pretty and wanted. After awhile, I got dizzy, and that's when I'd let him touch me. I really liked it. I knew I should make him stop, but I didn't want to. It was MYSELF I didn't trust. I mean, he wanted to do it to me, but all guys want that. It would have been my fault if I'd let it go too far. But I got close to letting him. I could hardly control my body. That second time, he blew in my ear, and I almost lost it. I panicked. I made him take me home, and I wouldn't go out with him again."

"Brenda, when you kiss me, you will have that same feeling, only magnified many times. It will be very intense, and you will find that you feel very feminine, just like you feel sitting in front of your vanity in your room. Very excited, very aroused. More so than you've every felt before. You will find that you cannot possibly fight such desires burning inside you. Your body will long to be touched, caressed. You will want to give yourself to me completely, and you will not be able to resist. Your reaction will surprise you, but it will be undeniable. And that reaction will always be the same; you will never get used to it. It will always surprise you in its intensity. Do you understand?"

She was breathing deeply. "Yes."

"Brenda, do you ever touch yourself; sexually, I mean?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about it."

"My roommate is dating this guy pretty heavily, and she's gone a lot of nights, staying with him. When she's gone, I think about you, and I touch myself. I touch my breasts and between my legs. I put my finger inside my ... pussy, and I pretend it's you. I pinch my nipples, and I pretend it's you sucking on them. I don't last long. I come, and then I go to sleep."

"Do you move your body when you do this? Do you make noises?"

"Oh, I couldn't make noises! Somebody might hear! I want to, and sometimes little sounds come out of me, but I can't be too loud, or somebody might hear me. That would be ... more than embarrassing. And the same thing with my body. My bed squeaks, and I can't let my body move too much. Sometimes, when I just can't control myself anymore, I roll over on my tummy, then lift my butt up and spread my legs. That way, I can rub myself really hard, right on my clit, and I pinch my nipple really hard, too. And that always makes me come right away. I bury my face in my pillow so the sounds aren't too loud. At least, I hope they aren't. Sometimes, when I come like that, I go right to sleep, even before I put my nightgown back on. I wake up in the middle of the night, and I remember what I've done, and I hope that I didn't make enough noise for someone to hear."

"Brenda, when I touch you, the feeling of my hands on your skin will be much, much more intense than you ever imagined. It will make you feel even more feminine, and excited and aroused than you ever thought possible. You will want to submit to me. You will want me to do things to you; to do anything I want to you. You will want to feel more and more of the feelings I make you experience. You won't be able to control yourself. Your body will want to move, and you won't be able to stop it. Sounds will want to come out of you, the sounds of love, and you will have no control over them. My hands will make your body move and the sounds come. You will have no control over me, and no control over your body."

She made a noise, deep in her throat. Her hips had begun wriggling in her seat.

"And my mouth, Brenda; the things that I do with my mouth will be even more excruciatingly exciting. Do you understand?"

Her lips had parted. She began breathing hard through her mouth. "Yes! Yes, I understand." A pause. "And you could blow in my ear!"

I couldn't help but laugh at that, but she, of course, didn't notice. "Yes, Brenda. But the most amazing thing of all will be my cock. Have you ever wondered what it looks like?"

"Yes!" she panted.

"But you have no idea how large it is. It will shock you, when you see it. It always will, even when you've seen it over and over again; every time you see it again, its size will surprise you. It will scare you a little, too. At first, you will wonder if you can possibly get it inside you. And after you've seen it many, many times, you will be amazed at your body's ability to accommodate it. Do you understand?"

"Oh, my gosh! Yes, yes, I understand."

"My cock and balls will fascinate you. You will love looking at them. You will be embarrassed, of course, by your perverse desires, but you will long to touch them and caress them, and stroke my cock. You will be amazed at the different ways my cock feels and smells and tastes. And with each new way, you will find that you truly love it. Love the feel and smell and taste. Do you understand, Brenda?"

She whimpered. "Yes."

"You will feel obligated to put my cock in your mouth, to taste it and suck on it."

"Yes! My roommate says that's the only time a woman is REALLY in charge of a man sexually; when she's giving him a blow job. She says that a woman can make her man do anything for a good blow job."

"Ah, yes," I responded. "But you will soon find that you are not like most women. When my cock is in your mouth, you will find yourself very, very excited sexually. You will find control of any kind almost impossible, and you will love that feeling; the feeling of losing control. When my cock is in your mouth, you will imagine it in your pussy, pumping in and out of you, impaling you, forcing you to accept every inch of it deep, deep inside you. You will imagine your mouth, your body, as a sexual implement to be used for my satisfaction; and that will excite you to the point of distraction. You will find that even when I am so deep inside your mouth that I'm pushing against the back of your throat, you will be able to accept it easily; relaxing your throat and swallowing me."

She was making constant little mewling sounds.

"And when it is inside your cunt, you will find that it fills you completely, impossibly. You will feel every long inch of it, rubbing inside you, moving in and out of you, rubbing your clit, stroking every part of your sex. So massively big. Do you know what a 'G – spot' is, Brenda?"

She panted a couple of times. "Yes," she wheezed, trying to catch her breath. "I read about it in a library article, but I don't think I have one. I reached as far inside of myself as I could one night, but I didn't feel anything."

"You can't reach that far up inside of yourself, Brenda. You'll find that out when I put my cock into you really, really deep. When I'm that far up inside of you, so very far up inside of you, you will feel me poking against something, and you will know, deep in your mind, that it must be your G-spot; because it will be so intense, so wonderfully erotic and sensitive, that you won't be able to stop the orgasm that will come. You'll know then, won't you, Brenda?"

"OH GOD, FREDDY!" she moaned.

I said nothing for a long couple of minutes, and watched her slowly calm down again. When her breathing was back to normal, she surprised me with what I thought a slightly rebellious remark.

"But this isn't right. It's for you. The sex is supposed to be for you. I need to repay you for bringing me to my room again. I should be giving YOU pleasure. Mine isn't important."

I gawked at my hypnotic slave. After considering for a minute, I figured, what the heck! "Yes," I said as matter-of-factly as I could, "you're right. You must always try to please me, but unfortunately, your body will betray you. You won't be able to resist, will you? You cannot resist your body, and you must not resist me. You have so little control over things, Brenda. How does that make you feel?"

"It's sort of like being in my room," she answered quietly. I have no control there, and I love it. I think that not having any control when I'm with you might be ... nice." She said no more, and eventually, I made her leave her "soul" and climb back to her room above.

In another minute, she was fully awake.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 04



Chapter 4 – The Second Gift

I stood and helped her stand up while she was doing her post-hypnotic stretching exercises. "How do you feel?" I asked.

"Great!" She stiffened slightly as I put my arms around her, then relaxed and put hers around my waist. She nestled her head into my chest, and we just held each other for a long minute. 

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked in a small voice.

"Anything I want." I never could resist a straight line. Her head snapped up and she looked questioningly into my eyes. I gave her my most innocent smile.

"Don't tease me!" she implored, looking down again, frustrated.

"Well," I said thoughtfully, "I suppose the proper thing for me to do would be to kiss you, and just see how things progress."

She looked back up again then, and seeing that I meant it, waited as I slowly lowered my lips to hers. It started out as a nice kiss; tentative, then a little stronger, slowly increasing in passion. When I parted my lips, she followed suit, and soon I was exploring her mouth with my tongue. That's when things got a little awkward. Her knees buckled, and I had to make a frantic grab for her, catching her under her arms, and hoisting her back up again. She was gasping for breath. When she looked back up at me, her eyes had lost focus, and they seemed to roll a little before finally settling back on my own.

"Golly!" she breathed.

Once again, I believe I did an admiral job of not laughing; not even a giggle. The last time I'd heard that particular exclamation was when I had been channel-surfing and happened to pause on an old rerun of "Leave It to Beaver."

"If I might suggest;" I said quietly, "you could put your arms around my neck."

She did as I said, which had the effect I had hoped for. The shirttail of her blouse pulled loose from her skirt, baring her midriff. As I again lowered my face toward hers, she surprised me by taking the palm of one hand, putting it behind my head, and pulling me to her waiting lips. I slid my hands around the bare skin of her waist, then up her back underneath her blouse. She breathed a long noise into my mouth and shuddered violently. I let my hands wander around her upper and lower back and sides while my tongue explored her mouth. I broke the kiss, and began unbuttoning her blouse. She was breathing hard, making her ample chest a moving target beneath the buttons, and I fumbled a bit.

"Fred, I'm afraid I'm not too good at this," she said softly between gulps of air. "I've wanted this for so long, and I want to make it special for you, but I don't know what to do."

"Will you trust me?" I asked, and she nodded, blushing, as I finally finished with the damn buttons and slid the silken garment off of her body. Her breasts were perfect; high and rounded. I let my gaze settle there, while she reached upward to cross her arms to cover herself, thought better of it, and let them fall to her sides again as her whole body flushed. She looked down at the floor as she displayed herself to me. I took great pains to fold the blouse carefully and drape it over a chair back, then took her into my arms again and gently turned her toward the unlit fireplace. There's a large mirror over the mantle, and it reflected our images back toward us. She looked up, shivered, and cast her eyes back downward as I turned to the task of the skirt, which, thank goodness, was much easier than the blouse had been.

I'd forgotten that she wasn't wearing panties. Menlo, of course, had those as a trophy, but oddly, I wasn't at all jealous knowing that the bastard had taken her sexually only a few hours before. SHE had obviously forgotten HIM, and that was all that mattered to me. I moved behind her and wrapped my arms around her, caressing her naked stomach and breasts.

She said: "Aren't you going to take off your ... Oh golly!" as I lightly pinched her left nipple and started rolling it between my finger and thumb, my right hand snaking across her abdomen and pubic area. She lifted her arms slightly, but obviously didn't know what to do with them, and let them flop back over mine like the wings of a stricken bird. I was very erect, and as I pulled her back into me, I was sure she could feel my hardness against her buttocks and lower back. She glanced nervously up at the mirror for a moment, then forced her eyes back down toward the floor as she tried to cope with the feelings rippling through her body.

"Spread your legs," I ordered softly, and she complied immediately. "Further!" I said, and she quickly placed her feet about 18 inches apart. My right hand slid between the creamy inner thighs, and I obviously scraped my palm against her clit, for she shivered violently and let out of long, low moan. Her pubic hair was short and rather sparse. My palm covered her whole area, and slowly, as I worked my middle finger into her slit, she began to move her hips rhythmically forward and back, grinding into my crotch for a moment or two on each backstroke. I let go of her breast with my left hand long enough to sweep her long black hair over her left shoulder, then I began kissing and nibbling her exposed neck while I resumed pinching and pulling her nipples. I had worked my finger all the way inside her by now, and I began flicking her clit with my thumb. She was amazingly wet, and my hand was rapidly coated with her juices. 

Unable to tolerate doing nothing with her arms any longer, she raised her hands and grasped my wrists. She turned her head to the right, obviously wanting to be kissed, and I complied with her silent request, kissing her deeply, passionately. When I broke it, her lips tried to stay with mine, but I wouldn't let her have her way.

"Look at the girl in the mirror," I ordered. 

She glanced up immediately, blushed furiously, lowered her gaze, then purposefully obeyed me and a brought her eyes up once again.

"I'm shy," she whimpered, then groaned loudly as I flicked her clit with my thumb again. Her hips bucked, tried to find a rhythm, then bucked again. I started working a second finger inside her. "Oh golly oh golly oh golly oh golly," she moaned loudly. She was tight, and I felt her stretching. Each time I flicked the clitoris, she would buck against my hand and the muscles of her cunt would contract around my fingers.

"Watch the girl in mirror," I said firmly, breathing directly into her exposed ear. She stiffened, shut her eyes momentarily while a shudder rippled through her, and she let out an "AAAAhh!" sort of moan. Her body seemed to be moving in several directions now, wriggling from side to side, as well as back against my crotch and forward against the invading fingers. I was looking at her in the mirror to make sure she was keeping her eyes open, but her gaze was on her body, not on me. She made quite a sight, moving in my arms like that.

"What's the girl in the mirror doing now?" I asked, again breathing the words directly into her ear while rubbing her clit as hard and as rapidly as I could. 

"SHE'S COMING!" she shrieked, and suddenly several things happened. Her knees buckled again, and I lost my grip on her breast and I found myself literally supporting her entire weight by the two fingers buried inside her. Her body jerked frantically, grinding into my hand. She started an insistent "Aaahh, aaahh, aaahh, aaahh" sound that coincided perfectly with a spasmodic gripping of my fingers by the muscles of her cunt. I finally caught her below her breasts with my left arm, and after this went on for a full half minute, I slowly pulled my fingers out of her. My whole hand was soaked. She seemed to deflate, and I turned her around and held her tightly as her body was wracked by strong, intermittent shudders. At last her body became still, and her arms lifted and encircled me weakly.

"Are you okay?" I asked, genuinely concerned.

"I .... Freddy, that was .... I've never, ever, ever felt like that before. It was so ... so ...." She stiffened suddenly and drew back from me slightly. "So selfish."

"Huh?"

"I should have been pleasing YOU," she said, with a sort of frantic earnestness. She began fumbling with my belt.

"Hey! Hey, there! Slow down! We have all the time in the world." I held her by the shoulders, but she continued to work with the belt. She couldn't seem to get her fingers to work properly.

"No, you don't understand. I need to please YOU. I need ... I need ...." She took another ragged breath and her hands became still. A tear slid down her cheek. "Please, Freddy. Please? You don't understand. I really, really need to do this. I have to .... I NEED to please you! Please? I can't get this stupid belt undone!"

"If I may be so bold to suggest," I said quietly, trying to calm her, "perhaps you could start with my shirt."

She looked up, then grabbed for the buttons of my long sleeved shirt. She was much more adept at those than the buckle, and soon had the shirt neatly folded and lying next to her blouse and skirt over the arms of the chair, which had suddenly decided to double for a clothes horse. Then she was back to the problem of the belt.

"Shoes and socks next," I ordered softly. "Never leave your man wearing only his shoes, he'll feel foolish." She glanced down, then self-consciously toed off her own sandals, which were all she was wearing, and kicked them aside, out of the way. Before I could move to the couch, she had fallen on her knees in front of me, and busied herself with my shoe laces. The mantle mirror was tilted slightly, to allow people standing before it to see themselves, so I had a splendid view of her back side as she knelt submissively in front of me, bent over her task with the laces. I helped from time to time by placing my hand on her back to steady myself as I lifted a foot to aid in the removal of first the shoes, then the socks. 

At last, there was nothing left but the offending belt and trousers, but instead of standing again, she raised herself on her knees until her face was inches from the buckle. In surprisingly short order, the thing was undone and the pants were off. Instead of getting up to further burden the chair, she folded them and laid them aside on the floor next her, then reached for the waist band of my boxers. The tent that they made in front left little to the imagination. I noticed that her hands were shaking badly again. Very slowly, as if unwrapping a suspicious package, she peeled them down. 

Her breath caught, and she gawked at me. She'd gotten the shorts only as far as my knees, but she seemed to have entirely forgotten about them. "Oh my God!" she whispered. She just knelt there, staring. 

"My shorts, please," I said quietly, gently. "I'm about to fall on my ass, here."

"Huh?" She glanced up to meet my eyes, then immediately back down at my prick. Her mouth was open slightly, and her eyes fastened onto my erect member and stayed there for another several long seconds. Then my words finally seemed to take hold, and she jumped a little. "Oh, sorry." She slid the shorts the rest of the way down my legs and off, as I lifted my feet, one at a time, to help her; but her eyes never left her main item of interest.

"Freddy," she said, quietly, reverently, "I didn't know you were so ... so .... I don't think I could .... I mean, I think you're too .... Freddy, you're so BIG!"

She reached tentatively out with her right hand and grasped it around its center. She continued to stare, rapt, as she moved her hand gently up and down the length of it. Her hair had fallen across her face again, and I swept it to one side and over her left shoulder so I could see her face. I saw her nostrils flare. She licked her lips. Her other hand reached out and cupped my balls, and she shifted her attention to this new plaything for a moment as she squeezed gently and rolled them in her palm like oversized marbles. I moaned softly. With a suddenness that surprised me totally, she had me in her mouth. I moaned again, more loudly this time.

"Teeth," I whispered raggedly. "No teeth!"

She stopped and looked up at me, concerned, licking her lips. "Oh! Oh, I'm sorry. I should have known. I've never ... never ... you know." And with a slurp, she was back at it. She worked the shaft about half way into her eager mouth, pumping me, using her hand in a steady, rhythmic stroke, while she continued to play with my balls with her other hand. Her cheeks had hollowed as she sucked. Slowly at first, then more insistently, her body began to move, writhing like a serpent. She was starting to make noises around my shaft. I wasn't going to be able to take much more of this. 

She was setting up a little routine: taking me as far into her mouth as she could, pumping me with her hand while I was buried in her, then backing herself up until just the head of my cock was still in her, pumping her hand a few more times, then swallowing even more of me before repeating the cycle. Her hips seemed to be clenching and unclenching as she did this. She was moaning more than I was.

"Stop!" I shouted suddenly, grasping her shoulders and pushing her back.

She didn't take her eyes off the object of her affection. "NO!" she screamed, and lunged back at me, mouth open like a fish after a lure. I held her firmly. She couldn't quite get to me, and she pulled my cock and balls toward her.

"Stop!" I said again, using, I thought, a great deal of authority in my voice. 

She finally stopped struggling, and looked up at me, pleading. "Please, Freddy! Come in my mouth! Please? My roommate says that's what every guy wants: to come in a girl's mouth. You can come in mine. Please?" She started tugging on me again.

Rather than argue further, I dropped to my knees in front of her. She threw her arms around me and hugged me to her, shivering with excitement. "Please, Freddy."

"I want my first time with you to be inside you," I said quietly, holding her.

This took a second to sink in. She drew back slightly and looked between us at the cock that was leaning, wet and stiff, against her stomach. When she raised her eyes to mine again, I saw trepidation and a little fear. "I don't know, Freddy. It's so big. I'm not sure I can get it in."

"It's what I want," I told her. "Will you try for me?" She nodded with conviction, and I helped her up and led her into the bedroom. 

I lay beside her on the bed, stroking her body with my fingertips. She looked up into my eyes. "I don't know what to do, Freddy. Tell me what you want me to do," she whispered urgently, but I smothered her with another kiss as my response. She had a different taste, and it took me a moment to realize that I was tasting myself on her lips and tongue. Immediately, her body began responding to my kisses and caresses, and she tried to push me back. "No, please, not me again. I need to please YOU!" but she shuddered violently as I brushed her clit, then uttered "Golly!" as if to say "Oh, fuck it!" and gave in to her feelings once more. She ground her hips up into my hand.

Finally, I could stand it no longer, and I spread her legs and positioned myself above her. She reached down and grasped my cock, guiding it to its target.

"Promise you won't stop, Freddy," she pleaded urgently. "I want you to hurt me."

This really confused me. "What?"

She looked up at me, a mixture of fear and determination in her eyes. "You don't understand how big you are! You're really going to hurt me, I know. Please promise me that you won't stop until you're all the way inside me. You can hurt me. I want you to. Please!"

"I promise," I said quietly, and began pushing into her. She was tight, but marvelously wet and slippery, and I had little trouble cramming myself into her trembling body. She arched her back, opened her eyes wide in shock, and started in again with her litany of "Oh golly, oh golly, oh golly, oh golly," until our pelvises ground together. She shivered and clung to me.

"Oh God, Freddy, You're sooo deeeeep!" she groaned.

I began lifting my hips, sliding out of her to begin my rhythm, but she arched up at me, trying to keep me in her as long as possible. To complicate things further, she wrapped her legs around me and held me to her, impaling herself. I lifted her body off the bed with mine, then slammed back down hard. She screamed out a guttural sound, then gave a little mewling noise as I managed to slip out of her a little before ramming back down into her. The noises became the age-old sounds of love, as I pushed brutally into her over and over. Then she gave the same little "Aaahh, aaahh, aaahh, aaahh" cries that I was now beginning to recognize as her "coming sound." Her cunt gripped my member hard, keeping time with her exclamations, and absolutely nothing could keep my floodwaters in check any longer. With a growl, I buried myself in her body as far as I could and felt myself spurt into her over and over and over. 

Shaking and weak, I collapsed on top of her, resting and trying to catch my breath. I reached up and gently stroked her hair. "Are you okay?" I asked idly. It was only when she did not respond that I came to realize that she had passed out. I checked her pulse and breathing, both rapid, but normal under the circumstances; then rolling her over onto her side and resting her head on my chest, I put my arm around her, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke sometime later to a wet feeling on my chest. I was still holding her in the same position. I lay still and tried to figure out what was wrong. She made a little sniffing noise.

"You're crying," I said, making her jump a little. "What's wrong?"

She sniffed, but kept her head down, pressed against me. "Nothing."

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

Well, this was a new wrinkle. I thought a few minutes, listening to her little sniffing noises. "I want you to do something for me. Will you?"

She looked up me, tears glistening in her eyes. "What?"

I gently put my hand on her head and forced it back down to my chest, where she'd had it before. "Tell me what you hear," I ordered.

She paused a few moments. "Noth- ...." She listened some more. "Your heart. I hear your heart."

"Very good," I told her. "And now, with every beat of my heart, I want you to relax. Relax more and more with every beat you hear. More and more relaxed."

"You're hypnotizing me with your heart," she said quietly.

"Just listen, and do as I say," I told her. She listened for twenty of thirty seconds, her body slumping over me, feeling heavy. At last I told her to look up into my eyes. She sighed and complied at once.

"Now," I said sternly, "tell me why you're crying."

"I didn't know it would be like this," she said, the tears welling up again.

"Didn't know WHAT would be like this?"

"Love." She let the word hang for a moment. "There, see? I did it! I used the "L" word! I thought it would be all happy and like two lovers running toward each other in a field of daisies; but it's really all uncertain and I don't know if tomorrow you'll want me to stay or to go, and now I've used the "L" word, and I'll lose you for sure!" She collapsed back onto me and sobbed a few times.

Women! My respect for George Bernard Shaw was growing by leaps and bounds. "Let me guess," I said sardonically. "You're quoting your roommate again, aren't you?" She looked back up at me, eyes full of tears. "Did it ever occur to you that that roommate of yours is just an empty-headed bimbo?" I continued harshly. She blinked, trying to read between the lines of my little tirade. 

"Okay, here's the plan," I continued matter-of-factly. "Tomorrow morning, we're going to wake up and make love again. Then, we're going to clean up, I'll make breakfast, and you are going to pack us a picnic lunch. We're going to go to the park and study for a few hours, eat, and then I'm going to hypnotize you again, because I really, really like doing that. It's a power trip, and it gives me a rush. Then we'll figure out something for dinner, and if you're still in love with me, you can stay and we'll make plans for the next day. Understand?" I waited, and she finally gave me a teary, sheepish grin and nodded.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 04



"And now," I told her, gently pushing her head back down to my chest, "I want you to listen to my heart, and with every beat, you are going to relax more and more."

In two minutes, she was asleep.

The digital clock read 8:35 when I was awakened from an erotic dream. It wasn't all a dream, I learned, as I looked down and realized I was having my cocked sucked in a most pleasant manner. I stretched and muttered a groggy "Good morning," but she must have figured it was impolite to answer with her mouth full.

Once again, I decided to deny her the satisfaction of culminating the session orally, and forced her to lie back down beside me while I became reacquainted with HER body, as well. Just as it had been last night, she was soon in a very distracted state of mind, gripping my head as I suckled her breasts, her hips arching up against my hand and invading fingers. I paused long enough to clump our pillows together in the middle of the bed and ordered her on her knees, bent over against the pillows, while I positioned myself behind her. I fed my swollen cock into her cunt slowly as she groaned and writhed and eventually pushed back against me. Almost as soon as I was fully buried in her, she started making her "coming noises" and I was forced to hold her hips firmly to maintain control. Her cunt gripped me spasmodically, and I fought to stave off my own orgasm for awhile longer. Eventually, she stopped bucking, but as I set up a rhythm, she continued to spasm from time to time, and finally I simple couldn't take it any longer. I leaned forward and grasped her left breast hard while using my right hand on her clit, forcing her to come with me. I swear I could feel her cunt sucking me. I don't think I've ever come so hard. 

We collapsed in a heap in the center of the bed and just held each other until our breathing returned to normal. "I didn't even know you could DO it like that," she said in a quiet, husky voice. "I couldn't even move! I felt so ... so ... helpless. I felt ... used." I was thinking about this, trying to come up with some sort of apology, when she shivered a little and sighed loudly. "It was ... wonderful!"

Then I decided it was time to get up and get on with our day. In the bathroom, I found a new, wrapped toothbrush for her. Showering together was more of a challenge than I had anticipated. I really enjoyed soaping her supple young body, but every time I caressed her, she seemed to lose all semblance of concentration and began a gradual transition to full arousal. There was no way I would be able to perform again so soon after our intense morning exercises, so I left her to finish rinsing herself and started getting dressed.

She asked if she could wear one of my shirts while she used my washing machine to clean the clothes she'd worn the day before, and I told her to go into my closet and pick one. She was overjoyed by this prospect, and chose one of my dress shirts, rolling up the sleeves to her elbows. The shirttail covered her, but barely, and her legs were displayed to perfection. She was quite a sight, even in the large glasses, which she had retrieved from her purse, but I couldn't help but notice as I finished preparing the coffee and oatmeal that as she came in and sat down at the kitchen table she was moving a bit oddly. 

"Are you okay?" I asked, concerned.

She blushed beautifully. "I'm a little sore," she said meekly. "You don't realize how ... how ... big you are."

This was yet another new wrinkle. I hadn't said anything about soreness in my hypnotic induction. Was it possible I really WAS too big for her? Suddenly, I wasn't sure where the line between fantasy and reality was myself. "I'm sorry I hurt you," I said sincerely.

"Oh, no, I like it!" she blurted, then looked down and blushed even more. "I mean, it reminds me of ... what happened. I can't move without thinking about it. It doesn't hurt too much, and I think it's ... kind of nice."

I opened the kitchen door to let in the warm spring morning air, then set the bowls of oatmeal on the table.

"Eat up," I told her. "My Saturday routine always includes a study session in the park, weather permitting. I have a lot to do."

"Not me," she announced, and when I looked up questioningly, she said: "I'm a graduating senior. I don't have to take finals next week. I'm free!"

"Oh no you're not," I told her sternly, and snatched a yellow legal pad off the counter and tossed it to her. It contained my notes from the interview with the Indian lady yesterday. I quickly summarized the story for her. "It's yours," I told her. "You write it, I'll edit it. I'll show you how to sell it to a major, and we'll split the by-line and the fee." She acted as if I'd given her a pot of gold. She was immensely excited, and started asking dozens of questions, all of them intelligent and pertinent. She wanted a follow-up interview and some time to do some research on-line.

And then in mid-sentence, she froze. She was looking past me, toward the screen door, and she had such a look of absolute horror on her face that I had a pretty good idea what I was going to see even before I turned around and looked for myself.

Re-enter the antagonist, stage right.

He was standing at the screen door, looking in and smiling broadly. "Good morning, Professor!" he said cheerily, then glanced at my dining companion and nodded. "Good morning, Brenda."

"What do you want, Menlo?" I asked icily, keeping my seat.

"I have another little gift for you, Professor. A peace offering. Do you mind if I come in?"

"I'm not a professor," I told him flatly.

He shrugged. "Semantics! You get your PhD in two weeks, and in three, you'll be an esteemed member of the faculty of this prestigious university."

I regarded him curiously. "Who have you been talking to?"

"You should have come to my show last night," he said expansively. "I do believe it was one of my best performances ever! I had the audience eating out of my hand. One of the highlights was when I entranced a lovely lady by the name of Wanda Wilkinson."

I tried to suppress a grin and failed. "You hypnotized Dean Wilkinson?"

"Yes, an excellent subject. I persuaded her, and her husband, as well, to come backstage after the performance, and we all had a little chat." He paused for effect. "Why, did you know that the Dean is prepared to pay you ten thousand dollars a year over and above what she is now offering in the contract you're about to sign?"

I regarded him even more suspiciously. "What did you do to her?"

He crossed his heart with his fingers. "Not a thing, I assure you. Well .... I DID make a couple small suggestions about her sex life (her husband was a very good subject, as well). I think they'll both be more, shall we say, contented with their home life in the future. But as far as your salary is concerned, that was just something I happened to learn. It's already in her budget. She's hoping you won't ask for it. She's planning to use it for a new desk and drapes in her office; but she's willing to pay if you demand it. There's a rumor that a college downstate has already made you an offer."

Well, that was true. "The bitch!" I said under my breath.

"Truce?" asked Menlo.

I turned and looked at Brenda. She was watching him the way a mouse watches a snake.

"Okay," I said. "Come in and tell us what's on your mind."

He opened the door, smiled broadly, and took a seat to my right, opposite Brenda. "I really just stopped by to give you another little gift," he said happily. He fished around in his jacket pocket for a moment, and came out holding something in his closed fist. He held the fist out, over the table for a long moment, letting the suspense build dramatically, then opened his hand and let the small gold pocket watch fall. He retained the end of the gold chain in his fingers, and when the watch fell to within a few inches of the table top, it bounced and swung crazily on the chain.

To my left, Brenda gave a sudden gasp, and I turned and watched her in awe. Her eyes were wide and fixed on the watch as it danced on its chain. Slowly, she turned her head almost 90-degrees to the right, then back to the left, but her eyes wouldn't, or couldn't, leave the small golden timepiece. Finally, she faced straight ahead, but her head jerked slowly from side to side in a negative gesture. Her lips were parted slightly, and they formed the word "no," but no sound came out. She was definitely frightened.

As I turned back to tell Menlo to cease and desist, he gave the chain a little tug and captured the watch, chain and all, in his hand again. Immediately, there was a scraping noise and a crash as Brenda stood up so suddenly that her chair fell over backwards. Then she sprinted out of the kitchen and into the living room. I looked at Menlo sternly.

"What the hell ...?"

"My gift to you," he said, holding the watch out to me. Dumbly, I took it.

Suddenly, he arose and walked over to the counter. "Coffee smells good," he said. "Mind if I have some?"

I stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. What a pompous ass!

He opened a cupboard. "Cups in here?" he asked, glancing at me, and when he realized that all he was going to get in reply was astonished indignation, he opened it. "Hmm, guess not." He shut it and opened another. "Ah, here they are." He took out a cup and poured himself some coffee, then sat back down facing me.

"Professor," he said, "we need to talk." He sipped the coffee for a moment, then glanced up at me. He must have seen a little of the same anger he'd witnessed yesterday, for he suddenly assumed a startled air and put up a protesting hand. "Whoa, now! Don't start thinking those murderous thoughts! I'm on your side!"

"MY side?"

"Well, okay then, Brenda's side. You've obviously figured out a lot of things since I ... uh ... was forced to take my leave of you yesterday. I can see that you've figured out how to hypnotize her. Otherwise, she'd have shown up at my act last night. You've probably learned a lot of my little tricks. But there are some things I need to tell you. About Brenda, I mean. About the watch."

I looked at the shiny timepiece in my palm. "What about Brenda?"

"Well, if you haven't guessed by now, it's not the hypnosis she's addicted to at all. It's the act of emotional surrender. It can be extremely intoxicating to some women, and your girl certainly falls into the category. I know the type very well. Believe me, if you don't maintain your current intervention, Brenda will soon be just another battered woman in just another abusive marriage. She lives to be dominated, and frankly, it amazes me that she's been able to evade it this long. She seems to have done it through sheer intellect.

"For her, hypnosis was simply a gateway to total emotional abandonment. Watch her closely the next time you put her under. When you order her to 'surrender,' that's when it happens: an almost physical rush. She lives for it. She craves it. And subconsciously, her total obedience is the small price she happily pays for it.

"Now, the watch is a little different. I've programmed her to fight the watch. She is allowed to ... no, she is FORCED to struggle against the oncoming loss of control, even though it's exactly what she subconsciously desires the most. She will fight the watch, but the battle is lost even before it begins. She will know that, but will still struggle. Each command -- to become heavy, to become sleepy – will be a little defeat leading up to the moment you command her to surrender and sleep. And the loss of control when the watch is involved will be infinitely sweet to her, simply because it is so utterly overwhelming." He was silent then, letting the instructions sink in, calmly sipping his coffee.

"Why do you do this, Menlo?" I asked, unable to silence my growing morbid fascination.

He shrugged. "I'm a romantic," he answered matter-of-factly. "I worry about my girls."

I was unable to stifle my look of disbelief. "WHAT?"

He raised his right hand again. "As God is my witness," he swore. "I'm surprised that a man of letters wouldn't see the poetry of it; the humanity of it." Again, my expression put him on the defensive. "Look," he continued, "I'm not such a bad guy." (Ah, justification, I thought. Robbers, murderers, rapists, assholes; they all consider themselves justified.) "Okay, so I need a little companionship sometimes, but I always leave my girls better than when I found them. I help them find happiness. A lot of time, I help them find true love! Brenda has! The girl's gaga over you. And you've got to admit, you're pretty hung up on her, too. Right? And now, she's all yours: body and soul. She belongs to you. She WANTS to belong to you. But I had to make sure you were okay with this. I'm responsible." He shrugged and repeated a mumbled "I had to make sure."

A rapist with a conscience. "There's got to be more to it than that," I said, accusingly.

"Well, for awhile there, I thought she'd make a good third. I was wrong."

"Third?"

"It's a long story."

"Give me the short course."

He gave a little grin. God, he loved an audience.

"Well," he began, "I discovered pretty early-on that I could get a lot of dames through hypnosis. I started when I was in college, and by the time I was a senior, I was using various lines and techniques to get girls to ask me to put them under. They expected sex to be a part of it, and I certainly didn't do anything to discourage that aspect.

"I've wanted to be in the theater for as long as I can remember. Only one small problem with that: I can't act. I tried out for every play in high school and college, but the best part I could land was 'assistant lighting director.' When I saw a professional hypnotist for the first time, I suddenly knew my calling. I dropped out of school, went on the road with three different pro's, learned their techniques, all the angles, all the jokes. Out east, if you've got an act, your first real shot is in the Catskills. Lots of acts, lots of agents looking for fresh talent. But the money's shitty. It was really rough. And to make matters worse, I fell in love with a hooker.

"Jennifer was working as a stripper in a joint across town from the nightclub I was appearing in three nights a week. God, she was gorgeous! A body that wouldn't quit. A lot of the girls hooked on the side. I saved up my pennies and hired her for an hour. She had a "look" about her. Hard to describe, exactly, but I'd seen it in several girls I'd hypnotized and bedded in college. Sort of a lost, hungry look, and she was almost painfully shy. There were other signs as well, but they all combined to give me the feeling that I'd have no problem hypnotizing her. And in 15 minutes, I had. Best fifty dollars I've ever spent, even if we didn't have sex. By the end of the hour, I'd taken her deeper than I'd ever taken any other woman. She met me later that night, when we more than made up for the lost fifty bucks, and she practically begged me to put her under again. She was my first Natural. Within a week, under my 'supervision,' she'd quit her job and started waitressing. We got married, and let me tell you, times were tough.

"I did a couple hypnosis jobs on the side: you know, weight loss, kicking smoking, that sort of thing. A couple years ago, I helped a CPA with a bad case of stage freight who had to give a presentation, and as partial payment he set me up for a financial planning session with one of the firm's junior partners. Well, Miss Junior Partner turned out to be Suzy, who I immediately realized had all of the telltale little traits that Jennifer did that put her into the "Prospective Natural" category. Our planning session took place after normal working hours, and she looked pretty stressed. It didn't take me long at all to help her relax; and I mean REALLY relax. She went under just like Jennifer had. But unlike Jennifer, Suzy was rich. She was the only daughter of a wealth businessman who had died a few years before and she'd received a third of the estate (along with papa's wives numbers one and two). Well, with a few repeat "planning sessions," Suzy discovered that she was madly in love me. Jennifer and I moved into her sizable home in the Pokonos, and I was suddenly very well off. With some extra-deep inductions, I was able to alter both ladies' proclivities to the point that they enjoyed each other's sexual attentions almost as much as they enjoyed mine. 

"And that, at last, brings me to the concept of a 'third.' I like my sex better one-on-one. As I travel around with my act, I'm always on the lookout for another Natural to add to my little harem. That way, when I pick one girl to sleep with, the other two will be able to keep each other company." 

He got up, walked to the sink, and started rinsing out his coffee cup. "But I haven't been able to find the right one yet. When I do spot a Natural, she's either already involved with someone, or she's just not ... right." He put the cup in the dish drainer beside the sink. "Still, I'm having a great time allowing those that I find to 'try out,' if you know what I mean." He turned to face me. "Brenda had all the qualifications, but she's too ... cerebral. I don't like dames that are smarter 'n me."

He turned and walked to the door. "Well, professor, have a nice life. Oh, and about the watch; I wouldn't use it often; a couple times a week, maybe. Use it as a reward ... or as a punishment. It will only draw her closer to you." And with a wave, he was gone.

Exit the antagonist, forever.

I sat there for another couple minutes, thinking about him. I still honestly loathed the guy, but I consoled myself in two ways. One, he was out of my life now, and more importantly, out of Brenda's. And secondly, I was not like him. I would never be like him. I made it a silent vow, then stood slowly, put the watch in my pocket, and walked into the living room. 

Brenda was on the couch, leaning against one of its arms, her feet drawn up in front of her, her arms wrapped around her knees, shivering and looking miserable. As soon as she saw me, she leapt up and threw herself into my arms.

"Is he gone?" she asked, her face buried in my chest.

"Yes."

There was a long pause. "Did he really give you the watch?"

"Yes."

An even longer pause. "Freddy?"

"Yes?"

"He said he was giving you ANOTHER gift. That means he's given you one already." She waited to see if I would respond. I didn't. "The first gift, the one he gave you before; it was me, wasn't it? He gave you me!"

It was my turn to pause. "Yes."

"When he told me that story yesterday, the story about the Natural he gave away .... I couldn't help but wonder if that was going to happen to me. I thought ... I thought that if he gave me to somebody ... I hoped ... I wished ... that it would be you."

I just held her. Finally, I said: "Come on, let's get going. You get dressed and make us a picnic lunch while I get my notes together."

She didn't move from my arms.

"Freddy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you still going to hypnotize me after we have lunch in the park?"

"Yes."

She looked up at me with those big green eyes of hers. "Will you use the watch?" she begged. "Please?"



The Addicted Natural Ch. 05



Chapter 5 – Dee's Diary – Consequences of a Shower

Don't you just hate it when you're reading a book, and long about Chapter 5, just as you're hoping the author is going to shed some badly-needed light on the subject, you encounter the words:

One Year Later.

Still, that's just what is about to happen here, so please try not to choke on your disappointment and let's just muddle on. The truth of it is that I wrote the first part of this little venture never planning to go any further, and certainly never planning to publish it on line for others to see. It resided in an obscure folder, buried in my computer's hard drive for a very long time. But events have a way of bringing about the most unexpected threads that eventually weave a plot worthy of the public's interest.

Now, by this point, you've probably formed some conceived opinions about me (if you stick it out and follow this diatribe to the end, I'll bet those opinions are going to change). 
Whether you view me as a staunch fighter for truth, justice and the American way or just some lucky nerd that got the girl, you've probably noticed that modesty is not my strongest suite. While this rambling bunch of words may not impress you, I HAVE been known to string subjects and predicates together effectively. On the other hand, I've had some small experience with editing, as well, and so I also pride myself in recognizing effective writing when I see it.

Quite frankly, when I came across Dee's diary, I had to admit that she'd done an excellent job of piecing together all the pertinent facts surrounding the next part of our saga. Do I feel badly about publishing such personal insights? Absolutely not. I mean, it's not as if she can complain about such a violation of privacy. And this, her last journal (alas, no other will ever be written), sums it all up with the sort of emotionally vivid observation I could never attain.

Still, I must warn the reader that this story is about ME! It's about my long, sad slide into the depths of depravity. In the last portion of our story, you observed me making a solemn oath that I would NEVER follow in the footsteps of the antagonist. And in this portion .... Well, let's just continue, shall we?

DEE'S DIARY. 

THURSDAY, MAY 3rd 

Dear Diary,

Well, I've done it. I've figured it all out. In my last entry, I told you why. Now I can report where, when and how. 

It's going to be at the lake house, so I'll be all alone and miles from anyone. It's going to happen next Tuesday (Ben and Martha's day off). And I'm going to use the pills Dr. Walters gave me. They're very strong (I've already written about how they help me sleep through the night without a hint of the dream), and they have all sorts of warnings about only taking one per night. I've started skipping them. The nightmares are back, but that won't last long ... just until next Tuesday. The prescription calls for one refill, and I'll be able to do that on Tuesday morning. That will give me eleven pills, and that'll surely be enough.

Now that it's all decided, I feel much better. I really do. I'll sign the new will tomorrow morning, and the private lawyer I picked out seems like a good one. It should be air tight. The money will be gone (finally gone!), and so will I. It will all go to good causes. I just wish I could say that my life had been for a good cause ....

I just picked out my last novel. I think I'll end with an old-fashioned mystery. The Door, by Mary Roberts Rinehart. I've never read her before. I'm sure I can finish by Tuesday.

I'm going to go to the gym every day this weekend and start on a diet. I want to lose five pounds. 

I do hope I'll be a pretty corpse.

FRIDAY, MAY 4th

Dear Diary,

You're not going to believe this. I've met somebody! No, not a guy; it's a girl. And no, it's not THAT, either. I think she's going to be a friend. A real friend! I haven't had a girl friend since ... well, I guess since Francine Schwartz when I was thirteen (and THAT didn't last too long, thanks to Daddy). Have I actually spent my entire life with no friends?

Anyway, her name is Brenda Fielding, and I met her at the gym in the workout room. I was on a treadmill, and she was on a Stairmaster near the other end of the room. We were facing each other, and I watched as this guy on the machine next to hers started talking to her. She seemed really shy, but whatever she said to him finally discouraged him, and after a few more minute's exercise, he got off his machine, then came over and started hitting on ME! It took me awhile to convince him that I wasn't in the market, either, and at last, he left to search of better hunting grounds. She caught my eye and smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then, about ten minutes later, the whole scene was repeated with another guy, but in reverse. First this new asshole started flirting with me, and when I FINALLY discouraged him, he got off his treadmill and tired to hit on HER! The whole scene was so funny that she started laughing out loud, which really pissed him off. And then she got off her machine and came over and started working out on the one next to mine. 

We talked and talked, and it made the hour seem to just fly by; and when we were finished (I think she extended her workout until I was done, but I'm not sure), she asked me if I'd like to go out and get a drink with her. I told her that I hadn't brought a change of clothes, so I couldn't, and she said, well, if we couldn't go out, we could get a couple veggie drinks and sip them at the concession stand out by the pool. I followed her into the locker room, and stood nervously as she stopped in front of a locker and immediately started stripping out of her clothes. She looked at me sort of funny and said something like "Come on, let's get showered and go to the refreshment stand," and I told her that I always waited and showered at home, and that I didn't even have a towel. It was hard to carry on a conversation. She has a really, really nice body (not grotesquely top-heavy like me), and I was trying hard not to stare. I just couldn't tell her the REAL reason I never shower at the gym. But she just sort of seemed to ignore my stares, shrugged, and told me what kind of drink she wanted and that she'd meet me there in a few minutes, and she flounced off to the showers. 

I bought the drinks and only waited about ten minutes before she walked up wearing a pretty matching sweat outfit, and we continued our conversation from the gym as if it had never been interrupted. 

She's some sort of freelance reporter that writes articles for various types of magazines. She's married to a prof in the English department out at the Uninversity, and I guess they've only been together about a year, because the honeymoon DEFINITELY isn't over yet. She's still bonkers over the guy. To tell you the truth, I think she carries the whole "adoration" thing a little too far, because whenever she talked about him, she got this far-away, dopey sort of look in her eyes. But that didn't happen too often, because she was always discretely trying to turn the conversation back toward me, trying to find out who I was, what I did. She must be a pretty good journalist (unless she already KNEW who I was – I was never really sure). Anyway, I was having none of that, and I gave her my usual vague answers and shifted the conversation right back her way. We must have sparred that way for another hour. It was fun. She was fun! I really, really like her.

Before it was over, she had worked a promise out of me that we'd do another workout together at 11:00 tomorrow and then shower, change, and go to lunch. I finally relented by telling her it would be my treat. As soon as I got home, I made reservations at Alphonse's. I think I'll wear that blue silk blouse I bought two years ago: the one Daddy would never let me wear. 

I don't know how I'm going to get out of that shower, though. I CAN'T let her see me in the shower. No one's ever seen me like that. I'd just die if anyone ever saw!

Oh well. After Tuesday, it won't really matter, I guess. No one will see that part of me, even if the service is open-casket.

I wonder if Brenda will come to my funeral.

SATURDAY, MAY 5th

Dear Diary,

This is going to be a long entry. I finally told somebody! I still can't believe it. I never even wrote about it in my journal after "the event" ... I couldn't bring myself to even think about it! But now I've told Brenda, and I believe that maybe if I write it all down here, I can finally accept what happened. Not that it's going to change my mind about Tuesday. But it would be nice to finally feel at peace about the whole thing at the end of my life.

We met today as agreed. I've never brought a change of clothes to the gym before, and I wasn't really sure how the system worked. I found an empty locker that no one was using and hung my clothes in it. I didn't have a lock, and I think that I was sort of hoping that someone would steal my things so I would have a good excuse when it came time for the dreaded shower, but after our workout (it went by so fast talking to Brenda!) everything was still there. I just started getting dressed in my nice clothes, putting them on over my sports bra and panties, but Brenda laughed and joked about me being all "stinky" for our afternoon out and started laughing and tugging at me to get my offensive body into the shower. After all my lame excuses were used up, I finally surrendered and stripped. There was no one else in the locker room at that time (thank God!), so I figured that if I always stood facing her, maybe she wouldn't notice ... maybe she wouldn't see.

She seemed sort of smug having finally gotten me to agree to accompany her to the shower, and she stopped her giggling banter and taunting as I shyly finished taking off the bra and panties, openly staring at me and blushing when she realized she was gawking. She said I had nice breasts. They're not nice. They're just big. I hate them, and I told her so. But she laughed at that, and said that ALL women hate their breasts, or at least wished they were different. She motioned me toward the showers, but I made sure she walked in front of me. 

In the shower, I always faced her, turning on the water as I stood to one side, my back toward the wall. She didn't seem to catch on at first, and after several minutes I actually thought I was going to get out of there and get my clothes back on before she saw, but I got soap in my eyes and must have turned too much as I was rinsing it out. The next thing I knew, she had actually put her hand on my butt.

I froze. I'd been caught. I couldn't look at her; couldn't even look up. I stood very still, looking down at my feet, the soap still stinging my eyes; though the tears that came weren't from the soap, of course. But in the shower, she wouldn't see the tears. She wouldn't hear me cry, either. I'm a quiet crier. Living with Daddy taught me that, and I can honestly say that he NEVER heard me cry. Big girls don't cry. All my tears are silent.

She used both hands, one on my waist and the other on the top part of my butt, to slowly turn me so she could better see that part of me. I silently let her. I've never been so embarrassed! Her fingers traced first one of the longest scars, then another. From the small of my back to the bottom curve of my ass. From my left cheek almost to my shoulders. Her fingers were soft. Gentle. Erotic. I shivered uncontrollably for a moment.

"It still hasn't healed," she said softly.

"Yes it has," I said in words stronger than I thought I was capable of producing. "The wounds healed almost two years ago."

"It's not the physical scars I'm talking about," she said, sadly.

My head snapped up, and I found myself startled by the proximity of her. Her face was inches from mine, her eyes not looking down at the scars, but directly into my own, directly into the center of my very being. Her hands were still on my body. Her left nipple scraped briefly across my right one. I couldn't look away. But then she stepped back from me and turned toward her own shower nozzle.

"You'd better hurry," she said, as if nothing had happened. "Your hair is wet, and I'm going to have to help you with it. What time are the reservations for?"

I was still breathless. Hadn't she felt it? Whatever it was ... that spark ... that feeling as if our souls had touched? I fought for control. "One fifteen," I muttered.

She turned off her shower and walked out into the dressing room. "We'd better hurry. We can borrow a hair dryer from the front desk."

We helped each other dress, and I must admit that when were finished, we looked pretty foxy. Brenda, as I think I've mentioned before, is absolutely gorgeous. Her hair is very long, very straight, and very black. The blue silk blouse and white slacks she chose made her look chic, intelligent and sexy, and I felt a little like the ugly girlfriend that always attaches herself to a pretty one to try and gain a little recognition.

Alphonse greeted me like a relative, hugging me and kissing me on both cheeks. I'd only been in there once since Mommy and Daddy died (with Ben and Martha for Martha's birthday), but he insisted on seating us and waiting on us personally. He made a great show of it for Brenda's sake, and I could tell he was enthralled by her. (We wound up spending almost three hours at that table, and at one point, when I had gotten up to use the ladies' room, he made it a point to tell me to take our time and stay as long as we wanted. I pressed four one hundred-dollar bills into his palm and told him what a real dear he was, and asked if he would see to the tip for his waiters. He, of course, never looked at the bills, simply pocketed them and told me I would always be one of his favorite customers. I'm glad I had the opportunity to come here one last time.)

Brenda was nervous, but very excited by the whole affair. I didn't ask, but I got the impression she'd never been in a five-star restaurant. While she never commented on the number and placement of the silverware, she watched me closely but casually. I was quick to pick up the proper fork, so she could follow suit without embarrassment. 

I ordered a bottle of Dom, and she watched the cork-popping ritual with glee, but when our glasses were filled, she leaned forward conspiratorially and confided that she had an extraordinarily low tolerance for alcohol. She seemed genuinely distressed that the wine would go to waste. I had to laugh. She is so sincere about everything! She was right about the champagne, though. She sipped that one glass the whole time. I had four! But at the end of it all, we were both about equally tipsy.

Our conversation meandered here and there for awhile, but eventually it became more and more intimate. She changed the subject often, and I was caught off guard more than once. At one point, she started talking about her relationship with her husband; and I've got to say, it sounds absolutely bizarre! He hypnotizes her! Often! Like every day! I must have looked as shocked as I felt, because she was quick to defend him. She insisted that he only does it so often because she wants him to. In fact, she says, she often begs him for it! I was flabbergasted! How could she give up that much control to him, I asked. And she spent several minutes telling me how wonderful it is to just let go, give in, surrender to someone you love. I felt myself getting hot and blushing at the concept. I must admit, it did sound nice. But what do I know? I've never really had a "someone you love." Not really.

She abruptly changed the subject, then shifted it back to her love life, telling me how she confides in Freddy (her husband) about everything; but she hadn't told him about meeting me yet, since he was away on a camping and fishing trip with some of "the guys," and wouldn't be coming back until late this evening. And then again she changed subjects, leaving the real questions hanging in my mind like an anvil suspended from a string. Everything? Was she going to tell him about the scars on my ass and back? Was she going to tell him who I really was? Did she know herself?

And then, during the main course, she was talking about this historical article she was doing, hoping to sell it to a major history journal. It was about some riot that took place in Alton, Illinois around the beginning of the 19th century. And then, without warning, she was telling me about her first sexual experience. 

Maybe it was the wine. I'm not really sure. All I know is that I hung on her every word. She had been raped! By her uncle, none the less! I could easily see that telling the story was extremely painful for her. She looked down at her hands as she spoke, and halfway through, she started crying. It was sad and erotic and infuriating and very, very intimate; probably the most intimate story I'd ever heard. I couldn't believe she was telling me about this, the most private and embarrassing moments of her entire life. But the underlying message was there, as well. She was giving me the opportunity to do the same; to tell her about my scars. She was subjecting herself to the pain of telling her story so that I could tell mine if I chose to.

And then, just like that, I WAS telling her. Looking back on it now, it was a really crazy thing to do. I mean, I'd only known this woman for 24 hours, and here I was, telling her something that no one, and I mean NO ONE, knew or even suspected. It just seemed so ... RIGHT to tell her! 

And so, dear Diary, for the first time, I'll write the words here. They won't be around for long, of course; I plan to burn all my journals Tuesday evening. But maybe this will help. Saying it to Brenda seemed to.

I had to give her a little background, of course. I told about how Daddy had prohibited me from dating or even going out with friends. I explained how I spent all my days in the big house, studying with tutors and in home study or correspondence courses. And about how the only real free time I ever had was in the garden with Ben, or helping him with the car, or cooking with Martha. The happiest moments of my whole life, the accomplishments I'm proudest of, took place in the flower bed or the kitchen or under the hood of Daddy's Grey Ghost. I was allowed to read for pleasure one hour a day at lunchtime, and two in the evening when I went to bed, as long as I'd done my lessons properly and wasn't being punished by Daddy for some infraction of the rules. 

Mommy was always very nice, of course, but Daddy never really allowed her to be a real mother. It was the position of dedicated servants to raise a child. Mommy's life was to be dedicated to Daddy. She spent her days and evenings upstairs in the big room she'd put her quilt racks in, stitching and cutting and batting and stretching. When Daddy called her, she went. When Daddy needed her, she was there. When Daddy wanted her, she gave herself willingly. Always. I listened at their door when I passed sometimes. When I was allowed to watch video movies in my room on weekends (as a reward when I was good), I often watched films that had love scenes, so I knew the sounds of love. Mommy and Daddy made them behind that door sometimes. She was his lover. His slave. Such was the position of "wife" in Daddy's eyes.

When I turned twenty, Daddy built me a mutual fund portfolio, and I had to manage it, with help at first, of course; but eventually he made me do it all by myself, and he kept putting more and more money into it. I hated it! But, of course, I couldn't complain. This is what Daddy had prepared me for. This was my legacy. This was my Hell. 

When I was twenty-two, the new Economics building opened on the campus; the one built entirely from his contributions; the one bearing his name. The dean, as a gesture, offered to allow the generous patron's only daughter to attend the first graduate course in the new spaces. And so, for the first time, I was allowed outside unsupervised. Ben drove me in the Ghost, and that, of course, made it a bit like a circus. A 1937 Rolls Royce on a college campus! Daddy might just as well have sent me to class in a spaceship! Of course, I was very nervous and excited, but Daddy had really laid down the law, with a list of rules as long as my arm.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 05



I was very disappointed in the course. Daddy had made me read the textbook they were using almost two years before. I found myself daydreaming and watching the men and women around me, and if the professor asked me a question, I could always give an acceptable answer without thinking too much. Some of the girls in the class would whisper and cast glances my way. But it was the guys that particularly enchanted me. They looked, too. I'd never been around many men, and the looks they gave me ranged from sidelong glances of curiosity to outright leers. I found that I couldn't maintain eye contact (something I have trouble with to this day), and I'd always find myself blushing after discovering someone gazing at me.

Just before the second class, I had my first conversation with Jay. He was one of the "leerers" in the first class, and while he introduced himself to me and started asking me pointed questions to get the conversation going, I found myself stammering and blushing and actually sweating. I was talking to a guy! I was actually doing things that normal girls do! I still don't remember much of the things we said, but I remember that I thought it was wonderful. After class, he caught up with me again, and he made me sit next to him on a park bench outside the Econ building, and we talked for almost half and hour (until Ben came looking for me) about a myriad of topics I don't remember. I begged Ben not to tell Daddy that I'd met somebody, and he consented. But that would only make my guilt much worse, as things turned out.

The next class was on a Thursday, and I made Ben drive me earlier than normal. Sure enough, Jay was there early, too, and I hurried over to him and said hi. He had been talking to another girl, but he suddenly ignored her completely and gave all his attention to me. I felt fantastic. I felt pretty. I felt wanted. And for the first time, I began to wonder if I felt in love. Jay was a big, strong guy, with wavy blonde hair, a firm jaw, and rather cruel, bright, intelligent eyes. He put an arm around my shoulders, led me a few steps, and then turned me around to face him again. He stood very close, and while it excited me in ways I'd never imagined, I found myself backing away from him slightly. In another minute, I realized that he'd positioned me in such a way that my back was against one of the walls in the hallway. He put his right hand next to my head and leaned in close, talking all the time. I guess it was a classic pose: the schoolgirl trapped by a guy in the hallway. But I didn't really know what to do about it. I didn't really know if I WANTED to do something about it. The body language was unmistakable. The aggressive hunter and the tame fawn eating out of his hand. The predator and the innocent. The dominant and the submissive. Was this the way Mommy felt with Daddy? People were looking. Girls snickered and whispered to each other. 

I struggled to keep up some semblance of conversation, and then was absolutely mortified to discover that the topic had somehow turned sexual. Even then, all I could seem to do was blush furiously and answer every question honestly. His voice was soft, gentle, strong, and very, very authoritative. I prayed that no one else could hear. I could only whisper my responses, which gave him an excuse to move even closer to me. Our faces were touching. Did I ever go out of the big house? No, not really. Never with friends? No. Ever date? No. Never? No. Never even did it with a guy? (Oh, God!) No. Never let a guy touch me? No. Ever wonder what it felt like? And when I hesitated, he put his lips to my ear and ordered: Answer me! I shivered. Yes. Do you ever touch yourself? NO! Don't you ever want to, though? No ... I mean ... I don't know ... I mean ... no. Are you sure? No ... I mean, yes.

People were drifting into the class, but he made no move to let me go. "You're very pretty," he said, and I could only gawk and stammer. "I want you," he said, and I suddenly realized that I was breathing hard for no apparent reason. 

"Shouldn't we go into class?" I asked, and he told me that he felt like skipping class. He asked if I'd ever skipped class before, and I started muttering an explanation, but before I got too far, he said: "I want you to skip class and go with me."

"Where?"

"To heaven." And when I could only look at him dumbfounded, he laughed and whispered something I don't remember into my ear. I shivered and stuttered and fell quiet. I looked up into his eyes, feeling trapped and wonderful. His lips were so close to mine they were touching, tantalizing, smelling faintly of wintergreen. "Aren't you going to kiss me?" I asked, but he shocked me to my core by saying: "Baby, I'm going to fuck you 'til the cows come home." 

My mouth seemed to try to work, but no words came. He told me that he was going to take me away from my rich snob of a father, and he was going to show me all the things I'd been missing all these years. Half the girls who'd gone into the class (the class we were missing!) he had already screwed, he said. They knew how to please a man. They knew what it felt like to have a man deep, deep inside (I shivered again, despite myself). They all knew what sex was like. But with them, it was just sex. It would be different with me. He was falling in love with me, he said, and now he wanted to show me what it could be like, sex with someone you loved. He was going to suck on my big, beautiful breasts and nipples. (Shiver.) He was going to touch me in ways I'd never dreamed; in places I didn't even know existed. He was going to do EVERYTHING to me. I was about to make love, he said. Make REAL love. 

And when he was silent so long that I instinctively looked up at him, he kissed me. Kissed me hard. I think I'd have fallen if his body hadn't been pinning mine to the wall. I felt weak and dizzy and ... something else. Something very exciting was happening in my tummy and between my legs. When he finally stopped, he kept his lips gently touching mine. 

"Make love with me," he urged. "Please! I want you!" He paused and I panted, but remained silent. "Don't you want to?" he pressed.

And I said yes.

Now, anybody with an ounce of common sense would agree that this whole scenario was such an obvious cliché that any girl with half a brain would have 1) laughed in his face and 2) slapped it as hard as she could. But it was really, really hard being a 22 year old walking hormone who had never even been close to a member of the male gender, and who suddenly found herself being told all the things she'd always dreamed about. He was going to make love to me, and certainly no one had ever done anything like that before. He was going to LOVE me, and no one had ever done that before, either. But more than anything else, he was going to take me away from Daddy, and that was the most intoxicating thing of all. I was going to escape! I was going to be free!

He took my hand and led me down the hall and out the door. It was if I was in some sort of trance, being led away. I didn't care where, as long as it was away from my life. Far away. And now I was going to have an adventure, just like in the books I was allowed to read. Adventure, sex, love, freedom. In the space of a quarter hour, Jay had changed my life, and now I was just along for the ride. To my astonishment, he led me right up to Ben, who was waiting in the car, and told him in a rather respectful manner that he wouldn't have to wait for me anymore; that I would be going with him today.

Ben seemed to take the situation in with a glance, and he shook his head sadly. "Don't do this, Dee," he told me soberly. "Your father will kill you."

But Jay answered before I could find my voice. "She's old enough, sir;" he told Ben, again speaking respectfully but sternly to the man behind the wheel of the Rolls, "old enough to make her own decisions. I'm sorry, but there's nothing you can do about it. Still, I wanted you to know." Ben glanced at Jay with nothing but contempt, refused to speak to him, and again pleaded directly with me to come home with him. He said that if I did, Daddy would never know about this.

And Jay forced the issue. Decide, he demanded. Home to Daddy, or ME. Decide now!

And of course I chose Jay.

He led me to his car, a hot little blue convertible sports car, and opened the passenger door for me. He put the top down, started the engine, and roared off. Within a block, he glanced in the rearview mirror and barked a delighted laugh, and I turned to see Ben following us in the old Rolls. But in another five miles Jay had left him beyond the horizon, and with my red hair flying wildly all around my face, we leapt forward at the speed of freedom. To this day I don't know which direction we were heading. We were on a major road, but I don't even know if it was an interstate highway. Jay drove fast, weaving smoothly through the traffic. We didn't talk; the wind prohibited easy speech, and there was really no need for it. 

After about half an hour, he pulled into the parking lot of a very large metal building with huge, blaring letters atop its roof: ADULT BOUTIQUE – BOOKS – VIDEOS – NOVELTIES – XXX. 

"What's this?" I laughed uncertainly, but he was already out of the car, around to my side and holding the door for me. I took his hand nervously. "I've never been in a place like this." But he didn't say anything. He took me into his arms and kissed me hard again, and then, while I was dizzy and panting, he led me to the door. And I let him, like a lamb to the slaughter, meekly, obediently. 

I've never seen anything like it, before or since, though I find myself dreaming about it some nights ... often, in fact. There were several people there, though almost all of them were men, and I caught several of them casting glances my way. Jay didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular, but walked slowly through the aisles. It took me awhile to realize that he was watching me as I looked at the amazing wares for sale. He had led me into a seemingly endless display of VCR and DVD video movies of hardcore pornography. Very hardcore. I could only gawk. Please keep in mind that I had never, ever seen anything even remotely like pornography, if you can discount the R-rated movies that just about anybody can rent from their local video rental stores. But none of the love scenes that I had ever viewed showed ... THAT! The act, I mean. The actual showing of man's penis being put into a woman's vagina (I would learn to call it a prick and a cunt in the coming three days). I was mesmerized by the sight. 

But this was nothing compared to the pictures on the video cases that were coming next. Men using their tongues, women using their mouths, women accepting pricks of all shapes and sizes in an amazing variety of ways. Women accepting those pricks in their asses! (Why? For what purpose?) White, gooey stuff all over women's faces. For a long minute, I couldn't figure out what it was, but then I saw a picture of a prick squirting it at a woman's open mouth. I had never seen it before, though I'd read about it in an encyclopedia. So that's what it looked like! One picture really is worth a thousand words, especially if those words are forbidden in your household. 

By now, I had come to realize that Jay was watching me, watching my reaction to all this, and I was about to make some comment when I was struck dumb by what was in the next section of videos. Women tied up. In all sorts of ways. In all sorts of poses. Being subjected to all sorts of humiliating things. It had to be the most erotically stimulating thing I had ever seen. I stared openly at one beautiful damsel who was sporting more square knots than a bo's'n mates' convention, and she was gazing helplessly into the camera lens as a man's hands were clipping some sort of torturous-looking contraption onto her nipples. "Why is she letting him do that?" I asked Jay.

"Maybe she just wants to find out what it feels like," he answered, watching me closely; but I could only stare back into the trussed-up girl's eyes and say nothing. I could imagine what she was feeling, somehow. I could almost (almost) feel it myself. "Or maybe she has no choice," he whispered in my ear. And THAT made me jump a little. I gawked at her. No choice. So helpless. Was that fear in her eyes? Pain? Lust? All three?

After a long minute, Jay grabbed my hand and began pulling me back toward the front of the store to some sort of display. It contained lots of what I first mistook for necklaces, but the words above them took away all of the mystery. Well, not all. Not by a long shot. "Nipple Clamps."

"How big are your nipples?" he asked cruelly. 

I looked around to see if anyone had heard. The guy behind the register was certainly close enough, and he was looking right at me. I stammered. "I don't know ... I mean ... um ...."

"Compared to other women's," he prompted. The guy at the register was obviously listening intently. 

"I don't know," I said softly, blushing beet red. "I've never been around other women."

Jay barked a laugh and dragged me to the nearest section of videos. He pointed to a couple of the covers. "Like hers?" he asked, "Or hers?"

I thought for a moment I was going to faint. I looked around at the various videos, and finally picked one that depicted a woman whose breasts looked the most like the ones I'd seen in the bathroom mirror every morning. I pointed silently and meekly, then found myself being pulled back to the display of clamps. He took his time picking one, looking from the cruel devices to my chest, as if he was trying to envision what they would look like. He finally chose one, and then another; one that didn't seem to make any sense (it had THREE clamps attached to chains that met in the center. I didn't have the voice to ask him how it was supposed to work). 

"Do you have any money?" he asked, matter-of-factly. 

I reached into my small purse and pulled out a credit card that Mommy had let me use the last time we'd gone shopping together. He snatched it out of my hand and walked to the register. But instead of checking out, he picked up a shopping basket and began walking around, snatching things from racks and display cases and tossing them unceremoniously into the tote. I took one look at the leering man behind the register and hastened to catch up, watching in horrified fascination as dozens of various and sundry obscenities, all obviously destined to be used on me (on me!) were added to Jay's growing collection. 

There were vibrating things and massive phallic things (called, the sign proclaimed, "Dildos"), and lotions and lubricants (lubricants for what?), and a blindfold, and something that looked like a ball with a strap coming out of it (I couldn't begin to imagine what THAT was for), and another vibrating thing, and something called a "butt plug" (I gasped loudly at the thought of that one), and a coil of rope, and then he came to the handcuffs. He took great pleasure watching me as he carefully chose a pair, plopped it in the basket, and picked up another one which had a much longer chain connecting the two cold-looking metal cuffs. Next, it was back to the video section. He chose three of them rapidly: the one I had been so enthralled by, called "Beautiful Betty, Blissfully Bound," one called "Timid and Tied," and one called "The Story of 'O'." And finally, it was over to the huge book section, where he chose several distinguished looking paperbacks, which included such titles as "Lovingly Tied," "Helene Craves Humiliation," and "Master's Little Wench."

The expedition somehow found its way back to the cash register, where the leering guy looked at the credit card, asked to see my ID (thank God Ben had gone with me to get a drivers license!), and he rang up the whole bunch (casting a melting glance my way between each item) in surprisingly short order. $428 worth. He handed the card back to Jay, who handed it back to me.

"Would you like some personal instruction with these purchases?" the nasty man asked.

Jay ignored him and led me out of there. The air smelled especially sweet after that. I stood dizzily as Jay opened the trunk of his car. He shook a bunch of dirty, smelly clothes out of a small blue gym bag and transferred all of his purchases into it. He slammed the trunk, held my door as I silently got back into the car, and plopped the gym bag onto my lap. And then we were roaring back down the road again. 

We stopped once more at a grocery store, but he made me stay in the car. He went in, leaving me alone with that gym bag in my lap, and in a very short period of time he was back with two bags full of food. I saw perhaps a dozen boxes of frozen entrees, and I tried desperately not to show any distaste toward his "quick and easy" cuisine. I also spotted a six-pack of beer and a bottle of liquor of some sort. And once again we were off down the highway. 

As I think I mentioned before, I have an awful sense of direction, so I really have no earthly idea where the little house is. It wasn't that far from the horrible "adult" store, maybe a thirty minute drive, but I paid no attention to anything except the blue gym bag. I found myself trying desperately to remember every item Jay had purchased back there, and when I formed a picture of something in my overactive mind, I tended to fixate on it and imagine myself interacting with it the way Jay intended. We drove in silence, but my brain was screaming.

The small, yellow house was set back off the narrow country road at the end of a long, one-lane dirt driveway. It was sort of quaint, I guess, and I think I told him so when I saw it; but what I was really thinking was that it was very, very private. No one could hear me here. No one would possibly be able to find me. I was alone with him. Totally alone. Did I really trust him? Did I really love him?

He didn't say a word; just grabbed the groceries and walked toward the door, stopping when he got there and casting a quizzical look back in my direction when he'd gotten it unlocked. I got out of the car, and carrying the gym bag, followed him inside. 

It was a very small house; maybe eight hundred square feet total. As he busied himself putting the food and drinks away, I wandered around, looking. Only one bedroom. One bathroom. Sort of a living room/dining room/kitchen combination, which was the largest room in the house. A small patio that was lost in tangled woods all around. It was clean, if a bit cluttered. A small table stood in one corner of the living room next to an old couch and served as a desk, supporting several stacks of papers. 

He startled me when he came up behind me, and when I spun around, he kissed me again. I found I could do nothing with my hands because I was still holding the blue bag, and as he broke the kiss, he took it from me, rummaged in it a bit, and brought out a pair of the handcuffs. Before I could even think about it, he had ratcheted one of the cuffs onto my right wrist. Then he took the bag into the bedroom, leaving me alone to gaze in absolute and utter fascination at the thing dangling from my arm. It was strangely hypnotic. It spoke volumes of things to come. I wondered if my eyes looked at all like those of the woman on the cover of the video. I felt like her, or at least how I imagined she felt. Would Jay put those nipple clamp things on me? I wasn't totally helpless like the girl on the video. Not yet. I heard my heart pounding as Jay came back out of the bedroom. He had taken his shirt off, and he'd removed his shoes and socks. Oh God, things were happening quickly!

Without a word, he walked up to me and began unbuttoning my blouse. He pulled it roughly where it was tucked into my skirt, and there was an awkward moment when the hook at the other end of the handcuffs got caught as he took it off of me, but he managed to get it free. He left me standing there in the middle of the room as he went back into the bedroom (to hang it up in a closet, I guess), and I was alone in the strange room, feeling almost naked and very, very vulnerable. 




The Addicted Natural Ch. 05



When he returned, he walked behind me, positioned my hands at the small of my back, and fastened them together. At last, I was bound. Was it everything I'd been hoping for these past 45 minutes? I heard a zipper, and it took me a second to realize that it was my skirt, which was now loose and sliding down over my hips. He snaked his arm around my bare midriff to hold me steady as he held the garment down around my ankles, and I just naturally lifted first one foot and then the other as he finished removing it. Then he was gone again, back to the bedroom to hang up the skirt, and I shivered at the feel of the warm air caressing my bare skin. He walked right past me when he came back, though, and I turned to watch as he went into the kitchen and came back with a very big, mean-looking knife.

He held it in front of me and I made a little noise, but he put a finger gently to my lips, and I was silent for the moment. He looked at me intently, his eyes drinking in my heaving chest, my frightened eyes, then my whole body again. He kissed me gently on the forehead, and raised the knife and cut one of my bra straps. He watched me again for a long moment, and then cut the other one. I made another little whimper, but he ignored it. He walked around me as I stood there, stretching the moment out, and finally I felt him pulling on the back supporting strap of the bra as he sliced through that one as well, and the whole thing, under tension, flew forward off my chest and fell into a worthless pile of shredded cloth on the floor. He walked back around and stood in front of me again, raking me with his hungry eyes, especially my breasts, which were rising and falling with every jagged breath. 

"Very nice," he said softly.

"They're too big," I replied in a very small voice, but again he silenced me with a finger to my lips.

"You are not to speak unless I ask you a question," he said sternly. This would be the first of a whole weekend's worth of rules. I would remember them all, however. I remember them to this day. 

He sliced off the panties, too, though there was really no reason to do so except to emphasize the finality of their destruction. He knelt and supported me again with an arm around my buttocks as he removed my sandals, and left me naked (oh, so totally naked!) as he put them away with the rest of my clothes. He took a metal folding chair from the dining area and set it behind me, then sat me down so that my arms were behind its back, my back and butt pressed almost entirely into its cold metal surface. Next, he set to work cutting lengths of the soft nylon rope and tying my ankles and knees the chair, spreading my legs obscenely. He also looped part of the rope through the handcuffs, though I couldn't see how, stretching my arms downward, so that I was really, really (finally, totally) helpless. He could do anything to me now. Anything. And now, as he bent to kiss me after surveying his handy work from every angle, he let his hands roam freely across my breasts, rubbing, pressing, tweaking, pinching, caressing, squeezing. 

He put his tongue in my mouth. I didn't know how to react, but that didn't seem to make any difference. My body reacted for me, and I found myself gasping and moaning into his open mouth as my torso jerked and heaved against his hands. His touch became a catalyst that made my body move and feel and strain without any sort of input from my brain whatsoever. Every time he pinched one of my nipples, I made a little noise that mixed somehow into the tangle of lips and tongues; but when he took a nipple between thumb and forefinger and rolled it back and forth, back and forth, I groaned very loudly. He finally broke the kiss, laughed delightedly, and slid one hand lower across my quivering abdomen and between my legs as he kept up the delightful rolling motion to my nipple with his other.

Jay's finger slid very easily inside my vagina, which made me shiver uncontrollably. "Why are you so wet?" he asked, teasingly. 

"I don't know," I managed to mutter, almost a whisper. I'd sometimes found myself moist "down there" when I woke up in the morning, but I never really thought about why.

"This is your cunt," he said, a teacher to a slow student. "Say it, please."

"That is my cunt," I whispered obediently, quivering all over.

"And this is your clit," he said, in the same tone. 

He rubbed his palm along the length of my dripping opening, scraping it cruelly across my little button near its top. I jerked so violently that the chair came entirely off the floor and made a metallic clang as it landed again. "Ahhhh!" I screamed, shaking spastically and trying frantically to understand what was happening.

"Say it!" he intoned, plunging his fingers (two of them this time ... at least, I think it was two ... it felt like two) back into my "cunt." "What is it?"

"It's a .... AHHHHH!" I screamed again as his palm slid again across the little troublemaker. 

He began rubbing his hand up and down, up and down, faster and faster across the offending clit as he continued to assault my right nipple by rolling it unmercifully between his thumb and finger. "Say it!" he hissed into my ear. "Say it!"

"It's my ... Ahhhh! My cl – Ahhhh! Cl – cli – cli – AHHHHH!" And suddenly something very strange happened to me. I didn't realize that I had been pulling on the handcuffs, but when "it" happened, I jerked upward with my bound wrists so hard that my whole body (chair firmly attached) nearly twisted out of his grip. He had to let go of my abused nipple and wrap his free arm around me to keep me from careening across the small room. I clearly felt the muscles of my newly dubbed "cunt" contract over and over again unbidden, and a magnificent tingle ran throughout my naked being. I swear I felt it in my toes!

He finally stopped rubbing, but persisted in his harsh questioning. "What just happened?" he asked.

"I don't know," I gasped, my chest heaving. "Was that an orgasm? Did I have an orgasm?" I'd heard about it. I'd read about it. I'd always assumed "it" only happened when a man stuck his thingy into a girl. That's what it looked like in the few "R" rated movie videos I'd seen, though of course, they hadn't actually shown that particular aspect of it. Had it finally happened to me? Just by touching?

"You came, you slut," he responded. "I pinched your tit, and fingered your cunt, and rubbed your clit, and made you cum. Say it!" He started rolling my other nipple between his thumb and finger.

"You pinched my ... um ... tit, and fingered my c – cunt, and rubbed my – OH!– my cli – clit, and made me cu – cum," I stammered.

"Very good," he said, letting go of me completely. I thought it was over, but to my astonishment, he walked around in front of me, knelt between my splayed legs, and cruelly spread the lips of my cunt apart using the fingertips of each hand. Then quickly, amazingly, he jammed his face into me and started licking.

I was still shaking from the "cum" I'd just experienced, but this feeling was so utterly foreign and unexpected that it was all I could do not to break rule number one and scream "What in God's name are you doing?" My body was literally catapulted back into an orgasm much more violent than the one before. He let go of my cunt lips to wrap his arms around my legs and the chair as it heaved and bumped and scraped on the hardwood floor. When he finally stopped licking, and when I finally stopped coming, and when he finally got to his feet and stood over me, I found that I didn't even have the strength to look up. I truly thought I was about to pass out. The room was spinning wildly before my eyes.

"You're a fucking slut, Dee," he said matter-of-factly. "Say it."

"Fu – fuck – fucking slu- slut," I muttered between heaving breaths. 

He stood looking at me for the longest time. I couldn't seem to keep my head from lolling. Finally, he began untying my ankles and knees, and I felt the tension on my wrists slacken. He stood me up, but had to keep a firm grip on my elbows to keep me from falling.

"Are you ready to become a woman, Dee?"

I looked into his eyes, questioningly. This was it. This is what I'd been waiting for all my life. I tried to nod my head, but I don't know if I moved it the way I'd intended. He sort of half led me – half dragged me into the bedroom, and for the first time, I notice that each of my ankles was dragging a length of the soft rope. I was still tied, yet free. He unlocked my hands and dropped the cuffs on the floor, then he rummaged through the blue bag again and came out with the other pair (the one with the longer chain connecting the two halves), and I stood meekly as he bound me again. Now, though the chain ran behind my back, still connecting my hands, my arms were able to hang straight down by my sides. I gave a little "eeek" as he literally picked me up and threw me onto the bed.

He positioned me on my back and methodically began tying each of the ends of the loose ropes to the bedposts, splaying my legs. The chain from the handcuffs felt uncomfortable, pressing into the lower part of my buttocks, my arms firmly trapped at my sides.

He put on a little show for me, I think, really taking his time removing his pants, then finally his underwear. I don't really know what I was expecting. He wasn't as big as the pictures I'd seen on the video covers in the sex store, but he looked very hard and his prick (he made me call it a "prick") pointed almost straight up toward the ceiling. He walked up so that it was level with my eyes and let me get a good look at it, and after a little while, he put his hand behind my head, bent his prick down with the other, and pulled me toward it, telling me to put it in my mouth. I parted my lips without hesitation, and he pushed it in. I didn't really like the taste of it, but it wasn't too bad, and I wanted desperately to please him. Trussed up the way I was, I had very few ways of doing that other than tacitly obeying him. I think he enjoyed it until he pushed it in too far and I started gagging as he hit the back of my throat. I've always gagged pretty easily (I have to drink a lot of water just to get a pill down), and after a few moments he relented when it became evident that I might throw up. He looked very disappointed, and I felt worthless and useless. I started to apologize after I got the coughing under control, but he rather harshly reminded me of rule number one, and I fell miserably silent. 

Next, to my astonishment, he began massaging my breasts and clit again. I didn't know what to do, but then, of course, there was absolutely nothing I COULD do, and I soon felt myself spiraling back upward toward yet another big orgasm. He suddenly stopped however, positioned himself between my bound legs, and began rubbing his prick up and down the length of my cunt. It was very slippery, and it felt wonderful. If he kept doing that just a little longer ... just a little longer ... but he ceased abruptly and began pushing it inside of me. 

Now, I guess this is the moment that is indelibly etched into the memory of every woman, though I suppose you could call my situation a little out of the ordinary. I distinctly remember expecting it to hurt, and it did, I suppose, but in a much different way than I thought it would. I guess I would liken it to having your fingers stretched too far apart. "Stretch" is a good word for it. I was being stretched too far, or at least my cunt was. It went in easily enough, but the walls of my insides were being forced to accommodate something that was just too big. It was over very quickly, or at least I thought it was over, as his pubic hair was suddenly grinding into my own and our bodies were pressed firmly together from groin to shoulders. I tried desperately to reach up and hold him, but my hands could go no higher than my own hips. 

He lay against me like that for a long minute, and then began drawing out of me. Had he cum? I hadn't felt anything. But after rising only a few inches, he thrust down, back deep inside of me. He wasn't through at all ... he was just beginning. It was a motion I was going to get used to, and one I was going to get to like, despite my bashful innocence. He would later tell me how much he liked pumping in and out of me, but I felt more of a "filling and emptying" deep inside me rather than just "pumping." I was stretched painfully to admit him then felt almost lonely when he pulled away. He did this over and over again, probably twenty times, before he made a sort of surprised, shouted noise and his whole body stiffened. I felt his cock sort of lurch inside me, jerking a little up and down, though he stayed buried in my cunt as far as he could, and somehow I felt a great sense of accomplishment. I had pleased my man sexually. He had cum inside of me.

He lay heavily on top of me and I longed to hold him, but could not. He panted heavily from the exertion, and after a long minute, he pushed himself up with his hands and looked smugly down at me. I couldn't help but notice that his prick had gotten small, and was threatening to slip out of me.

"You're a woman, Dee," he said, as if he were a salesman congratulating a new client. "How do you feel?"

"I love you," I said, looking into his eyes and desperately trying to convince myself that this was true. It had to be true. It MUST be true.

He barked a short laugh, which hurt much more than any physical assault, but he threw me into an indescribable state of mind by saying "I love you, too, Dee," and then he got up off of me and went into the bathroom.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 06



Chapter 6 – Dee's Diary – Old Scars

SATURDAY, MAY 5th (Continued)

Now, the events of the three nights and four days we were together were so numerous that I could easily fill the rest of this diary, but there's no time for that, and really no reason. Therefore, please allow me to meander for couple of pages with a series of short facts surrounding my time with Jay. It's necessary, I suppose, to explain this before relating "the event" which would ruin my life forever. I often think of those days, late at night when I'm all alone in my bed. They were the only days I've ever really been free. Totally free. And yet, I was tied up (or in some other way restrained) almost every minute of that time. Bound and free. Happy. Well, no probably not happy, but I kept telling myself I was.

I can't tell you how many times I came. Dozens, at least.

Jay came seven times: once in my mouth, twice in my ass, and four times in my cunt, counting that last time in the car (which I'll get to shortly).

I never came when his cock was inside my cunt. Not even once.

He preferred the cuffs with the long chain. I think that seeing my arms hanging submissively by my sides turned him on.

It turned me on, too.

On the first night, he bathed me, then he sat me on the edge of the tub and shaved all my pubic hair off. It felt SO strange.

Then he licked me, and I came very, very hard.

I was never able to take him very deeply into my mouth without gagging. This really disappointed him; and me too, of course.

The time he came in my mouth, he just made me suck on it while he rubbed himself with his hand. I didn't like the taste, but I swallowed as much of it as I could.

There was a hook in the ceiling next to the sliding glass door in the living room (for a hanging plant, I guess), and he liked to tie my hands above my head attached to it. He liked it best when my toes would barely touch the floor.

The nipple clamps hurt like hell, but for some reason I'd always cum harder when I was wearing them. After awhile, I got used to them. I think I actually started to like the pain, though that doesn't make sense, does it?

The nipple clamps with the extra chain had a clip that pinched one of the lips of my cunt. Once, he actually attached it directly to my clit. Oh God, it hurt! But when he took it off after an hour and rubbed me, I came so hard I couldn't even stand up afterwards.

The ball with the strap was for putting in my mouth. It fastened around the back of my head, and I couldn't utter a word when it was in. He'd put on the blindfold, too, and hang me from the hook and leave me for very long periods of time.

The frozen dinners were horrid, but I never complained, and even complimented him on his cooking skills.

I was naked all the time. You'd think I'd get used to that after awhile, but I didn't. I felt like I was blushing continuously.

What if I was pregnant? The question squeezed into my mind whenever I let it. I tried desperately not to think about it.

On the afternoon of the second day, we had a very philosophical conversation (if you can call it a conversation, when I could only speak when asked a question). He explained that some women were just MEANT to be slaves, that it was their destiny, and that judging by my reaction to all of this, I was one of those women. I had to admit, it made sense.

He made a new rule. I would call him "Master."

He worked the butt plug into me (using the lubricant) very, very slowly. It took him almost twenty minutes, using first his fingers, then the plug. He'd keep the plug in me for hours, sometimes. It's hard to describe the feeling. I've never felt anything like it.

After he took out the butt plug, he would put his cock in there. I think he really liked it.

I liked it, too. (Oh Geeez, I can't believe I just wrote that!)

Twice, he tied me up so that I couldn't move at all, roped from shoulders to heels, like a mummy, and then he would sort of hold me on his lap the way he'd hold a rolled-up carpet, and we would watch the videos from the store. The Story of "O" was especially good.

Once, after dinner, he untied me except for one ankle cuffed to the leg of the couch Then he put his head in my lap and made me read an X-rated book to him. I especially liked doing that.

He would sometimes tie me spread eagle to the bed for long periods of time, blindfold and gag me, then he would unexpectedly touch my clit with one of the vibrators. I would always cum violently.

I quickly discovered that sex is sort of smelly, and VERY messy. When he came, it had the tendency to drip out of me and it just got everywhere. Sometimes, he would clean me up with tissues or a towel, but often I would hang from my hook and it would dribble all the way down my legs onto the floor.

On the second day, my cunt started smelling sort of funny. It was better after he bathed me (did I mention he bathed me while I was all tied up and helpless?), but the smell came back again on that last day. I'll get to that.

I told him I love him two more times, and each time he reacted the same way, laughing nervously before telling me that he loved me, too.

On the third evening (the last), I had been tied spread eagle to the bed for at least an hour, when I heard him talking on the phone. He seemed patient but insistent with whoever he was talking to. I heard him more clearly as he walked into the bedroom, and he told whoever it was that he'd call right back. It was a cell phone, and he pressed a button to disconnect the call before walking over to the edge of the bed. For once, he hadn't put the blindfold or gag on me, and for once, he engaged in no preliminaries at all. He just crawled into bed, positioned himself between my spread legs, stroked himself several times to make his cock hard, and then he stuffed it right into my cunt.

By this time, I had pretty much taken it for granted that our life together would be one of master and slave, and that I would always be open to him, always ready for him. Even so, the suddenness of this was surprising to me. He began thrusting into me almost frantically, and I remember thinking that something must have really turned him on. After a dozen or so thrusts, he sort of half rolled off of me, but kept himself buried deep in my cunt, and I watched, flabbergasted, as he reached for the cell phone and pushed a button. He listened for a moment, and spoke.

"Yes sir, sorry about that, I'm back now. No, I fully understand. No, I'm afraid that's out of the question. Yes, yes, I'd be happy to see you then. Yes, certainly. Here she is."

And without a single word of explanation, he pressed the phone into the pillow beneath my head so that it was cradled against my ear and mouth, then he let go of it and began fucking me again.

"Dee?"

Oh, my God! Oh no, please! "Daddy?"

I looked up at Jay questioningly, but he had his eyes closed as he pushed into me over and over again. I tried desperately not to pant or make any of the other telltale sounds that just seemed to slip out of me whenever Jay was having sex with me.

"Tell me you haven't given him the strategy!" Daddy hissed at me. "So help me, if you've uttered one word of it to that asshole ...."

"Ugh!" I blurted. Jay was beginning to fuck me very hard now. He would be coming soon. "What?" It took my harried brain a few moments to understand exactly what Daddy was talking about.

Now, I'm not going to go into a lot of very mundane business stuff, especially when I'm describing the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to me. But in a nutshell, the thing that makes a mutual fund tick is the fund manager's strategy. That is what people ultimately are investing in. Really, it's nothing more than a mathematical formula that is applied to variables that affect certain types of stocks. Daddy had invested a couple hundred mil into a new fund, and he'd established me as the manager. I'd come up with the strategy all on my own, I'd applied it and refined it and updated it daily, and it really seemed to be working. The fund had more than doubled in value in the last eight months and it was on several of Wall Street's "most active" lists. 

And so this was the situation: His only daughter had run away from home with a strange man and had been turned into a willing, panting sex slave. But now, after three whole days, when he finally got her on the phone, the only thing he wanted to know was "Did you give him the strategy?" What an asshole!

"No, Daddy! Ungh!" I stammered. Jay was really pounding me. "Daddy, I love him! Ugh!" 

"Love him!? You fucking little bitch!" Daddy screamed.

Jay was coming. Hard. I think I made a sort of gurgling sound.

Daddy didn't seem to notice. "Put the asshole back on! NOW!"

What I really, really WANTED to say was: "He can't talk right now, Daddy. He's just cum deep, deep inside me. Cum bucketfuls, Daddy. I can feel it all oozing out of my cunt onto the sheet." But what I said instead was: "Just a minute Daddy. I'll put him back on the phone." I sounded just like I did when I always spoke to Daddy. Meek. Small.

Jay took his time catching his breath before picking the phone up again. "Yes, sir? Yes, yes, that would be fine. We'll see you then." He pressed the off button again.

I couldn't help myself. "NO! No, please, Jay! Master. Please! We can't! I just can't go back there!"

He gave me a half-stern, half-understanding look, the way a parent looks at a rambunctious child in public. "I will not let the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with leave her family on an unpleasant note," he said in a placating tone. 

I looked up at him questioningly. Did he mean that? "Please!" I begged again, my voice a whisper. "I don't ever want to see him again."

"Not another word!" he said sternly. "You are my slave. I am the master in this relationship, and I will decide what you will and will not do! Do you trust me?"

I paused too long before whispering "Yes," but he chose not to notice.

I don't think I slept at all that night.

After a breakfast of toasted frozen waffles, he removed all of my restraints for the first time since we arrived and helped me dress in my blouse, skirt and sandals. I didn't say anything as I stood meekly in the center of the room while he walked around the house gathering up all the things we'd gotten in the sex store, putting them back in the blue gym bag. I sat sadly in the seat of the car, the bag in my lap again, as we sped back toward the home I thought I had left forever. I paid no attention to where we were or what we passed.

Suddenly, he turned sharply down a narrow back road, then quickly again, and yet again, and parked in a small dirt area beside a country access road. He jerked his door open, crawled into the back seat, and I sat bewildered as he began tugging his pants down. "Get back here!" he ordered tersely.

I had to open my side door, put the seat forward, and crawl back to join him on the back seat of the convertible. He grabbed my waist with both hands and positioned me above his lap with my knees on either side of his hips. It took me a few seconds to figure out what he had planned, since we'd never done it this way before. My skirt was really getting in the way.

"Help me, damn it!" he hissed. 

I wasn't used to doing anything at all during sex. I was always tied up. I reached down between us, but my hand got tangled up in the skirt, as well. I finally got it free, found his prick, which was very hard (we hadn't done it since last night when I'd talked on the phone), and somehow guided it to my opening. I was sore, but very wet and slippery. I hadn't bathed since last night, either.

He began lifting me up and pulling me down with his hands, and once again it took me the better part of a minute to realize that what he really wanted was for ME to do all the work. I rose up and down, digging my knees into the rough leather seat and impaling myself on his stiff shaft. Once I established the rhythm to his liking, he just sat there, leaning his head back against the seat, his eyes closed. Fortunately, no cars came down that access road. I don't know what I'd have done if one had. I could see the traffic flowing in both directions on the main highway, which was only thirty of forty yards away through the bushes. The sudden thought struck me that anybody who happened to be looking our way could see us. Certainly they would know what I was doing. There was probably no other action on earth that resembled sex between a man and a woman. I felt very ashamed. I also felt very turned on. I wished he would reach down and touch me there. It wouldn't take much. I wanted it so badly. I leaned forward a little, trying to get the friction I needed, but I couldn't quite make it work.

And then he stiffened, grabbed me by the waist again, slammed me all the way down, and bellowed like a bull as his prick twitched inside of me. I tentatively put my arms around his neck and held him as he panted into my hair. I stroked his head and told him how good he felt inside of me. But after another minute, he lifted me off, set me aside on the seat, and pulled up his underwear and pants. 

Too soon, I was in the front seat and we were driving again. I felt his cum dripping out of me and soiling my skirt, but I chose not to mention it. Again, I smelled the funny odor I'd experienced that second day, and I reluctantly had to admit it was coming from between my legs. We were moving fast in the little car, but the smell followed me like a cloud. 

And then, I suddenly realized that I knew where we were. We were almost there! He seemed to know the way, know the house and where to turn down the winding drive. He braked to a halt before the house, came around to open and hold my door, and to my amazement, he picked up the gym bag. He took my hand and led me to the front door.

"What are you going to do with THAT?" I asked, risking a rules violation. 

"Don't want to leave it in the car," he said matter-of-factly. "Somebody might find it."

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to argue, but one just didn't do that with one's master. He didn't bother to knock, and I was very surprised to find that the front door was unlocked. We walked in, and I let him look around a little. This is the reaction many visitors have. Most people have driven by big, big homes and wished they could see inside, and I never begrudged anyone the opportunity to rubberneck a little once they get inside ours. Where were Martha and Ben, I wondered.

He stopped by the first door he came to and opened it. "What's this," he asked.

"The waiting room." 

"Waiting room?" He walked in and looked around, and I followed. I didn't come in here very often.

"For guests," I explained. "They wait here while our butler comes and announces them."

He nodded, looked around a little more, then he pushed the gym bag under the settee beside the door. "We'll just leave this here until we're ready to leave," he said, and I breathed a little sigh of relief.

Back in foyer, he told me to take him to my father, and I led him in the direction of the East Wing and then turned left down the Long Hall toward father's library study, which is where he could usually be found this time of day. 

"I need to use the bathroom," I said in a small voice, pausing by the East Wing downstairs bath. I didn't really have to, but Jay's cum was dribbling down both of my inner thighs and the "smell" seemed to be getting stronger (though that may have been my imagination).

"Not now," he said tersely. "We can stop here on the way out."

So I continued down the hall and hesitated outside the closed door. But Jay opened it without knocking (something no one was EVER allowed to do) and I found myself shuffling uncertainly after him.

Jay marched right up to Daddy, who was sitting behind the huge desk, and put out his hand in greeting. "Jay Johnston. Pleased to meet you, sir."

Daddy didn't even look up, just kept writing on a yellow legal pad. After a few long seconds, Jay lowered his hand, but he kept that silly, patient smile pasted on his lips and didn't move or say another word. I wondered who would blink first in this war of wills. To my astonishment, it was Daddy.

"Sit down," he grumbled. I immediately went to the large sofa and sat in the center of it, giving Jay the opportunity to take either side he chose, but to my amazement, he walked to the big leather chair in front of the desk and sat there. He still didn't say anything, and a very, very cold feeling began to creep all over me. Why didn't Jay sit beside me? Why wasn't he telling Daddy he loved me? Why wasn't he telling Daddy that he was taking me away, and that all the money in the world didn't matter? Why didn't he say SOMETHING!?

Finally, Daddy looked up and locked eyes with him, but his most withering look didn't seem to faze Jay, and I felt a small flash of pride. They just sat like that for the longest time. Then, slowly, Daddy looked back down, opened his bottom drawer, and my heart sank even lower when he took out the big leather checkbook. I might have made a little noise of surprised dismay, but if I did, neither of them seemed to notice. The atmosphere in the room was electric. I wished (oh, how I wished!) that Jay's cum would stop dripping out of my cunt.

Daddy wrote out a check, tore it from the large volume, and laid it on the edge of the desk in front of him, and then he leaned back and glared at Jay.

No, Jay! Please, Jay! No! Please, no!

Jay got slowly out of the chair, walked forward, picked up the check, then backed up, always maintaining eye contact with Daddy, and sat down again. Suddenly, I felt nothing. Nothing at all. I felt hollow. Artificial. I wasn't real. Nothing was real anymore. The tears started then. Quiet tears. Silent tears. My "Daddy tears."

Jay glanced down for a split second and right back up at Daddy again. The silence stretched on.

Finally, Jay said: "I will require one additional thing."

"Not one cent!" Daddy screamed, spittle spraying across the desk, his face crimson. I've never seen Daddy that mad.

Jay acted as if he hadn't spoken at all. "You, sir, have the power ruin any man you wish. I would need your word of honor that you would leave me and my affairs alone."

Daddy suddenly calmed. He regarded this young adversary with sudden respect. "Done," he said solemnly, "provided you never, ever invest, bargain for, or do business with any of my companies, holdings or financial instruments ..." he paused "... including her." He jerked a thumb in my direction without looking at me. I had become a financial instrument.

Jay nodded slowly. "Done," he said clearly, then hoisted himself out of his chair and walked to the door.

"I've given the maid and butler the day off," Daddy barked. "You found your way in, you can find your way out!"

Jay didn't answer. He opened the door and walked out. He had never once looked at me or even acknowledged my existence since we had entered the room. The only thing I had left to remind me of him, at least for awhile, was the smell and feel of the sexual juices he had deposited in my body only 30 minutes before.

Daddy began writing on the legal pad again. I sat there. Something was going to happen. Something terrible. My tears continued without so much as a whimper.

Finally, he set the pad aside and stood up. He went to the door, then finally turned and motioned for me to come to him. I did so without question or hesitation. He grabbed my wrist and led me out into the hall and down toward the West Wing. I simply allowed myself to be led. Nothing seemed real. 

He opened the door to the basement, flipped a switch, and led me down the steep stairs. There are several corridors down there, and more than a dozen rooms. I never showed any inclination to explore below the main floors as a child. I always thought it was spooky. Scary. I did know, somehow, that the door we finally stopped in front of was always kept locked. Sure enough, he took a small set of keys from his pocket, selected one, and opened it.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 06



The room was totally bare except for a metal folding chair and a very strange sort of table in the center of the floor. The walls sported no pictures. A small fireplace was set into one corner, but there was no firewood and no ashes in the grate. It hadn't been used for a very, very long time. The table appeared to be bolted to the floor on sturdy, oversized wooden legs that were both too far apart on one side and too close together on the other. It was very narrow in the center, and very wide at either end, and it faintly resembled a capital letter "X." The only light in the room was provided by a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was a hook on one wall, and from it, in a large coil, hung a very thick, very long, very mean-looking bullwhip.

So this was to be my punishment. How Machiavellian. How gothic. I was to be reduced to a character in a cheap novel. But he couldn't hurt me anymore. No suffering could surpass what I was feeling already.

He led me to the table and let go of my wrist to position it. The whole table twisted on some sort of hinge, and sure enough, when it was vertical, it looked exactly like a big "X." There were leather buckles at each corner, and I passively let him fasten first one wrist, then the other to the uppermost portion of it. My breasts, unrestrained beneath my light blouse, ballooned slightly as they pressed into the rough wood of the thing. There was a cross-brace at the level of my face, and I turned my head and rested my cheek against it, watching, waiting. He knelt to remove my sandals before fastening my ankles to the lower portion, spreading my legs so that my feet no longer touched the ground. I felt more of the cum dribble down the insides of my legs. He must have smelt me. He was very close down there, and I could smell the odor.

He twisted the table again, swinging it forward, so that I was neither horizontal nor vertical. Then, with a savage movement, he grabbed handfuls of the back of my blouse and ripped it almost completely off of me. Small tatters of the garment were dangling from each arm, and he quickly tore those off as well. With a vicious yank, he pulled my skirt's waistband so far asunder that it fell all the way to my widely spaced ankles. He left it there. The air was cool but dry in the basement, and with my whole backside exposed to the room, I shivered involuntarily.

Daddy walked to the wall and picked up the bullwhip almost reverently. I watched in fascination as he began doing something very strange. He started pick-pick-picking at something on the very end of the whip, and with all honesty, he reminded me of a monkey picking fleas. I simply couldn't fathom the meaning of the ritual. He didn't even glance at me for the longest time. I was completely naked, yet Daddy was much more interested in the whip than in the nude woman tied to the table in front of him. I had thought briefly that he might rape his only daughter, but he was much too focused on the task at hand to consider such a thing. 

He walked behind me and I lost sight of him. I waited several long seconds before the first blow struck. 

The fickle finger writ, Khalil Gibran once said, and having writ, moves on. History, once complete, cannot be undone. But, if I ever DID have the chance to relive that horrible event, I would have done it much, much differently. I would have screamed. I would have screamed loud and long and begged and cried and pleaded. But as it was, I did none of those things, except to continue to shed my silent "Daddy tears." I never uttered a peep of protest. That's why he didn't stop, of course. He wasn't going to stop until he had gotten some sort of response from me.

There is no sound on earth like that of a bullwhip striking flesh. Many have written about it, but they've obviously never seen it, and most certainly they've never experienced it. TV and movies don't even come close. Try to imagine hitting a piece of raw meat with a dull butter knife hard enough to cut. That's what the whip does. It strikes and grabs and digs in and rakes and tears and cuts, all in the span of a half-second. The first stroke hit with enough force to knock the air from my lungs. By the time the second struck, the pain from the first was just starting to build. And after the third, I quite frankly lost count. Silly for someone so proficient at math. 

I've tried to count them once or twice. It just can't be done. I stand, naked, in the bathroom with my back to the big mirror and look in a hand mirror back over my shoulder and try to figure it out, but it's impossible. They get all jumbled. The scars, I mean. One ends where another begins. Were those two from the same blow? Surely not. They're at slightly different angles. And that one's too deep to be connected with that one. Unless two blows fell in exactly the same place. Thirty, at least. Fifty? Perhaps. Oh, God, the pain was terrible.

I suddenly couldn't breath, and sputtering, realized that Daddy had thrown a glass of water in my face. Had I passed out? Where had the water come from? I looked over my left arm to watch him. Why was everything pink? No, not pink, really. There were little, tiny dots of red on everything, everywhere. Blood. My blood. Daddy stood in front of me, breathing hard, picking at the end of the whip again. Picking. Cleaning the end of the whip. Picking what? Bits of flesh. My flesh. And suddenly my heart sank even more. Oh, the horror of it! Whose flesh had he been picking from the whip before he struck ME?!?! There could be only one answer to that question, though my mind screamed and railed against the thought. Mommy. Oh, Mommy!

And then he was gone again. Out of my view again. And another blow, and another. 

I sputtered and coughed on the water once more. I felt different. Sort of "floaty," is how I'd describe it. The room was floating around me, or maybe I was floating around it. The pain was hot, but the room had suddenly turned very cold. Daddy had a funny expression on his face: sort of half triumph, half ... what? Fear? But that was impossible for me to know, and I almost laughed. I'd never seen Daddy frightened of anything.

Suddenly, he was gone. I thought maybe he was behind me again, ready to strike the next blow. But it never came. Where could he be? And what was that strange noise? At first, I thought it might be a loud clock ... tick, tick, tick. But I finally realized that that wasn't the sound at all. Drip, drip, drip. I forced my arm so that I could look beneath it at the floor. Where had all the blood come from? Surely not just me ... there was too much of it. No one could possibly lose that much blood and survive. It stood in a huge, spreading puddle, and it looked ... deep. Drip, drip, drip.

Scream. It exploded into the room and bounced around the walls, and suddenly Mommy was there, holding my head and looking at me in abject horror. 

"Call an ambulance!" she screeched at my father, who was standing at the small doorway. He held an armload of bath towels.

"No," he said flatly.

Mommy spun to face him and talked frantically, waving her arm in my direction. "She has to get to a hospital, Robert! She desperately needs a doctor! You can see the bones laid bare in her back! Look at all the blood!"

"No ambulance," Daddy said calmly. "No hospital. No doctor."

To my astonishment, Mommy knelt in the spreading puddle of blood and looked up at him. "Please, Master," she implored. "Please! She's going to die!"

(Master?)

Daddy tossed the stack of towels onto my back as if I were the piece of furniture itself, then reached down, grasped Mommy by her shoulders and hoisted her to her feet. He looked her steadily in the eye.

"If she dies, you and I will bury her body in the woods and we'll tell everyone that she never came back. We'll tell them that we've disowned her and we don't care where she is. No one will ever know. If you can save her somehow, I'll put her back to work. Either – Or. I really don't care which."

And he turned on his heel and was gone.

Mommy spun around and looked at me, big silent tears flowing freely down both cheeks, and I thought "She cries like I do." And then a look of stoic determination I'd never witnessed set her features and she picked up the stack of towels, gasping at what she saw beneath, set them on the folding chair, took the top one and pressed it into my back hard. That should have really hurt, but I found the pain somehow oddly decreasing. I tried to say something, but my lips didn't seem to be responding to my brain. I jerked awake as she removed the towel and threw it onto the floor, where it quickly became sodden with blood; then she grabbed the next towel from the stack and pressed it in a slightly different place, pushing hard with both hands. This went on for some time. 

My mind seemed to fade in and out more frequently, as she worked, pressing, changing positions, changing towels, pushing some more. Finally, I seemed to wake a little more than usual, and she smiled down at me. "I think it's stopping, Dee! You're going to be all right! You are! Let me do this just a little more, then I'll untie you. Okay?"

In a sudden burst of clarity, I found my voice. There was one thing I desperately wanted more than anything, but when I spoke, it was in a whisper so faint I had to repeat it for her. "Please ... please clean me. Please."

"What? Where?"

"Between my legs. Please."

She paused and I could see her look down, see the shock on her face. "Oh." I could only imagine what it must look like; Jay's cum mixing with all the blood. I could still feel it. I could still smell it. "Did your ... did your father do this to you?"

"No .... Jay."

"Jay? Was he the boy you ran away with?"

I couldn't find my voice again, but I think I managed a small nod.

She stopped pressing on the latest compress and reached for the next towel, moistening it in a small bucket of water I hadn't noticed before. I felt its coolness as she began cleaning the cum from my inner thighs, moving up toward my cunt. "I wish so much you hadn't come back," Mommy was saying, pushing the tip of the towel inside my gaping opening, cleansing me of Jay's slimy deposit. It felt good. Good to be clean. Then she inadvertently scraped the rough material across my clit.

I hadn't uttered a peep during the beating, but I did now. I screamed a weak "Ahhhhh!" as I came and came and came. My body jerked inconsequentially against my bonds and the orgasm just seemed to drain the last teeny bit of strength from my body. Mommy didn't seem to notice at all, just went back to the job of staunching the blood flow from my back as I lay quivering from the ecstasy that had washed through me. 

"I'm sorry," I murmured meekly.

"Don't worry about it at all," Mommy said. "I think it's perfectly natural. The whip always leaves me that way, too."

"He whips you," I whispered, fresh tears on my cheeks. I was about to pass out. I don't know how I knew it, but somehow I did.

"No, not for a long time now," she said. "And never like this. Never, ever like this."

That comforted me, strangely. And yet my uppermost feeling was shame. My mother had made me cum. And it wasn't a little one, either. I was still tingling. 

That was the last time. I haven't had an orgasm since. Not one in more than two years.

I woke to find myself in a very strange position. My bare breasts were pressed against the smooth fabric of the back of Mommy's dress. She had a firm grip on each of my wrists, and she was carrying me on her back, like a donkey with a heavy burden, slowly, one step at a time up the stairs. She'll never make it, I thought. She's smaller than I am and she has too far to go. But when I opened my eyes again, I was on my own bed, lying nude on my stomach, and she was rubbing something on my butt. 

There was something I HAD to do before I lost consciousness again. "Please!" I croaked.

"What is it, dear," she said, coming close to my lips to hear my whispered plea.

"In the waiting room. Blue bag. Under the settee."

"You want it? I can have Martha get it for you."

"NO!" I murmured urgently. "No one must see. Please get it! Get rid of it!"

"Yes, dear. I promise," she said, and began swabbing my butt again. My mind drifted away.

I won't keep you in suspense any longer. I lived. My recovery and convalescence took almost two months, and in a way, they were the best of my entire life. I wasn't pregnant with Jay's child (or if I was, it wasn't for long). My period started almost two weeks early, possible from the loss of blood. I was extremely ill for awhile. 

I got to know my mother, and oddly, she became a friend. At times, Daddy would come for her, demand her presence, and she would never hesitate to leave me and serve him. But he allowed her to return to me when he was finished with her, and for the entire period, Daddy never spoke a word to me; which, I thought, only added to pleasantness of those eight weeks. She read to me as I lay there, my wounds open to the air, slowly healing. Book after book, she read, and I loved it. Loved her, the way every daughter wants to love a mother. When I was strong enough to sit, I would read to her while she sewed patches for her quilts. It was a magic time.

But it ended. One day, Daddy came to me and ordered me downstairs to the main office. It took me almost a week to figure out what had happened with the mutual fund. Daddy had taken over its administration, and quite frankly, he had bungled it badly. My formula was in tatters. Once some erroneous variable has been added to a complex equation, the permutations compound at an incredible rate. It took me almost two more months to set it back on the track to profitability. I worked feverishly, sometimes fourteen hours a day, but the work was all I had. Mommy went back to her quilting room upstairs. Our dysfunctional world was back in order.

Five months ago, Daddy took Mommy with him to a speaking engagement in Manhattan. He evidently decided to walk to a little-known gourmet establishment in the Restaurant District off of 7th Avenue, somewhere in the 50's. After they caught the guy that did it, the police said that the mugger had demanded Mommy's diamond necklace, and she'd given it to him immediately; but Daddy had refused to give up his wallet. The guy shot them each in the head. It probably would have been the trial of the century, but I threatened the New York Prosecutor's office with revealing certain "possible contributing factors" if they didn't cut a deal with the guy. There was no trial, and now he's serving a life sentence on Riker's Island. 

As soon as I heard the news, I made Ben get an axe and knock open the door of the little room in the basement. Then I made him leave me, and I used that axe to pound the "X" table into splinters, which I burned in the little fireplace. Leather is a funny material. It took that bullwhip almost two hours to burn entirely, but I sat watching and poking at it until it was finally only ashes. I will never again experience the companionship of a man because of that bullwhip. I am hideously disfigured! And in the end, I could only find the strength to take out my frustrations on the implement rather than the man who used it.

I had our family lawyer fly to New York and apply "pressure" to the coroner's office. While, by law, an autopsy was required in a homicide, Mommy's records were to remain sealed and the Chief Coroner was the only one to see her body. He seemed sympathetic, and no one ever knew about her scars.

No one has ever seen mine, either. No one until Brenda, that is. And of course, I have never breathed a word of this to any person on earth. Not until Brenda.

The story left me exhausted, teary-eyed, and strangely light-headed, but of course, the four glasses of Dom might have had something to do with that. Brenda had tears, too, and she had snuffled frequently into her napkin during the hour-long baring of my soul. I really DID feel better telling someone about it, but I still had serious doubts whether I'd done the right thing. We were both silent for a long time, and she seemed to want to say something, but was reluctant. I just waited. I'd done enough talking.

Finally, she looked at me and said "But that's not why, is it? It's sad, but it's not the real reason."

For a second my blood ran cold. I had a very funny feeling that there was considerably more to this young woman than meets the eye. I remembered how she'd looked at me in the shower. Could she really see inside me? "The reason for what?" I asked, holding my breath.

She was silent for a long second. "You're going to commit suicide, aren't you, Dee?"

I glared at her, unbelieving, and I opened my mouth to answer, shut it again, then reached for my glass and knocked it over. Across the room, a waiter saw me and came hurrying our way, but I waved him back, and he changed direction and rushed into the kitchen, instead. What could I say? I could lie. I could tell her to go to hell.

"How ...."

"You look like someone I used to know," Brenda said calmly. "My freshman year. She lived in my dorm, on the same floor. She was quiet, kind of a loner, but I think we were friends." Another tear slid down her cheek. "At least, I think we were. Second semester, she started getting a funny look in her eye. Something ... I don't know ... hard to describe. But then, after another week or so, she changed again; like she'd made up her mind. She seemed more at peace, I suppose, like she was glad the decision had been made. She looked like .... She looked ... like you do. The same sort of expression. A few days later, she threw herself off the roof. It was twenty floors ...."

"And now you wish you'd been able to talk her out of it," I said, my voice dead.

"No," Brenda replied quietly. "I don't think I'd have been able to do that." She paused again. "I just wish I'd been able to tell her good-bye."

I stared at her. I was afraid to say a word.

"Please, Dee," she said, staring pleadingly into my eyes. "Don't do it without telling me good-bye. Come to me and tell me before it happens."

I don't know why I said what I did next. I guess I did it out of some sort of survival instinct (which is especially funny for someone about to do what I'm going to). When trapped, animals lash out. Humans turn to mean-spirited words instead.

"Very nice," I hissed at her. "It would make a GREAT magazine article! 'How I Saved the Poor Little Rich Girl!'"

If I had struck her in the face, I couldn't have injured her more. Her eyes widened in utter shock, she opened her mouth to say something, shut it again, and her face dissolved in total despair and sadness. She raised a hand to her mouth and sobbed, stood rapidly, overturning her chair, and turned to flee.

I reached out with both hands and grabbed her right arm. "Brenda ... Brenda, I'm sorry. Please, sit down. I didn't mean that. Please!" At least three waiters, scurrying around the periphery of the room, setting tables for the evening service, had frozen in their tracks and were staring at us, wondering whether to help or keep away.

Brenda looked back at me, her hand still to her mouth, and she tried to talk through her sobs. "Did ... did you ... did you really think I ...."

"NO!" I implored. "Please forget I said that. I ... You ... you just really surprised me, that's all. I didn't know how to react. Please sit back down! I'm so sorry!"

Slowly, she sat, and I did, too. The waiters began scurrying again. I didn't know what to say, and it was evident she was afraid to say anything. She took a tissue from her purse and blew her nose, then sat silent, miserable.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked her quietly.

She looked up again, a glimmer of something ... hope? ... in her eyes. "Promise you'll tell me before it happens," she implored. "You have to tell me personally, to my face. I promise I won't try to talk you out of it, though I want to, of course. But it would be unbearable if you didn't tell me good-bye."




The Addicted Natural Ch. 06



I regarded her silently for a long minute. "And you won't tell anyone?" I asked, guardedly. "How about Fred?"

She looked agitated for a moment. "I can't keep anything from him if he asks me," she said earnestly. "When he hypnotizes me I have no secrets from him at all. But how could he possibly know? It's not the sort of thing one thinks to ask about. If he never asks, I'll never have to tell him. Your secret's safe, I'm sure!"

I regarded her silently. What a strange sort of pact!

"I promise," I said.

And then, due to some odd, unspoken agreement, we changed the subject entirely and didn't speak of it again. After awhile, we even laughed a little about mundane things. Fred was coming back from his camping trip this evening, and I asked her to bring him to dinner tomorrow night. She readily agreed. I gave her directions to the lake house. It's a little less pretentious there, and believe it or not, I've still never told her my last name, though I'm sure she knows who I am. She must.

Alphonse called us two cabs, since neither one of us was in much shape to drive after the champagne (but she only had one glass!), and I paid her cabby in advance before she could protest. 

I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night. One last nice evening.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 07



Chapter 7 – Dee's Diary – Her Best Friend's Husband

MONDAY, MAY 6th

Dear Diary,

What an absolutely WONDERFUL day yesterday was. And now, here I am writing about it (I was certainly in no shape to do so last night!), strangely at peace, knowing that today is my last full day on this earth. My last night may be a little uncertain, however. I've agreed to do something that has me VERY nervous. But I'll get to that.

I drove out to the lake house about nine o'clock and stopped at the farmer's market and butcher shop on the way. I'd decided on Greek Souvlaki for dinner, and I chose the ingredients with care. I think I'm more at peace in the kitchen than anywhere else in the world. This was going to be fun.

Once at the house, I opened every window to air it out. It was a beautiful early spring day, cool and crisp and sunny. I cut the lamb into cubes and began the day-long marinating process, then rolled up my sleeves and cleaned the place for three solid hours. After a light lunch (I think I've finally lost that five pounds), I went down to the porch swing that Ben hung from the limb of the big oak and finished the Mary Roberts Rinehart book. What a marvelous mystery! You don't find out "who-done-it" until the very last paragraph! I wish I had time to read another. Oh well.

I showered and put on a nice outfit, not too informal, just right for receiving guests in the country. I'd never prepared an evening for friends before (I've never HAD friends before), and I was especially nervous about meeting the mysterious Professor "Freddy." I figured he must be some sort of hunk to have a beauty like Brenda look all starry-eyed every time she mentioned his name. I imagined all sorts of types. But whatever I expected, it wasn't the Fred I finally met.

He's so ... so AVERAGE, that he's sort of hard to describe. I immediately wondered how he ever attracted a girl like Brenda. His hair is sort of brown, but sort of red, too, and it's receding quite a bit. I think he's going to be classified as bald in another ten years. Early thirties, I'd guess, and about fifteen pounds overweight. Taller than I am, but not by much, and for some reason, I thought of him as clumsy, but I don't know why. It took me the better part of an hour to realize that looks are deceiving. I know now that he's remarkably bright, but his whole demeanor seems to hide the fact. The one feature that couldn't be hidden was a certain nameless quality that lay just behind his eyes.

From the moment he got out of the car, he was absolutely enthralled by the lake. He only stopped staring at it for a few moments to meet me, and his eyes suddenly seemed to take in my every detail me. I felt, for a moment, like covering myself with my hands. It's as if, in that brief instant, he'd photographed me with those eyes and stored the picture in his mind to retrieve and study at a later time. In another minute, he was looking longingly at the lake again, and I thought guiltily that I'd imagined the whole thing.

He began asking questions, good intelligent questions, I'm sure, but I didn't have a clue to the answers for any of them. Which "arm" of the lake was this? What was the underwater slope? What was the water temperature? What was its depth at "pool?" After my fourth "I don't know," he suddenly smiled, looked around a moment, and somehow seamlessly switched the topic to the dahlias in the east flower bed. That I DID know about, and we were soon immersed in a detailed conversation about spring flowers.

I showed them around: the Grand Tour, both outside and inside, then I enlisted Fred's help opening a large bottle of Chardonnay I'd found in the basement (he seemed very impressed by the vintage, but I didn't know anything about that, either). Brenda I put to work cutting vegetables, but I was soon very amused to learn that she was an absolute disaster in the kitchen. In the end, she sat on a bar stool at the counter while I worked happily away, and we talked and talked and talked. Fred took his glass and drifted back outside to stare at the lake some more.

I drank a glass of wine, then another while Brenda sipped hers and became more and more animated. I just couldn't believe how she could get drunk on one glass! I called to Fred to fire up the gas grill, and though he'd never used one, he figured it out quickly. Brenda was at least slightly adept at putting the lamb and veggies on the skewers, and we all stood around the grill while they popped and sizzled over the flames. The meal was pretty good, if I do say so myself. Fred seemed to love it, and ate with absolute gusto. They both told me that meals around their house weren't that "elaborate," meaning, I guess, that Brenda isn't much of a cook.

The conversation at the dinner table was what convinced me that Fred was an intellectual wolf in sheep's clothing. Twice, he so cleverly shifted the topic from the house, to its background, and finally to my association to it, that I very nearly slipped up and told him who I was. The third glass of wine didn't help, but I thought I did a rather masterful job of knocking the discussion right back to his side of the court. This meant, of course, that Brenda had kept her word and not revealed my identity. As soon as he figured out what I was doing, I got the impression that he thought "conversational ping pong" was a great game, and I could see the amusement in his eyes. 

Brenda sort of embarrassed me by actually BEGGING Fred for another glass of wine. Even after I'd poured her one, she still wouldn't touch it until he had given his consent. She told me, confidentially after we'd finished the dishes and had plopped ourselves in the middle of the couch, chattering away like a couple of hens, that she let Fred make almost ALL of her important decisions. That's just the way their relationship is. I tried to show as much feminist indignation as my four previous glasses of wine would allow at: 1) the concept that she should HAVE to seek his approval for ANYTHING, and 2) that having a second glass of wine wasn't that big a "decision" at all.

But maybe it was, for she was now very, very drunk, and she slurred many of her words and laughed almost continuously. In defense, I poured myself a fifth glass. My words weren't coming out the way I wanted them to, either.

"Just what do you see in Fred, anyway?" I implored, at last. (He, of course, was taking a moonlight stroll alone down by the lake.)

"He's a great guy!" Brenda said defensively, if unclearly. "He's everything I every wanted! And anyway, he's got a really, really, really big cock."

"Cock?" I shrieked, and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Cock. You know. Dork. Shlong. Porker." She was trying hard to look serious, though she was shaking with laughter.

"You mean his prick?" I asked, gasping for air.

"Oh no, it's much, much bigger than a prick." She was laughing almost uncontrollably now. "It's almost too big to call a cock! You can't possibly call it a prick!"

"I happen to know a thing or two about pricks," I howled, "and it looks sort of like a prick to me. I mean, if I saw it, I think it would. I mean ...." I was really losing it.

And just then, Fred walked back in. Brenda and I were laughing so hard, and we were so drunk, that we just couldn't help staring openly at his crotch. He actually looked down, to see if he'd spilled something on his lap. This, of course, had the immediate effect of making both of us women double the decibel level, and Fred, feeling self conscious, shook his head sadly and walked back outside. I howled. I held my aching sides and shed tears. I've never, ever laughed so hard.

When the giggles finally subsided, Brenda leaned heavily against me and rested her head on my shoulder, and I rested my cheek on the top of her head, and we were comfortably silent for a long, long time. I didn't want this special moment of friendship to ever end.

"Dee?"

"Um?" I answered groggily.

"Dee, have you ever been hypnotized?"

"No."

We were quiet for another long minute. "Would you like to be?"

This startled me, but I didn't alter my voice at all. "I don't think so."

Pause. "It's really wonderful. It's the best feeling in the whole world." A much longer pause. "I'm a Natural."

My turn to pause. "What's that?"

"I go under very, very easily, and once I'm there, I like it so much that I don't ever want to wake up. There just aren't words to describe how great it makes me feel."

"And you don't mind giving up all that control?" I asked.

"That's what I think I like the most about it."

That's all she said. And the really scary part is that I knew exactly what she meant. We were quiet for another long minute.

"Dee?"

"Yes?"

"I think you are, too. A Natural, I mean. I mean, if you ever tried it, I think you would be. Do you know what I mean?"

"What makes you think that?"

I felt her shoulders shrug beside me. "You look like me. I mean, there's something about you that reminds me of me. I mean, there are a lot of ways that you're just like me ... the way I am ... the way I feel ... the way I think. Shy. Reserved. Curious"

I didn't say anything, and time stretched on silently.

"Dee?"

"Yes?"

"Will you try it for me? Will you let Freddy put you under? Please?"

I sighed. "I can't, Brenda. He'd find out. He'd know who I am. He'd know what I'm about to do. I know you want to save me, but you promised. That decision is made, and I'm not going to change it."

She ruined our perfect position by raising her head and looking into my eyes. My God, she's got beautiful eyes! "But he won't!" she said, almost urgently. "He won't find out any of that! He's hypnotized me twice since yesterday, and I didn't tell him! He doesn't know because the whole thing is so bizarre that he'd never think of asking about that. And I'll tell him not to! I'll tell him not to pry into your past, and he'll honor that. You have my word. I promise! And if you do, then you'll see that I'm right! You're a Natural, too, and it'll be absolutely the BEST feeling you'll ever have, and then later if you DO ... do that ... do ... that terrible thing, you will have at least experienced it once. Please?"

She was really beginning to babble. "Brenda, calm down. I'll think about it."

"No!" she said frantically. "Come to dinner at our house tomorrow night, and let him! Please? I promise he won't find out! If you just ...."

"OKAY!" I shouted, just to shut her up.

"Really?" she asked, more quietly.

"Okay," I repeated. What was I getting myself into? "If you promise he won't pry into my private life, I'll let him try to hypnotize me."

"Okay," she replied, satisfied. She rested her head back on my shoulder, and after a minute, I rested my cheek against her head again. I couldn't believe I'd just agreed to that! 

I felt my mind slowing down groggily. I wondered what we must look like; two very drunk females propping each other up in the middle of the couch. I closed my eyes and relaxed.

Slowly, I became aware of Fred stretching me out on the couch.

"Where's Brenda?" I muttered. I could barely keep my eyes open.

"I carried her to the car. I found a pillow and blanket in one of the bedrooms." He was covering me with a velour spread, and my head was sinking into a feather pillow. "Is this okay, or do you want me to carry you to your bed?"

I smiled up at him sleepily. "This is just fine. Thank you. I'll see you tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow night?"

"I'm having dinner at your house," I mumbled. "Then you're going to hypnotize me."

"I'm going to WHAT?"

I opened one eye, and for the first time, I thought he looked kind of cute.

"Good night, Fred," I whispered, and fell right to sleep.

DEE'S DIARY

TUESDAY, MAY 7th

Dear Diary,

This is the last night of my life. It's two o'clock in the morning, and I'm very tired, but if I let myself go to sleep, I'll have the dream again. I don't think I could take that. I can't risk taking one of the pills, or I might not have enough to do "the deed" later today. So I'll write until the sun comes up, and then later I'll go to the drug store to refill the prescription, and then ... and then I guess I'll have to go back to Brenda's house and say "good-bye." Why did I ever have to make that stupid promise? I just want it to be OVER! Especially after what happened tonight. I should write it down. Maybe it will make me feel better. I should be wonderfully happy, but I'm not. How can an emotion that feels so good make a person so miserable?

I'll just start at the beginning.

I arrived at Fred and Brenda's house a little late. I'd never driven around that part of town before, and I got lost more than once. Fred answered the door, and gawked at the Mercedes. I take it there aren't too many S-600's in the area. I should have known and ordered a taxi. 

"Nice car," he commented.

"Thanks. Where's Brenda?" and I pushed past him and waited for him to show me the way. He cast one last, longing look at the automobile and led me down a little hall, through a comfortable living room and into the kitchen. Brenda was standing near a pot of boiling water, reading the side of a box of all-in-one spaghetti dinner. I grinned broadly, took off my jacket, and sort of took over. In no time at all, I'd found several things in the refrigerator to compliment the meal and started chopping, dicing, frying and boiling, adding a pinch of this and a dash of that and sampling with a wooden spoon until I deemed it palatable. 

Brenda got the utensils and other items as I requested them, and generally just seemed to have a great time talking and observing as I cooked. I suddenly realized her husband was nowhere about.

"Where's Fred?" I asked.

"Oh, he's in the study. It's not really a study; it's a second bedroom that he's sort of turned into a study. I've never seen him so nervous."

"About what?"

"About hypnotizing you. I think it's sort of freaked him out."


"I thought he was an expert at this," I said uneasily. 

"Oh, no. He's never hypnotized anyone but me," she replied, smiling. "He's in there going over some notes that I guess he made when he first put me under, and he's listening to his old reel-to-reel tape recorder for some reason. I think I really put him on the spot when I suggested this."

I put down the knife I was holding. "Brenda, let's put an end to this silly idea. I'm sure you enjoy 'going under' for Fred a whole lot, but I can't imagine it doing anything for ME. Fred's nervous and I'm nervous, and I think we should just call the whole thing off."

She smiled. "No way," she said, shaking her head. "You promised you'd try it. And this morning over breakfast, I got him to promise to try it, too. And he gave me his word that he won't pry into your private life. I just KNOW I'm right about this. It's not going to hurt either one of you to try." She grinned. "You'll see!"

Fred came back in time for dinner, and though I thought the pasta left a lot to be desired, the two of them absolutely raved about it. I think they were just trying to make me blush. There's not too much you can do to hurt boxed spaghetti dinner. 

Fred started complaining about the English Department on campus. I guess he still has a few years until tenure, and he probably gets the short end of the stick wherever he turns. The school had evidently lost a heap of money on bad investments during the past year, he said; and I pointed out that too many institutions were investing their short term capital in moderate-to-high yield instruments designed more for retirement portfolios which could weather radical spiking quarterly markets, rather than in less active issues that could provide productivity while maintaining stability. The conversation died abruptly as they both looked at me as if I were some piece of modern art that no one quite understands.

"Um, so what course would you create in your department if you had the chance?" I asked. 

And so, after a pregnant pause, the conversation settled on various branches of modern literature. I asked if he'd ever read Mary Roberts Rinehart, and he said that of course he had. He'd even read the book I'd just finished, and we talked about its characters. He seems to know at least a little about practically everything. I found myself more and more impressed. And I also felt something else that greatly disturbed me. Looking back on it, I'm not sure I could put a descriptive title on it then. Of course, I know what it is now. But I'll come to that as my tale unfolds.

Brenda made coffee (instant coffee!), but Fred shook his head before she could pour me a cup. "None for Dee," he said authoritatively. "She's going to be taking a little nap after dinner," and continued talking about Raymond Chandler and Dasheill Hammett as if this declaration had held very little meaning. Brenda smiled, knowingly. I sipped my wine (only one glass tonight) and listened abstractly as the conversation about early Twentieth Century mystery writers progressed. He didn't seem nervous about the upcoming hypnosis session at all.

Brenda and I did the dishes more or less in silence as Fred went into the living room to "set things up" for our little encounter; and when the last cup had been dried and put away, she took my hand and led me quietly into the next room. 

It had turned cool outside, and Fred had lit a fire in the fireplace. I couldn't help but think it was a remarkably cozy room. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and there was only one window, though I couldn't see the yard due to the darkness outside and cheery light provided by the fire. A mirror over the mantle was slightly canted to reflect the room's occupants. There was a large sheepskin rug spread before the fireplace, and I briefly envisioned the two of them making love on it in the firelight. Fred looked up from some notes he was reading and smiled at us as we entered, but he continued reading, and I wandered around a bit looking at the titles of the books. Some had slipcovers protected by library-style plastic coverings, and I took down a copy of a James Joyce novel and flipped through it. It was signed! I put it back and chose a work by Steinbeck. It too was autographed. Aha! That's why a college professor with a working wife lived in such a modest home. He had an expensive hobby.

At last, he put the notes aside and rose from the chair. He reminded me briefly of a concert master mounting a podium. "Are we ready?" he asked.

I took a nervous breath. "Fred, we don't really have to ...." But he put a finger on my lips to silence me and smiled. His eyes (those fathomless, dark eyes) held me for a moment. I suddenly felt small, like a little girl in the presence of grown-ups.

"I want you to relax," he said softly but firmly. "Just take some deep breaths and be very, very calm." I wanted to argue, but did as he said. That feeling went through me again; the one I'd had in the dining room. At least, I think it did. Yes, thinking back on it now, I'm sure it did. I felt my shoulders slump a little.

"Very good," he said, a professor to his obedient student. "Now, I want you to go to the chair and sit down. Stay very relaxed and say nothing."

I seemed to float to the big chair and sit. It was soft and comfortable. He's going to hypnotize me, I thought. It's really going to happen. I found myself wondering almost desperately if I was a "Natural," too. Like Brenda. I wanted to be just like Brenda.

But instead of following me to the chair, Fred turned to his wife. This seemed to surprise her, and she looked at him curiously, cocking her head a little to one side, a habit she has when she's puzzled. "Brenda," he said sternly, "look into my eyes."

I thought this was a little too much of a cliché, and I suppose I would have laughed if I hadn't felt so relaxed and comfortable in the low, soft easy chair. I was also surprised when Brenda immediately straightened her head, stood very erect, and did exactly as he'd said. She's quite a bit shorter than he is (in fact, she's a good two inches shorter than I am), and she had to incline her head steeply to stare up into his eyes.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 07



"No, Freddy! Please!" she begged softly.

"Relax," he said gently but firmly. "Relax."

"Please, Freddy! I want to watch!" she said in a strange, dull, pleading little-girl voice.

"No," he replied. "Dee and I will go ahead with your plan, but you will be asleep, too. Relax. So relaxed. You will have no control over what happens."

"No control," Brenda mumbled.

"Let the heaviness come now. So good. So relaxed." Her hands fell straight to her sides and hung there, useless. "Sleep is coming," he continued. "Look deep into my eyes. Listen to my commanding voice. Nothing but my eyes. Nothing but my voice. Submit and obey."

Her lips were moving. She was saying something, but I couldn't hear what it was.

"Surrender and sleep," he ordered, and her eyes slammed shut, she turned her head slightly, leaned forward, and rested her cheek on his chest as if it were a pillow. He held her lightly in his strong arms and stroked her shining black hair gently with his fingers. They made a beautiful couple.

"Brenda, stand up and open your eyes," he ordered. She backed away from him a step and opened her eyes, though she didn't look at him. I realized suddenly that she wasn't looking at ANYTHING. She just stared blankly straight ahead. What was she seeing in her mind? Whatever it was, it pleased her. She wore a wistful, dreamy smile.

"Brenda, in a moment, I will stroke the left side of your face," he told her firmly. "When I do that, you will not be able to hear anything else I say until I stroke your face again. You will go and lie down on the couch and close your eyes, and you will remain in your favorite place, alone and very happy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Freddy, I understand."

He reached out with his right hand and slowly stroked her face. She nuzzled into his palm like a cat wanting to be petted, and then she turned slowly, walked to the couch, lay on her back and closed her eyes. The dreamy smile never left her face.

Fred watched her with a satisfied look on his face and walked out of the room for a moment. He returned with one of the kitchen chairs, put it directly in front of me, and went to the fireplace and opened a sleek mahogany box that resided on the mantle. Slowly, he lifted a long gold chain from the box, and I watched enthralled as a small gold pocket watch came into view and dangled from its end. He cupped the watch in the palm of his left hand and walked back over to sit in the chair. My easy chair was deep and low, and I found that he was sitting at a level well above my own. He propped his forearms on his knees, leaned forward toward me, and idly began playing with the watch, fondling it, moving it gently. He didn't seem to give it much thought. He was focusing all his attention on me, but the watch proved a constant distraction while he spoke. It was very shiny, and caught the firelight just right and reflected it into my eyes.

"That happened so fast!" I said, trying to look at his face rather than the watch.

"Brenda?" he asked gently. "Yes, she's a wonderful subject."

"She's a Natural," I said, trying to make conversation. Looking at his face definitely wasn't going to work. I felt myself falling into his eyes. Those deep, dark eyes! I looked back down at the watch. It flashed again in the firelight. 

"A Natural, yes. She told you?"

"She thinks I'm a Natural, too," I said. The conversation was lagging; at least on my part.

"We'll see," he replied quietly. "You're going to be asleep very soon now." The way he said it made it a statement beyond dispute. I suddenly realized that I believed it unconditionally. There was no doubt whatsoever that I was about to be hypnotized, just like Brenda. Just like Brenda. My mind seemed to have an echo.

"Are you going to use the watch?" I asked softly. If I spoke about it, it wouldn't seem odd that I was staring it, would it? I didn't seem to be able to stop doing so. The firelight almost seemed to be coming from the watch itself now.

"I could use the watch. Brenda loves the watch. It's her favorite way to go into a deep, deep, restful sleep. A very deep hypnotic trance. Her favorite way. I might use it on you, but I just want to talk to you for awhile. We'll just talk, and I'll tell you all about how Brenda listens to exactly what I say, and how she always, always, always follows my voice down and down into a very, very deep, deep, deep hypnotic trance. She always does. Every time. Every single time. We'll just talk about that for awhile."

"Okay." My voice sounded a little funny.

The watch itself almost seemed to be on fire now. Why didn't he swing it on its chain? I profoundly wished he would. This seemed to be taking a long time, and the watch always worked on Brenda. Every single time. But, oh yes, he just wanted to talk for awhile. I couldn't think of anything to say, except "Please, Fred, please swing the watch for me," but I didn't want to interrupt, so I sat silently, and the watch blazed.

"You see, the big trouble with a Natural, like Brenda, is that a natural always, always loves to be hypnotized. Loves the feeling of being hypnotized. So relaxed and so tired and so wonderfully peaceful that a Natural, like Brenda, sleepy Brenda, once she's in a deep, deep, deep wonderful sleep; she likes it so much, so very, very much, that she just doesn't ever want to wake up. But I couldn't allow that. Of course she has to wake up sometime. So I have to have a way to make her wake up. That makes sense."

That makes sense.

"So our rule, Brenda's and mine, our one very important rule is that when she submits to me by following my voice into a deep, deep, deep sleep, she must obey all my suggestions. Every one, without fail. That way, when I order her to wake up, she'll just naturally follow that command, too. So I must be very, very careful to tell her only the truth, the absolute truth, so that she can obey without feeling any anxiety at all, knowing that everything I say is the complete, total truth. I must always, always be very careful, when I have Brenda in a deep, deep, deep, deep sleep, to always tell her the truth and give her commands that are absolutely necessary."

I thought that was so sweet, going to all that trouble for her. She's such a lucky girl. Please swing the watch, Fred.

"And Brenda loves to watch the watch. Watch the watch. Watch the watch, and she relaxes more and more and deeper and deeper. Following my voice down and down. So wonderfully relaxed. So peaceful. Relaxed. Relax. Relax. So peaceful. Follow my peaceful, truthful voice deeper and deeper and deeper."

Please swing the watch, Fred.

"And her arms get so heavy. You saw how heavy her heavy, heavy arms were. She loves that. That heavy, heavy, relaxed feeling. All over. Her whole body. Her shoulders are heavy. Her breasts feel heavy on her chest. Her whole body. Heavy. Sleepy. So good. So good."

I knew exactly how Brenda felt. I couldn't move my arms, either. And her breasts are small ... well not small, not at all ... but compared to my big, bloated breasts, pulling gently down .... The chair cushions seemed to sag as my body settled into them. Yes, I knew exactly how she felt. Yes. Yes.

"And then she's ready. Ready to surrender. So ready to sleep. To surrender. Surrender to the sleep. Do you want to follow her, Dee? Are you ready to follow her?"

Yes, I wanted to scream, but my lips wouldn't work at all. They were heavy, too. So heavy. Yes, Fred! Please! Swing the watch, Fred! Please!

"Surrender and Sleep!"

And suddenly I was sitting between Martha and Mommy. I had to look up at them because I was very small, but that was perfectly normal. All three-year-olds are small. And this was when Martha was my nanny. Of course it was! And now I was leaning slightly against Mommy and playing pat-a-cake with Martha, and I was laughing and giggling, and thinking "They look so YOUNG!" but I didn't seem to have any control over my actions. And that made sense, too. This was the past. The past couldn't change.

But it was also so ... so REAL! Everything I saw as true. Mommy was laughing with us, and hugging me. Why was it that, until this moment, I hadn't been able to remember Mommy at all when she was happy? But she had been! My heart swelled.

"Time for your nap, honey," she said, and gathered me into her arms. I struggled a little, wanting to play the game with Martha (young Martha! Pretty Martha! She'd been so good-looking when she was younger!), but Mommy was so much stronger than my three-year-old self that she held me firmly, lovingly, and I relaxed against her and snuggled into her breast. She's not wearing a bra, I thought to myself, but of course three-year-olds don't notice things like that, and besides, she was so soft! I felt my eyes closing. Mommy was humming a lullaby, and after awhile Martha joined in. Sleep was coming. I closed my eyes.

And when I opened them again, I was sitting, naked, in front of a mirror and dressing table. Here, too, everything was very, very real. Too real for a dream, but it MUST be a dream! I would never, never sit like this. It was a big room, and there were other people walking around or sitting at other dressing tables. No, not just people, women. All women. All very pretty women. And all naked. Naked like me. 

I looked into my mirror and said aloud, "This MUST be a dream. I should wake up now," but again I began noticing all the details that a dream would never include (would it?). My bare ass felt the coolness of the chair beneath me. The ornate frame of the mirror was, I would guess, 18th Century, and done in gold guilt which was flaking in some places. The mirror had some imperfections in it, but to my ever-growing astonishment, the woman being reflected in it was not one of them. 

I was beautiful. I reached up and brushed my hair from the side of my face. It felt full and soft. My face was calm and pretty. My neck smooth. My breasts, usually much, much too big were ... well, they were still large, but for some reason, they didn't look THAT big. They ... well, they just seemed to fit me. Big, proud. My nipples were very erect, and that seemed beautiful, too. Sexually excited women are pretty. Where had that thought come from? But it was true. 

I was distracted for a moment as the girl next to me put down her hairbrush and, after one last enraptured look into her own mirror, turned to me. "We have to go now," she said, smiling. "They're waiting for us."

"Who?" I asked.

"Our masters. Hurry!" She rose and put out her hand to me. She stood naked, not at all self conscious.

"I can't!" I said, shrinking back a little.

She smiled tolerantly and walked over to stand behind me. I turned naturally, to look back into the mirror as she looked over my shoulder into the mirror, too. "You look beautiful," she said.

"Yes," I replied stupidly, gazing at my reflection again. And suddenly I frowned. "But I can't! My back! My back is ugly! It will always be ugly! It's hideous!"

"Nonsense!" the girl said, laughing. "Your back is lovely! Get up. Look!" And I let her help me to my feet. I let her turn me away from the dressing table, and I tried to look back over my shoulder. Still smiling, she picked up a hand mirror from the table (had it always been there?), handed it to me, and I looked in wonder at my back. The scars were still there, but something had happened to them. What was it? I couldn't seem to figure out exactly what the difference was. They just seemed ... they seemed ... to belong to me, to be a part of me. My back was pretty (it was!), and the scars were part of my back, and so they were pretty, too. Does that make sense? Of course not, but that's what I saw. I suddenly felt very, very desirable. A man would want me now! My nipples were so hard that they hurt.

"Hurry!" the girl said, and she took my hand, and I let her lead me out of the room. All the other naked girls were hurrying out of the dressing room, too, into a huge marbled hall, where we all lined up, waiting, waiting. 

The line seemed to be moving pretty rapidly, though, and when I craned my neck to see forward, I discovered that a team of chefs from the kitchen were giving each of us a large silver tray. The girl who had helped me was in line in front of me, and just before her turn, she looked back and smiled at me. "Good luck with your new Master," she said. "I know you're going to please him! Bye!" and she took her tray and walked away to the left.

Suddenly it was my turn. The chef (Alphonse!?) gave me a large silver tray loaded with little crust-less sandwiches of various types. It took both hands to hold it. I started dumbly after the girl who had been in front of me, but he stopped me with a hand on my bare shoulder. "No, no ... That way!" and I padded off in the indicated direction. The marble floor was cold against my feet, and I felt a little chilled. The temperature didn't do anything to help my nipple-erection problem.

The corridor led to a huge, twisting set of marble stairs that bent away below me to the right. Every now and then, there was a landing or wide platform to break the monotony of the seemingly endless staircase, and there were people there, talking, drinks in their hands. They were clothed in fancy evening wear, and I hesitated, wondering what to do. Two more naked serving wenches with trays bearing drinks and snacks passed me, and one of them cast a questioning look my way. "Hurry!" she whispered, a maid afraid of violating the house rules. "Our Masters are waiting for us!"

Uncertainly, I began to descend. Immediately, I became aware of an amazing feeling deep inside me. I was hypnotized! Who had done this to me? The girl in the dressing room? No. I couldn't seem to remember, but I was definitely deep under the influence of a hypnotic trance. This became very evident, because with each step I took downward, I went deeper and deeper to that state of complete and total hypnosis. And (oh my!) I liked it. It was wonderful! I contemplated for a moment that with each and every step, I was trading my free will for ... for what? Beauty? Yes. Confidence? Well, no ... something else. Acceptance. Yes. And oh! It was worth it!

But my reverie was broken when I came among the first group of partiers on the landing, talking among themselves. One man motioned to me, and I went. He reached out and took a little sandwich, and I felt like saying "No! These are for my Master!" but he was now totally ignoring me. I backed away, the way I'd seen serving girls do in the movies, and turned and started down some more of the stairs. Deeper and deeper.

At the next landing, another man motioned for me and I went. There were several men talking together, and several of them took some of my sandwiches. One man stroked my face, then my bare arm. "My, they're making them prettier nowadays," he remarked, and another responded "They're all still the same. Receptacles for our pleasure." I felt like running, but I stood, eyes downcast, as the men laughed. They started talking about the stock market, and I could have told them that they were mistaken about their opinions of using Mutual Fund performance as a predictor of GNP, but it was no longer my place. I was a serving wench. I backed away, and went lower. Deeper.

The stairs were narrowing as they went down. At the next landing, they branched, and I saw two serving girls disappear down one of them as I came upon three people talking. "Oh, my," said a tall, dark woman in a blue gown. "Aren't you a pretty!" and she put her arm around my waist. I stood meekly. A man took a sandwich and said to the woman, "You are much more attractive, madam. Perhaps, if you would accompany me to one of the rooms upstairs, I could show you how much more desirable you are." He made my skin crawl. The slender woman would not be dissuaded, however, and stroked my back and upper butt. "Perhaps I'll take HER upstairs," she said saucily, and I looked down and blushed furiously. Finally, she gave me a playful swat on the rear. "Go along, girl. Go to your Master. He's waiting," and she laughed gaily at my discomfort. I ran as fast as I could without endangering the tray, but I found that I was drawn irresistibly toward the opposite stairway that the two before me had taken.

Again, the staircase branched, and yet again, and each time I found myself being led by impulse rather than decision. I was going very, very deep now. How much deeper could I possibly go? The stairs narrowed considerably, so that when I came to the next landing and encountered the distinguished looking man with the goatee, I found it impossible to get around him unless he chose to step aside. That he did not do. I stopped in front of him and offered him the tray, but he ignored it.

"Would you like to come with me?" he asked. "I could give you infinite pleasure."

I looked down meekly. "No sir. Please. I must go to my Master. He's waiting."

"You could choose me," he said soothingly. "I will grant you this choice. I can make you writhe. I can make you beg for more." I looked up, questioningly, and he stuck out his tongue at me. But it was no ordinary tongue. It stretched on and on, longer, snake-like, and he waved it in front of his face sinuously. I could suddenly imagine it inside of me. I could almost feel it. Almost. Ahh. Yes, feel it! My nipples throbbed.

"No!" I said suddenly, shaking my head to clear it. "I don't love you!"

He laughed uproariously. "LOVE! Who cares about love? You have never loved!"

I felt the tears on my cheeks. I could still feel that tongue inside me. Almost. He could do things to my body that would make love unimportant. I could surrender, and my body would take over. My body would betray me. It had betrayed me before. It would be so easy to let it happen again. But I shook my head. "No. Please," I begged. "Please let me go to him. Please!"

"Very well," he said. "Go to him. I can always find another," and he stepped aside, but reached out and took the tray."

"No," I said meekly. "Please, sir. I'm taking that to my Master!"

"He has no interest in this," the nasty man said, plucking a sandwich off the tray and popping it in his mouth. "He only wants you. Go!"

And I hurried past him and plunged down the steps. They became very steep and the passageway was so narrow now that my bare shoulders and hips often scraped against the cold marble walls. Deep. So deep. 

And suddenly I was standing in a small room, a little dizzy, since the stairway had spiraled round and round so steeply for the last short way down. I looked back, but oddly, the steps had disappeared behind me. The walls of the room were hard and smooth and alabaster white. In front of me were two wooden doors. On one of the doors was the name "Brenda," and below it, etched deep into the wood, were the words "Submit and Obey." On the other was my own name, but below it, the "Submit and Obey" was painted on, not etched.

I smiled. Fred! He was to be my Master! The first door must be Brenda's "special place," and this other one must be my own. Fred the hypnotist! Why hadn't I figured that out before? And now, I'm sure he was presenting me with a puzzle: one that I must solve before I could become his. I tired the door. Just as I expected, it was locked. Oh, this was too easy! I'd solved it already! If I closed my eyes and envisioned him hypnotizing Brenda, I could almost see it ... her lips moving ... muttering something I couldn't hear. But now I knew what it was. Submit and Obey. Submit and Obey. In my mind, I could make her lips match the words perfectly. Solved, Master! But still I hesitated. Did I want this? Did I really, really want what Brenda had?

Oh yes!

"Submit and Obey," I said. And the door opened.

I can't remember. I really, really can't remember what was in my very, very special room, but I know without reservation that it is the best place I've ever been, awake or asleep. I LOVE that room. I think there is a bed. There are other things there, as well, but I just can't remember! But that doesn't matter. I'm just happy I was allowed to go there. Brenda was so right! Even though my life will end today, I have experienced an amazing thing. I'm so very happy I went there! I think I went somewhere else, too. Not outside the room; not really, but somewhere ... beyond, I guess. I can't remember. It doesn't matter, anyway.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 07



But what happened when I woke up DOES matters. It matters a lot.

I remember very distinctly Fred telling me to wake up, and I obeyed, just as I obeyed everything he'd told me to do. I opened my eyes and stretched languidly, yawning, waking up by degrees. I felt WONDERFUL! I was on my back on the sheepskin rug by the fire, and its warmth felt luxurious. Fred was lying on his side, stretched out beside me, his eyes fixed on mine. The way he was looking at me made me blush, but I didn't drop my gaze from his. The firelight lit his face in an almost wondrous way, making his eyes darker than I remembered, his face stronger and leaner, his features sharper. Or had he always been like this and I simply hadn't noticed until then? 

That feeling was back; the one I'd had before (hadn't I?). What was it? It was alien, whatever it was. I'd never felt it before tonight. His face was very near mine. His lips looked soft. He had a five-o'clock shadow; a faint beginning of whiskers making his cheeks and chin look ... manly. I suddenly had an almost overwhelming thought: what would his face feel like between my thighs as he licked me? I shuddered. Better to think about something else. His lips seemed less threatening. Nice lips.

"Are you going to kiss me?" I asked softly.

"I think I'd really like to," he replied, smiling.

"Okay."

And he lowered his face the last two inches and we were kissing. Just like that. Simple. No, not so simple at all. He was my best friend's husband! But if I didn't think about that ... mmmm ... it was suddenly very easy not to think of anything at all .... Yes, if I didn't think, it was simple after all. Me. Him. Us. Oh, this was very, very nice! I got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach; a nice feeling, a feeling that I suddenly wanted to nurture. My nipples felt stiff and hard in the cool air. Air?

I broke the kiss with a gasp. "My clothes!" I should have shrieked, but the kiss had left me breathless. It came out as a sort of soft, accusing whisper. How could I not have noticed until now? But the answer to that was rather easy; I had been naked in my dream. It felt natural.

He smiled, and he blushed. Oh my gosh, he's cute when he blushes. "I'm sorry. It was necessary for you to remove your clothes. It aided me in taking you as deep as I needed to. And it worked. I was able to hypnotize you to the deepest possible level. You really are a remarkable subject. Could you feel yourself go that deep?" I felt myself nod involuntarily. I should be covering myself. I'm very shy. What was he going to do to me? "I'm sorry I didn't make you dress before I woke you," he continued. "You really are a very pretty girl. I must admit that I enjoy looking at you."

"No," I said softly. "My back ... It's hideous! You haven't seen my back!"

He laughed softly. "Of course I have," he said gently. "I thought we cured you of that silly notion." And he reached between us, gently grabbed my upper arm, lifted it and rolled me away from him. For some reason, I let him, and found myself with my breasts and stomach pressed into the softness of the sheepskin. He got onto his knees beside me, and before I could react or say anything, he bent forward and began kissing; small, light, gentle, lingering kisses, that traced the scars down my back, over my buttocks, back to the small of my back again, up toward my shoulders and down once more. I couldn't seem to protest or move because all at once I seemed to have forgotten how to breathe properly. An inhale became a gasp, and once inside me, the air didn't quite know how to get out again without making a sort of moaning noise.

His hands were busy, too, stroking my back and buttocks and the backs of my legs. After awhile, the right one became a persistent little fellow, and started pushing this way against one leg and pulling that way against the other until they were spread apart in a way that left me a little TOO vulnerable in everyone's definition of the word except his. His fingers stroked down my ass, across my pussy, took a little dip inside, and then continued on their journey to my clit. I came.

Oh God, how I came! I moaned loudly as I convulsed and jerked and arched and shook. When he began sliding his hand back up, away from my clit, I found myself on my knees, arching my butt up, trying to maintain contact. He laughed merrily and pressed his fingers against me again, then pushed them deep into my sopping cunt, brought them out again and rubbed some more. I didn't think I was ever going to stop. He put his fingers into me one last time and pulled sideways, toward him, and I toppled over onto my side in a sort of fetal position, my back against him, his hand trapped between my thighs. At long last, he pulled it free and the orgasm shuddered to a grudging halt. He waited patiently for me to catch my breath.

I rolled onto my back, and we were again in the same position we were in when I'd awakened from my trance. I looked up at him again, and suddenly I knew what that feeling was. That odd, foreign feeling. That strange feeling I'd been having all night. Hadn't I? Yes. Yes, it must have been that way from the beginning of the evening. It's the way it always was, and the way it always will be. Love. For the first time, I realized it was love. This is it, Diary. First and last, and it's for real. Truly, madly, deeply, and any other adverb you can possibly come up with. Absolutely nothing can compare.

My best friend's husband. 

I shed a silent "Daddy tear" and felt it trickle down my cheek.

"Do you want me?" I asked quietly. "You can have me if you want me."

"I want you very, very much," he said, and kissed me again. It was just as good as the first one. I put my hands around his neck and held him, then slid them back around to his chest, where they started unbuttoning his shirt. He helped, not bothering to break the kiss. I sat up with him, his lips still on my own, and shuddered as he forced my mouth open with his tongue. My hands were back on his chest. Hairy. Hmmm, a hairy chest. I decided I liked it. He was working with his pants as I ran my palms across his torso and sides and back. Hairy back, too. He was nothing at all like Jay had been.

He stood abruptly, peeled off his socks, let his pants fall and kicked them aside, and then (drum roll, please!) he pulled down the boxer shorts.

Oh my God! He was ... he was ... massive! He was huge! Brenda was right! (Don't think about Brenda! Not now!) Was he going to put that thing into me? It couldn't be done! How did Brenda get it inside of her? She's smaller than I am. (Don't think about Brenda!) Oh God, he was big!

He smiled while I gawked. I didn't trust my voice with a task as complicated as speech. Grinning, he got back to his knees, then lay down on his back on the sheepskin rug, his hands propping his head from behind, lying between me and the fire. His prick (no, this was a COCK!) was standing at massive attention, pointing straight at the ceiling. I sat heavily and just stared. Nothing, and I mean nothing, was in the least comparable to Jay. It wasn't just the size, it was the way it stood erect. And ... something else. I thought I knew, but it took a bit of mental gymnastics to understand it was true. Jay hadn't been circumcised. Even erect, it had much more skin around the head. Fred's cock was truly ... I don't know ... different! Phallic and bare and raw and hard and (Oh! I can't begin to describe!) BIG! After gazing at him for eons, I just couldn't help lowering my face to it and taking it into my mouth.

He tasted good. I put as much of it in my mouth as I possibly could, then grasped him with both hands, one around his huge shaft and one cupping and squeezing his balls. He groaned, and I couldn't have been happier. I had to please him. Above all else, I had to please the man I loved, and from the sound of it, I was doing a passable job. I stroked and squeezed and sucked and moved my mouth up and down, bobbing my head, and then ... then in a moment of inspiration, I swallowed. I pushed my head way down, relaxed my throat, and swallowed ... swallowed his whole cock! I couldn't believe it! It just seemed to work, somehow. It was in my throat! He moaned again and grabbed my head with both hands and pulled me off.

"Wait!" I gasped. "Wait! I ... I can do it! I can get you in! You can come in my throat!" I tried to push back down again, but he wouldn't let me. "Please!" I moaned. "I need to please you! Come in my mouth!" I was suddenly frantic.

"Get above me," he ordered harshly. "Put it inside of you. I want to come there!"

And I was shocked into a moment of inactivity. Inside of me? As I was sucking him and sliding that monster into my throat, I'd developed the most amazing sensation in my cunt. It was very much like the dream I'd just had when the nasty man on the final landing of the stairway had wagged his tongue at me and I could feel it snaking into me down there. With Fred's cock, I had sucked, and the walls of my cunt seemed to stretch in sympathy for my poor, abused mouth. I swear, if I'd sucked him long enough, I think I might have had an orgasm. And now, faced with the reality of it, I wondered again if it was physically possible to get him in. But a moment was all I took. I was going to do this! I was going to do it if it killed me!

I crawled atop him, and finding that his stiff shaft wouldn't bend forward to line up properly with my hole, I stood flatfooted above him and squatted to work the massive invader inside of me. At first, the large head slipped up and down my slit, causing me to gasp and twitch each time it slid across my clit, but at last I got the head inside. Unfortunately, my feet chose that moment to clumsily slip out from under me, my legs splaying out, and I landed hard on my knees, his club-like cock crammed brutally inside me. I cried out, and so did he. I was so full (so very full!) that I was forced to bend forward to relieve the pressure inside me, thus smashing my full breasts against his hairy chest. I panted and moaned softly while I waited for my body to adjust.

"I did it," I gasped. "I got you inside me!"

"My God, you're tight," he replied. His hands stroked my back (He didn't hate it! He actually enjoyed stroking it!), and I thought that he was an extraordinarily gentle lover. How lucky Brenda was! (Don't think about Brenda!) He was pressing up into my belly, and I could feel him pushing against my stomach, causing me to pant. But he was pressing on something else in there, as well. Something I couldn't quite define. Something ... wonderful. Could I cum without him rubbing my clit? I decided that if he kept pressing against whatever that was, I not only could, I'd probably be unable to avoid it.

That thought brought me back to the matter at hand. I HAD to please him! It was the only true necessity that I felt must to be accomplished. I put pressure on my knees and lifted my body upward for a few inches. I could feel the walls of my cunt being pulled down, trying to follow the monster as it began to depart. I paused, hovering above him, the invader half in and half out, but he slid his hands down my back, grabbed handfuls of fleshy buttocks, and pulled me back down hard. A sound escaped me that was sort of an "Oh!" and sort of moaning grunt. It happened again, when, raising myself once more, he pulled me down again. Each time, that peculiar place inside of me was assaulted by the head of his marauding cock, and each time I wondered if I was going to be able to complete his pleasure before I became overwhelmed by my own orgasm. I tried not to think about it ... tried to think only about driving down onto his cock over and over ... over and over.

The sound I was making was keeping perfect cadence with my downward thrusts, which, with his urging, were enjoying a very pleasant increase of tempo. I tried SO HARD not to think about the special spot inside me, tried SO HARD to ignore it and just think about him, only him. But he let go of my ass and began kneading my breasts, pressing, tweaking, pinching. And finally, all there was left was the strange spot, a funny little wizard deep inside of me that magically overpowered every other thought. My body, the traitor. Almost there, I thought. Almost ....

The orgasm literally exploded inside me. I froze for a moment, but then redoubled my efforts as sounds of my groaning "Oh! Oh! Oh!" filled the room. His strong hands grasped my waist and held me down, pressing the huge cock directly against the miraculous spot, and though I tried to continue my thrusting, he totally commanded the situation. Finally, I just collapsed back against him, my breasts flattening between us. The cock began twitching against the spot, twitching, twitching, and he growled a loud curse as he held me tight.

We lay like that for a very, very long time, content to be in each other's arms, content to be physically joined. He softened, but still felt very large inside me. Finally, he gently rolled me off of him, and we made a sort of sloppy smacking sound when we finally parted "down there." I nestled into his arm, my head resting on his chest, and our breathing slowed more and more. My thoughts were a jumbled mess. I've never felt so happy and so sad at the same time. Brenda. The thought of her was always there, always trying to break into my reverie. Until, at last, she became all I could think about.

Fred began snoring softly. The fire had almost died completely, until only the glowing embers were left to cast a warm red glow on my lover. My married lover. Softly, quietly, gently, I disengaged myself and stood on shaky legs, looking down on him. Oh, how I loved him! I spotted my skirt and blouse draped over the large easy chair, and I quickly put them on and slipped into my sandals. I found my purse, and just as I turned to leave, a small flicker in the fire became a flame, and the room was drenched in dull yellow light. And there she was! Still lying just as we'd left her, the same little smile on her lips. Brenda was still stretched out on the couch, sleeping. She'd been there all the time! Been there while her best friend was fucking her husband in the same room! I've never felt such shame. I raced down the hall and out the front door into the darkness.

All of my life, I have despised the role of mistress in society. In literature, in movies, in the news, I believe a mistress can only bring pain and heartache. And now, it was me. Oh, but not just any mistress; oh no. I have to fall in love with my best friend's husband. I can't believe how I threw myself at him! I can't believe how good it felt. If I close my eyes, I can still feel him inside me. Irony simply could not be crueler. I'm in love. Finally in love! God, it hurts!

The sun has been up for almost an hour now. I've escaped sleep my last night, and though I'm so tired I can hardly think, I won't have to wait long. I have the four pills that were left over in their little plastic bottle, and I'll be going to the drug store within the hour for seven more. I'll take you with me, Diary, and write one last passage before I do the deed. Then I'll burn you. Heck of a thing to do to one who has listened so well for so long, isn't it? But first, I'll be able to tell you what happens when I say good-bye to Brenda. Stupid promise, but it has to be done.

I'll write soon, Diary.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 08



Chapter 8 – Dee's Diary – Best Laid Plans

TUESDAY, MAY 7th

LATER IN THE DAY

Dear Diary,

My life is over. 

I realize that I'm not writing this where I said I'd be, and I realize that things did not progress quite the way I said they would (Well, THAT'S an understatement!), but here I am, as promised, writing my last entry. I still can't believe what happened ... in fact, I'm not sure just what DID happen. But here it is, for what it's worth.

After getting the prescription refilled, I drove to Fred and Brenda's house hoping desperately that he was out for the morning and that she was in. But this was not the case, of course, and my heart leaped into my throat and plunged to the depth of my soul when he opened the door and we just stood there, staring at each other nervously. 

"Hi," he said finally. "Where did you go last night?" He eyed me with what appeared to be a great deal of candor. It took me awhile to figure out that it was ME that was acting very peculiarly. I must have looked a fright!

"I just came to see Brenda," I said, as forcefully as I could (which, of course, was not very). "Can I talk to her?"

"She's not here," he replied. "She went to do some research at the library."

"The University Library? I'll find her." And I quickly turned to leave, but in a flash, he'd reached out and grabbed my arm. Oh gosh, his very touch sent shivers through my whole body. He spun me around to face him. I couldn't look at him. Silently and weakly, I stared down at my feet. If he kisses me, I'm a goner, I thought; and I had to fight with all my might not to throw my arms around him and hold him.

"Dee, what's the matter?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice. 

"Nothing. I just have to talk to Brenda. I'll go and find her," I said to my feet.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," he replied firmly, and he half-led half-dragged me down the short hallway into the living room. I looked around me with alarm. The scene of the crime! When I last saw that couch, Brenda had been sleeping peacefully while Fred and I were on the sheepskin rug .... I faced him, but I still couldn't make eye contact.

"Dee, tell me what's wrong!" He was really worried now.

"Nothing," I murmured, shuffling back away from him. "I just have to find Brenda, that's all. I've got to leave now." The backs of my legs touched the sofa.

"SIT!" he yelled, forcefully, and I immediately did so, my ankles together, my hands folded on my knees. Prim, proper and scared to death. And I thought: if he asks me to suck him, I'll do it. Oh, why hadn't I called first?

He ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair. I love his hair. It really makes him look distinguished, but at that particular moment, he looked distinguished and worried! He stared at me, started to say something, decided not to, and just stared some more. 

Finally, he motioned for me stay. "Don't move," he ordered. "I'll get Brenda on her cell phone. Promise that you'll stay right there!" I could only nod. I didn't trust my voice.

I heard him on the phone in the dining room. For some reason, I couldn't sit still, and I got up and glanced at him through the doorway. He saw me, motioned again to just wait, and walked out the back door with the cordless phone. I moved to the window, the one I couldn't see out of the night before, and there he was in the back yard, talking earnestly into the phone, gesturing emphatically with his free hand as he did so. I couldn't hear a word, but it was evident that he was very upset. Finally, he walked back inside.

He came into the room, and I inadvertently stepped back away from him a few paces. This seemed to shock him more than anything else. He stared, unbelieving, and then just looked sad. I wanted to run to him and kiss him, but I didn't. I just couldn't allow myself to come any further between him and his wife.

"Brenda will be here in a few minutes. She made me promise that I wouldn't let you leave until she had a chance to talk to you." He paused, and again looked as if he wanted to say something meaningful, but decided against it. "Can I get you some tea?" he asked absently.

I shook my head, and he turned and walked solemnly into the kitchen, then eventually back into the yard. I walked around the room like I'd done last night, but I didn't really see any of the titles on the shelves. Then I caught sight of the mirror over the mantle piece. I looked horrid! There were bags under my eyes, my cheeks were slightly sunken, I was pale, and my hair was a complete mess. I hadn't even thought about it that morning. So much for the "beautiful corpse" idea.

I heard a car door slam, but when Brenda didn't come in right away, I correctly surmised that she'd walked around the house, and I went to the window again and saw them. They appeared to be arguing. He was talking earnestly and gesturing emphatically, pointing toward the living room from time to time, pointing right at me, though he wasn't looking. But Brenda turned her head in my direction, saw me, and smiled wanly. I just stared. Fred saw her looking my way, turned and saw me as well, and for awhile I watched, unhearing, as they talked about me as if I were an interesting piece at an auction. 

Finally, they were both silent for several seconds, and Brenda turned and walked back inside. For some reason, I quickly returned to the couch and sat down. Brenda entered without a word, walked over and plopped down right next to me, our arms touching. It was cool outside, and we were both wearing sweaters. I heard the plastic vial of eleven pills rattle in my pocket (I'd combined the old with the new), but fortunately, she hadn't noticed. We sat that way in silence for two long minutes.

"So," she said at last, "this is it, huh?" We were both looking down at our respective feet.

"Yes," I said softly.

"I didn't realize it would be so soon."

"I didn't want to tell you. It's been planned for today for some time now, though."

She regarded this for a long moment before speaking again. "Plans don't change?"

"No. You plan, you decide, you follow through. Big decisions are for following through. That's just the way it is."

Another long silence. "Is that your father speaking?"

My turn for silence. I'd never considered that. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. "It's MY decision," I said softly but emphatically, "for MY reasons. You promised me you wouldn't try to talk me out of this."

"I would have thought that last night might have altered your perception a little."

"Last night?" My voice had gone up a couple of octaves. I sounded squeaky.

She glanced at me and smiled. I looked quickly away. "But I was right about him, wasn't I?" she said.

I cleared my throat. "Right?"

"About Freddy. He's really big, isn't he?"

I looked around at her quickly, and I felt my eyes widen in shock. "You KNOW?" She only grinned. "Brenda, please believe that I'd never come between you and ...."

"Oh, you silly goose!" she chided. "Of course I knew. I set it all up!"

"WHAT?!"

"Well, I figured it would probably happen," she said, thinking back. "I only know that when I wake up from a trance, the thing I want to do most in the whole world is to please Freddy any way I can. I sort of figure it's just one of those things that happens to 'Naturals,' you know? And I figured you were a Natural, too. And I also happen to know that Freddy really, really likes you, and ... well, I'd given him permission. I told him that if you both wanted to, he should go ahead with my blessing. He took a bit of persuading, but I knew that when the time came, he wouldn't be able to resist you."

My head was spinning. "You set me up to fuck your husband?"

She shrugged. "Hey, you deserve a little happiness. And I'd never deny Freddy anything that would please him." She shrugged again.

"Brenda, I don't want to think about this!" I declared flatly. "It's making me crazy. It doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing matters now. I just came to say good-bye."

But I didn't move to go. I just sat there, staring down at my feet. She just sat there, too. For some odd reason, a single tear slid down my cheek.

"You look like shit," she said, matter-of-factly, not bothering to look up.

I grunted. "Thanks a lot."

"I mean it. Didn't you get any sleep at all last night?"

"No," I whispered. I was SO tired!

"You stayed awake all night thinking about Freddy?"

I didn't answer, and she let the question hang like a hammer. It finally became evident that I had to say something. "I have dreams."

"Dreams? You mean nightmares? You've never told me you have nightmares! What are they about?"

Again, I let the question go unanswered until the silence was unbearable. "It's personal," I muttered lamely.

"Well, you silly goose! Of course it's personal. Dreams are ALWAYS personal. That's what FRIENDS are for. Come on, out with it!"

"Brenda, please ...." But again, she said nothing at all, just sat, her shoulder touching mine, waiting patiently. The silence rang in my ears. 

"I'm in the basement room again," I said in a dull, lifeless voice. "Daddy is strapping me to the 'X-table,' and I'm naked. I find myself thinking 'I can survive this. I did it once; I can do it again.' But as he finishes, and as he tilts the table to start beating me, I find myself looking at another identical table right next to mine, and Mommy's strapped to that one, and she's really scared. The whipping begins, one for me, then one for Mommy, and she's screaming, and I want to cover my ears, but of course, I can't. But then ... then ...." And my throat constricted and I found I couldn't continue.

Brenda waited patiently, but this time, when the silence had gone on too long, she gently urged me to continue.

I took a ragged breath. "The blood. The blood is flowing down off my table, off of Mommy's table, flowing and dripping. But the floor ...." I shuddered miserably and shut my eyes. That only made it worse, though. I could see it if I shut my eyes. "The floor is covered with money. Money, scattered everywhere, and as the blood drips down, the money soaks it all up. Soaking, sodden money! Money oozing blood! Heavy with our blood!" My voice cracked and I shook almost uncontrollably for a moment. Finally, I leaned back (when had I leaned forward?) and I sighed. I was quiet now. The silence didn't seem to bother me as much.

After a long two minutes, Brenda shook her head. "Oh, what a fool I've been!" she said.

"What?"

"I am SUCH a fool!" She turned and looked at me, and I turned toward her, as well, though I don't know why. "You're not doing this because of what your father did to you! It's not about being jilted by a former lover ... or your back ... or Freddy and me, or ANY of that stuff!" Pause for effect. "You're doing it because of the MONEY!"

I blinked at her. "Well, yes, of course."

It was her turn to blink. She opened her mouth and shut it again. "Um .... If it means that much to you, why don't you just GIVE it away?"

I smiled patiently and shook my head. "Brenda, I love you dearly, and I know you're terribly intelligent, but you just don't understand. I can't give away that much money! Daddy worked for sixty years for that fortune, and if it disappears, I will always be remembered as the person who LOST it. In the world of high finance, there are winners and losers. The world remembers both in those terms alone. The only way for me to give that money to the organizations that deserve it, is if I die first. This final decision took a lot of work! I had to make a lot of hard choices. I had to make them ALL! And they're made! I can't back out now! A decision is a decision! It's time!"

But again, I couldn't seem to make myself get up and move. She looked at me, and finally nodded.

"Give it to me," she said.

"What?"

"No, not the money, you silly goose! I don't give a damn about your stupid money!" She looked steadily, seriously at me. "I was wrong again," she said sternly. "It's not the money after all. It's all the decisions you have to make!" Her features set into a hard mask. "Give them to me!"

I blinked again. "What?"

"Give them to me! The decisions. Give them all to me! Let ME make them. You were never meant to be financier! You were meant to be a slave. Just like your mother. That's all you're really suited for. That's all you really want! And you can DO it, Dee! Just give yourself to ME. I can make all your important decisions for you, and you can just do exactly as I say." She reached out and stroked my face, like a parent talking down to a small child.

I gawked. "Brenda, that doesn't make any ...."

"It doesn't HAVE to make sense!" she implored. "Nothing ever has to make any sense to you again. All you'll have to do from this moment forward is serve me, and trust me and do exactly as you're told." She grasped my shoulders with both of her hands. "You deserve this, Dee. Just think! You can just ... give up! That's what you've been wanting to do anyway, deep down inside: to give up and surrender to DEATH! But now you can surrender to ME, instead! No more decisions! No more plans! No more responsibilities! Do it, Dee! Give them to me! You'll never have to think about the money again!"

And then, something foreign formed, deep down inside my chest; and it climbed up, up, up into my throat and out of my mouth. A sob. A big, loud, blubbery sob, followed by another, and another. She would really do something like that for me? Brenda gathered me into her arms and held me and I cried; and I don't mean any little Daddy tears, here. I'm talking loud, wet, dripping, boo-hoo tears that just seemed to go on and on and on. Brenda never tried to shush me or stop me at all. She just held me and rocked me gently for what must have been five full minutes, and oddly, she began humming the lullaby I'd heard Mommy humming in my dream last night. Finally, even though the tears were all spent, I continued to make little gasping, hiccupping inhalations the way a child sometimes does after a long temper tantrum. 

"There, there," she said, finally, holding me by the shoulders again so she could look at me. "Now, just give them to me."

And without a single thought, I reached into the pocket of my sweater and handed her the plastic vial of prescription pills. She took them automatically, and looked at them curiously, canting her head slightly to one side. Then her eyes widened with sudden comprehension and shock, and for the first time, I realized that she hadn't really thought I was going to go through with it! Now, she was holding Death in her hand, and her look turned into one of total disgust.

She pulled me to my feet. I just stood there, swaying slightly, awaiting ... what?

"You are mine now!" she said firmly, authoritatively. "You belong to me, body and soul. Say it!"

I made a few more little gasping-sniffing sounds and spoke in a whisper. "I am yours, body and soul," I said.

"Stay here!" and she disappeared down the hall for a moment. I heard the toilet flush. There go my pills, I thought. I'd planned so long and worked so hard to collect those pills! But she was back again, passing through to the dining room without a word to me, and she walked through the kitchen to the back door. Once again, I couldn't keep myself from gravitating to the window. Fred was still there, pacing back and forth across the little yard, and he turned and watched Brenda walk down the two steps to join him. She came to stand directly in front of him and she took a deep breath before speaking.

It looked like a real, full-fledged argument. Once or twice, I could even hear his voice through the window. He spoke emphatically, she answered calmly but earnestly. He gestured, sometimes very animatedly, she kept her hands low. It appeared to be a classic struggle between passionate belief and cool reason. Once again, he pointed my way to make his case, and once again she looked as a matter of course, locking eyes with me and smiling as if to say "We're going to win this one, Dee!" Once again, he followed her eyes, but this time, when he saw me, all the wind seemed to go out of his sails and he just stood there, passively, as Brenda continued to plead her case. (But what case? What in the world was this all about?)

He turned back toward her and she stopped talking, too. She seemed to be holding her breath. At last, he nodded, and I could hear her squeal of excitement even inside. Smiling broadly, she launched herself toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. She smothered his face with kisses for several long seconds, then jumped down, grabbed his hand and pulled him inside. 

I stood in the center of the room, waiting. They stepped in front of me; he looking very nervous and uncertain, she looking jubilant and happy. We faced each other silently for a long moment before Brenda spoke.

"Dee, you belong to me, body and soul, don't you?"

I cast my eyes downward meekly. "Yes, Brenda."

"I can do whatever I want with you and you won't argue or protest. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Brenda."

"Dee, I'm giving you to Freddy. You are his now. He is your Master, and you are his and his alone. You will always submit to him. You will always obey. Always."

I blinked at her, then looked imploringly at Fred. Fred, the love of my life. Could this be true? Brenda was still smiling.

"You're going to love it, Dee. You'll be just like me. Freddy's been my Master for more than a year now."

I could only stare at her.

"But there's one other thing you must do. You will do it because he commands you to, but I want you to understand what's about to happen." She paused a moment and I could only look at her wonderingly. She was very excited, and obviously remembering something profound that had happened to her in the past. "Freddy is going to hypnotize you again. He agrees that you really, really are a Natural, just like me. And just like me, the second time is the one that makes all the difference. This is when the addiction will take hold of you."

"Addiction?"

"It's hard to explain, but it's something ... wonderful! There's not an hour of the day, not a minute, that I don't feel the ... the desire, the need, the craving. I want it right now! I wanted it this morning, I wanted it yesterday. I ALWAYS want it! Constantly. I NEED to be hypnotized. I mean, I really, REALLY need it. And in a few minutes, when you surrender to Freddy again, when you feel yourself going under, slipping down into your trance, then it will happen to you, too. You'll be addicted, just like me. I want you to know that, and think about it as it's happening."

She was silent then, and she took two small steps backwards and sat down on the couch, leaving me standing in front of my new Master. I looked up at him imploringly.

"Is it true?" I asked softly. "Am I really yours?"

The uncertainty seemed to leave him abruptly, and he straightened and looked down at me. "Yes," he answered firmly. I tried very hard not to smile. I saw right through him! He was an actor on a stage, nervous until the curtain goes up. I bet he's done Macbeth, I thought. He'd make a good Macbeth.

"Are you ready?" he asked me seriously.

"Yes," I whispered.

"My goodness, you're tired," he said, matter-of-factly. "Why are you so tired?" 

The absolute weariness of a night without sleep suddenly came crashing down on my shoulders, and I seemed to physically crumple under the weight of it. 

"Look into my eyes," he ordered, and I tried ... I really tried, and could barely make myself do so. My eyes were so heavy I could scarcely keep them open. His eyes showed surprise, I assume at how easily his induction was proceeding. But surprised or no, those eyes were deep, deep black pools that I was falling into. Addiction .... Should I try to fight it? Falling up into his eyes. Sinking upward. Oh, this was EXACTLY what I wanted! I tried very hard to concentrate, and I do remember him telling me that my arms were heavy, but by then, of course, they'd already fallen, leaden and useless to my sides. I heard a voice, spoken both outside and inside my head, simultaneously, and it took me a long moment to understand my own words. "Submit and Obey," they said, over and over. The key. The key to my room. I was saying it, and now I was going inside. Just like Brenda, my mind said. And I smiled, just as Brenda had smiled last night in her trance. At last, I was where I belonged. 




The Addicted Natural Ch. 08



We talked and talked, and all I know is that his words were true and comforting. Once again, I went somewhere that was ... beyond the room, I guess, yet still a part of it, if that makes sense. But in the end, nothing was really any different. I'm still the way I always was, and the way I always will be.

"Wake up, Dee," he said. And I did.

I stretched and yawned and arched my back. And everything was still the same. I was still clothed, just as I was before he hypnotized me. I was standing, just as I had been standing before I went to sleep. And he was standing in front of me, just as before. But then I suddenly realized that I HAD changed. I was happy now. I was REALLY happy!

"Do you want me?" I asked softly. "You can have me if you want me."

"Maybe a little later, Dee," he answered kindly.

"I could suck you," I pleaded. "I need to please you. Please?"

He reached out and stroked the side of my face. I nuzzled my cheek into his palm, then kissed it. "Later," he repeated.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I love you, too, Dee." And when I lifted my head and gazed questioningly into his eyes, I could see no hint that he didn't meant it. My heart leapt. But then I glanced around suddenly, remembering that he wasn't mine at all.

"Brenda?" I said. And there she was, slumped into a limp heap of slumbering beauty on the couch. "Oh! She's asleep again!"

Fred laughed. "Yes, she can't seem to resist, can she?" He walked over, stroked her cheek, and said "Brenda, wake up now," and she did, stretching and yawning, just as I had done.

"Oh phooey!" she exclaimed, stamping her small right foot. "I wanted to watch! I can't believe I went out like that!" 

"Like a light, my love," Fred chided smilingly while I laughed at her. I didn't think anybody said "phooey" any more.

She stood, and we all just looked at each other for a long time, comfortable but uncertain. "I should be dead now," I said wonderingly.

"You are," Brenda replied. "The old you IS dead. This is the new you!"

We were quiet again. "What now?" I asked uncertainly.

"You go home and pack a suitcase," Fred said authoritatively. "You will spend tonight here. I'll come and pick you up in a few hours and bring you back. Then we'll figure out how we're going to do this."

"Really?" I squealed. This was too good to be true.

"Yes, really. Now go on, get home and pack! I'll come and get you soon."

But I didn't move, and for the first time, I saw a real problem. I frowned.

"You don't know where I live," I said nervously. I was really starting to get scared.

"Of course I do," Fred said patiently. "We ate dinner there two nights ago."

Disaster loomed. He didn't know! Brenda had never told him! She'd kept her promise, and now this whole wonderful dream was about to come crashing down around me.

"That's just my lake house," I said, my voice catching in my throat. "I don't really live there." One last tear leaked out of the corner of my left eye and slid down my cheek.

He suddenly realized something was wrong. "Well, where do you live?"

"Out on Darlingshire Road." My voice was flat and dull.

"You mean in one of the new apartment buildings going up?"

"No, on the other end, east of there."

"But I thought there was nothing out there but the old Darlingshire mansion ...."

And time stood still. I couldn't breath. Was my heart beating? Yes, that must be the source of that pounding in my ears. Slowly, he turned his head and looked in the direction of the front of the house. Though he couldn't see past the walls, I could imagine his mind forming an image of the $120,000 automobile blocking his Toyota in the driveway. And then he turned his eyes to me and they went wide with recognition.

"You're Diana Darlingshire!"

I could only stare mutely back. It had been so close! Happiness had been right there! For a moment, I had touched it!

"Freddy, this doesn't change a thing," Brenda said firmly. I cast a hopeful glance her way.

"Doesn't change ..?" he said loudly. "Doesn't change ..?" he screamed. "Are you crazy?" he shrieked. "Brenda, my God! This is the richest person in the state!"

"No I'm not!" I protested weakly. They both stopped dead and looked at me questioningly. "I'm not even in the top five," I murmured, and his questioned expression turned into one of disbelief while a smile split Brenda's face. "Seven," I muttered, looking down at my shuffling feet. "Number seven." 

And Brenda burst into a fit of laughter while Fred tried desperately to maintain his indignant anger.

At last Brenda was ready to renew the offensive. "Freddy, it really doesn't matter! It really, really doesn't! We can work through this!"

"Money ALWAYS matters," he yelled.

"But love matters more," Brenda said evenly. "I love her, Freddy. You love her." She was silent for long seconds while she let that sink in. "She's my best friend, Freddy, and I can't let her down. She needs us. Please help her!"

And he seemed to deflate again. Once more, her calm reason had won the day, and I found myself wondering who the REAL master was in this relationship. She was a slave who could get her way! And for the first time I realized ... we're not alike at all. 

Fred sighed deeply. "Okay, Dee, go home and pack," and it was my turn to fling myself into his arms. I held him as tightly as I could. 

"Really? You really mean it?"

"Yes." He was regaining his composure. "But you'd better give us a little more time. There are a few things my blushing bride and I have got to get straight." He cast a stern look her way, and she really did blush, but when he turned back toward me to disentangle my arms from his neck, I saw her wink at me.

And that's it, Diary. That's the story of the end of my life. My old life is over now, and my new one .... Well, that's the magic of my future, now. There is no plan. No course. There are a thousand hopes and expectations, but not a single clue about my new future.

My Master should be here any minute now. I'm going to put you into a box now, Diary, and put you in the closet and never think about you again. Thanks for listening. You've been a great friend, but ... I don't know how to put this delicately ... I just don't need you anymore. 

I hear a car on the driveway!

He's here!



The Addicted Natural Ch. 09



Chapter 9 -- Dee's Diary -- The Boathouse

TUESDAY, JUNE 12th

Dear Diary,

Bet you never thought you'd hear from ME again! 

Early yesterday evening, Brenda came out of the house and walked down the hill toward the lake holding YOU. I couldn't believe it. I'd really, really forgotten all about you; but of course, I've forgotten a lot about my life ... before. She wasn't bringing you to me, of course, she was carrying you to Master, who was sitting on the wooden swing under the big oak, reading some school papers. She sat next to him and told him she'd found it among some of my old things, and they flipped through you and talked about me as if I wasn't just 30 feet away working in one of the flower beds. She grinned at me as she got up and walked back inside while Master became engrossed in you, the papers totally forgotten.

And then this morning after we'd finished breakfast (Master just LOVES my French toast!), he told me that I was to write one more entry explaining what has happened to me during this past month. I started to protest. But protesting, of course, is something I'm not allowed to do.

"Right after I do the dishes," I promised. "And the bathrooms. Today is bathroom day."

But Master would have none of my excuses, and to my utter horror, he instructed Brenda that she was to take over my chores until I finished my assignment. This seemed to delight her. She grinned broadly as she took the dishes to the sink and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, and she laughed at my obvious discomfort. These menial tasks are supposed to be MINE! Seeing her working at my chores absolutely tortures me, and she knows it!

"Please get started, Dee," Master urged. "I'd really like you to be done before dinner. Lord only knows what type of food Brenda will abuse if she has to take over cooking duties."

She stuck out her tongue at him.

And so, here I am again, Diary. Let's see. Begin at the beginning, I suppose.

I really don't remember what day of the week my new life began (Master has forbidden me to look back and read previous entries), but I do remember that it was early afternoon when I put you in a box in my closet and rushed downstairs to greet my Master in the old house. I drew up short when I found him deep in conversation with Ben, who was polishing the Ghost. I approached them tentatively, and Ben told me that he remembered him very well. Fred had actually interviewed him (and Daddy, too!) four years earlier while doing a magazine story on Rolls Royce's in the U.S. Can you imagine?! I must have been working inside in the office at the time, and HE'D BEEN HERE!

I took him on the grand tour, inside and out, which took the better part of an hour, of course, but for some reason, we wound up in the big office.

"Dee," he told me seriously, "I'm going to need to get some sort of feel about what you own ... money wise, I mean. Can you show me some sort of balance sheet; your assets, debits and credits ... that sort of thing?"

The look on my face must have been pretty emphatic, because he immediately asked me what was wrong. "Oh, nothing," I murmured, walking to the desk and beginning the task of entering all the passwords into the computer. I felt one of the old telltale tears slide down my cheek, and he more or less ordered me to tell him what the matter was.

"Brenda told me I'd never have to think about the money again," I said quietly. "But I should have known that was impossible ...."

And before I could finish logging into the accounts, he took me gently by the arm and hoisted me out of the chair. I looked up at him questioningly.

"Would you like to be hypnotized now?" he asked calmly.

"Yes!" I answered too loudly, too quickly, too earnestly. He laughed. I blushed. He told me to look into his eyes. And soon my whole world just spun away, and I was safely in my "room," away from all the thoughts of money and the other horribly mundane things that had defined my old life.

When he told me to awaken, I leaned back in the big desk chair and stretched. I felt wonderful. I glanced at the computer screen, but all my programs had been logged off, and I wondered what had happened while I was in my trance. He was straightening out a couple pages of notes, all in his own handwriting, but he laid them aside.

"Do you want me?" I asked in a small voice.

"Get up," he ordered, and of course I did. "Come here," he insisted sternly, and I walked around the desk and stood very close to him. I waited for another command, and I wanted to kiss him SO badly. Despite that desire, I was still shocked when he began undressing me. He unbuttoned and removed my blouse, tortuously slowly, and then my skirt and folded each in its turn, draping them across the computer. Next came my bra, and he feasted on the site of my big breasts bouncing and swinging before him. He peeled down my panties, and I was acutely aware of my sandals, the only article of clothing left on me, and more or less in spite of them I felt more naked and vulnerable than I've ever felt in my life.

He gently turned me around so that my back pressed against him, and I could feel the hardness of his cock through his pants. He slid his hands around my waist, up and down my sides, forward over my tummy, upward to cup my breasts, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, over and over again. His palms felt rough against the tender flesh of my pliable mounds, and I began to feel oh so feminine. Sliding his forearm down around my waist, he bent me over the big desk, my chest ballooning against the highly polished finish. His hands roamed my back and sides and legs and buttocks, stroking, petting, rubbing. He pushed my legs apart. I urgently wanted to please him, but my traitorous body forced my mind to other matters. He dipped a finger into my slippery opening, then two (three? Two, at least. It might have been three), and I felt moisture on my inner thighs just below my cunt. I was dripping. A moan escaped my lips, and I was suddenly embarrassed to realize that it was not the first. I want to please him, my mind said. Shut up and feel what he's doing to you now, my body replied. Oh, yes. Yes! I pushed back against the wonderful fingers (it MUST be three!).

But they were suddenly gone, and I gasped in utter disappointment. I should have gotten up and fallen on my knees in front of him, taking his wonderful cock into my mouth, but all I seemed capable of doing at the moment was panting, my breasts flattening as I filled my lungs with precious air.

That's when I heard the zipper! A fascinating source of sound, a zipper. It seems to have the power to force all sorts of thoughts into one's head. The cock he rubbed up and down my slit was maddening! It touched me in just the right spot, then slid away, searching, searching, then at last it found its target, pushing into me, spreading me, forcing itself, so slippery, so big ... SO BIG! ... Oh!

I found myself somehow with my hands gripping the far edge of the desktop, holding on for dear life, pushing back to meet him. Gosh, he was so deep ... so deep ... so deep. He was pressing into that thing, that spot inside me that he had first introduced me to the night before, and as he established his rhythm, his thighs slap, slap, slapping my buttocks as he spread and filled me over and over and over, I knew I was not far away. My mind was still frantic, trying to think of SOME way, someTHING to increase HIS pleasure; but soon I was once again so lost in my own mounting ecstasy that all I could do was arch back against him and just hold on. That's when he reached around me and touched me right on my clit. He didn't rub or pinch or fondle; he didn't need to. Just the touch, like a push-button on a machine, like a pleasure switch that, once pressed lightly, activated my whole body. I screamed. And came and came and came.

I must have passed out for a moment, because the next thing I knew, I was standing limply in his arms, breathing raggedly, crying softly. Slowly, I put my arms around him and held his clothed body against my very, very naked one. I felt something warm and wet and slimy against my tummy, and without looking down, I knew it was his deflating cock, dripping out its last effluence. I felt his juices dripping down my inner thighs, too, and I knew the joy of having been the receptacle of his pleasure.

"I love, you," I whispered into his chest. "I'll do anything ... anything ...."

And he just held me for the longest time.

He ordered me to get dressed again, and once presentable, he told me to go and get my suitcase and then meet me near the front door. I raced to do his bidding, and when I found him again, he was talking to Ben and Martha, telling them that I would be staying in town tonight, and not to worry. Martha took me aside and told me that she thought my new "guy" was a real winner, and I blushed and gave her a hug. 

Fred told me to get the keys to my car, and we left his vehicle parked at the house while he drove the Mercedes. He looked good behind the wheel. It was his car now, I thought. Everything I used to have is his.

He stopped along the way and bought a bucket of fried chicken with the trimmings, and when we got home, we found that Brenda had already set the table for dinner. Fred uncorked a bottle of Chardonnay, and we toasted our first night together as a "threesome."

Now, since I have been instructed by my Master not to look back at previous entries, I'm not sure I've commented to you, Diary, about my little drinking problem. I have ALWAYS been very, very susceptible to the effects of drink. I really love white wine, which is a shame, because even one glass has always made me very tipsy and giggly. After two glasses, I become embarrassingly drunk, and I can hardly talk. Looking back on my relationship with Brenda, I guess that this commonality should have alerted us to our strange kinship. It's obviously a prominent trait among "Naturals." 

Our dinner conversation started with Fred beginning a very well-thought-out list of rules which would effectively govern my life from that moment forward. Each one only added to my sense of total servitude and well being. To begin with, I was not allowed to even think about the family's financial affairs. I was to henceforth consider myself penniless and totally dependent on Fred for all necessities. He would grant me the use of a bank debit card on grocery shopping days, but I was not to use it for anything else without prior permission, and I was to account for every item purchased with a receipt. Brenda would be in charge of buying all my clothes and personal items, and if I felt I needed anything at all for myself, I was to go to her and ask her to purchase it for me. I was to do all of the cooking, cleaning, and household chores. I would always make myself available to him sexually. I smiled meekly. This whole situation was turning out to be more than I could have possibly hoped for. I found myself thinking that I was fabulously happy.

That groundwork being set, the conversation turned to what we had done during the long afternoon, and Brenda talked about the article she was writing. She can be a very passionate person, in her work as well as her private life, and due to the wine, she was soon expansively making her point about a woman who had been wronged by "The System," meaning of course, state government bureaucracy. When she'd talked to her own satisfaction, she asked what I'd been doing, and from my blush, she quite rightly assumed that I'd been "good and properly porked" by her loving husband; an accusation that left us both laughing and giggling uncontrollably while Fred could only smile and shake his head.

But we both sobered up promptly when he told us that we would be moving to the lake house during the next couple of weeks. After the shock of the announcement wore off, we two women could talk of nothing else. I thought it was an absolutely fabulous idea, and after some consideration, Brenda concurred. But again Fred laid down some strict guidelines. I would be left to pack up the household items here for the move, while Brenda would pick some things of mine from the big house which I would be allowed to have in our "new home." There wouldn't be many, he warned. My old life was gone. There was nothing in my new life except dedication to my Master.

After we'd talked some more, and it was obvious that dinner had officially ended, I got up and started doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Left alone with my thoughts, I once again considered my utter joy at my new freedom. But when I had finished in the kitchen and walked into the living room only to find it empty, I followed faint noises until I finally found Fred and Brenda in the master bedroom. Those noises begged a certain degree of cautious stealth, and I tiptoed to the doorway and peeked around the corner into the room. Sitting on a chair, stark naked, his back to me, my new Master sat looking down between his widely spread knees as his equally naked wife bobbed her head up and down on his cock.

"I don't know, Brenda," he groaned. "I only came a couple hours ago .... I .... Oh, my God!" He threw his head back, his eyes shut tightly, and he moaned loudly. Brenda opened her eyes and looked up at him, then she shifted her gaze and caught me watching. I involuntarily stepped back a small pace, but I didn't seem to have the power to stop gawking at the spectacle. I don't think I have ever seen a more compelling sight. Brenda's interest in me lasted only a second, and her eyes raised again toward the enraptured face of her husband. He moaned once more, and she opened her mouth as wide as she could, and lowered herself fully onto his engorged manhood, taking him fully into her throat.

With another loud groan, he reached down and grabbed her shoulders, pushing her away. She lurched back at him as if he was denying a bit of food to a starving girl, and she struggled feebly to regain the massive morsel. "I want to fuck you," he hissed between clenched teeth, and with a great effort, she stopped her struggling and jumped up.

"Can I get on top, Freddy? Please! Please, I want to get on top!" and she pulled him to his feet and then pushed him backwards toward the bed. As he turned and lay back, I could see the questioning look on his face, but he consented. He never saw me in the darkened doorway. Brenda leapt upon him, straddling him easily, but she had to struggle to get him inside. She leaned forward as she fed the monster into her cunt, groaned loudly, then leaned back to sit straight atop him. Again, it was his turn to make a sound, which came from deep in his throat. He closed his eyes, moved his hands to her breasts, and breathed raggedly as she began moving up and down on his manhood. In an easy motion, she raised her right hand and swept her long, sleek black hair over her left shoulder, then glanced back over her right one and again made eye contact with me. I just stood there, rooted to the spot, watching, watching. There was a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I placed the palm of my hand against the flat of my tummy and tried to imagine what he felt like to her. I thought that if I closed my eyes, I could almost feel it. My eyes were locked into hers. It was as if there was some sort of link between us. And then her eyes fluttered for a moment, opened again and locked on mine, fluttered once more, then rolled upward. She shouted "Oh Golly, Freddy!" and turned back toward her lover, unable to think about me any longer.

I dropped to my knees and crawled to the foot of the bed, reached up, grasped the edge, and pulled myself up to peek over it. I'm sure, had either of them glanced back to see me, that I'd have looked like Kilroy peering over a fence. Fred's legs were spread slightly, Brenda's ass moved upward, downward, upward; and the cock was very visible as it stuck proudly up from his loins. It glistened. Her juices coated it and dripped from it, as well as down the insides of her thighs. Did I get that wet during sex? There was oily wetness everywhere. It even coated the top of his balls.

She suddenly cried out and started a series of "Aaahh -- Aaahh -- Aaahh -- Aaahh!" noises, and as she did, I could see the muscles of her thighs, and even the ring of cunt flesh that surrounded the phallic invader, tighten and contract in rhythm with her exclamations. Fred suddenly bellowed loudly, and when he did, Brenda began pumping up and down again very rapidly, still making her "Aaahh -- Aaahh" noises. The juices coating the monster cock suddenly turned white. His cum joined and mingled with her juices. I could smell it.

Slowly, I slid down, turned and sat on the floor, my back to the footboard of the bed, and I tried not to breathe too loudly. Oh, I needed to cum. I wanted to feel it SO much. But I couldn't. This was my destiny now. I would only know sex when I was called upon by my Master to provide it. I lowered myself to the floor, finding comfort from at least being in the same room with him, and I lay down and curled into a fetal position, staying like that for a long time. I might have slept a little.

But then Brenda was pulling me to my feet, shushing me, and telling me to strip out of my clothes. It was very dark (she must have turned off all the lights), and I could feel her hands on my skirt, helping me remove it. Soon, I was completely naked, and her body was very near mine, touching it here and there with her own as she pulled me over to the edge of the bed, raising the sheet and turning me so that I would lie facing the edge. I heard Fred snort once, then calm and finally he began to snore. Brenda pushed me toward him gently, and he threw a lazy arm over me and pulled me to him, cuddling into my back. I stayed like that for many long seconds, when I became aware of yet another hand on my body. Brenda had crawled into the bed from the other side, and she had put her arm over both of us, her hand lying gently on my hip. Fred was sandwiched between his two women. I sighed and closed my eyes. I've heard countless stories of people who are kept awake at night by a person's snoring. Fred's, however, has the opposite effect on me (I have since found that it's the same with Brenda). If I listen to it for a few minutes, I always fall right asleep. And I did.

(Brenda just walked by with the cleaning supplies, going from the job in one bathroom to the other. It's torturing me, knowing that she's soiling her beautiful hands on a job that is rightfully mine. She's so pretty and so petit. I just can't stand it! She's smug, too. She KNOWS what it's doing to me inside. She's really infuriating, sometimes. God, I love her.)

(But I must continue or Brenda will be cooking dinner tonight.) 

For the next two weeks, I was very busy. Fred has morning classes four times a week, and Brenda was nearing a deadline for the article. I cleaned the little house over and over, and walked to a small grocery every other day, where I used the debit card Fred had given me to buy the things I needed to prepare meals. I also began the task of boxing up the books and other items in the living room, getting ready for the big move. Every afternoon, he and I would go to the big house, where we would chat with Ben and Martha for a few minutes and then go right to the office. There, I would quickly and willingly be put into a deep, deep trance by my Master. I never looked at a clock, but I know that we would spend many hours at a time in there. Letters started coming for me, very official letters, some from state and federal government offices, but I was never allowed to open and read them (or if I was, it was only after I had been "put under"). A few times, Brenda would accompany us to the mansion, and while I was in my trance, she was up in my room (and sometimes in Mommy's room, the attic and some of the storage rooms), rummaging through things and picking which clothes and other items would accompany me to our new home at the lake. She packed several boxes, but I neither knew nor cared what was in them.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 09



We made the move gradually, a load of this or that each time we went to the lake house, Fred making his plans like a general. My parent's old room would become the master bedroom. I would have the smallest of the four bedrooms down the hall. Another bedroom would be converted to an exercise room, the den would be made into Fred's office, etc, etc. I would clean and scrub and organize things to Brenda's specifications after she cleared the work schedule with her husband. He spent a lot of time just walking around, looking at the lake like he had that first night here. It was quite a drive back into town, and we would often spend the night here. But almost every day had some portion of time set aside for my Master and me in the office of the big house. I supposed that it had to do with the money, but I never thought about it. Money held no power over me anymore. I was free.

Last Thursday, Brenda took me shopping at one of the finest dress shops in the city and picked out a business pants suit that cost $700, as well as finding one for herself for considerably less. The tailoring was done that same day, and while we waited, I spent two hours in the beauty shop having my hair and nails done. When I questioned her on these things, she'd only tell me that "Freddy" had said it must be like this. There was no arguing with that logic.

The next morning we were all at the big house by eight o'clock, and the whole place smelled marvelous. Martha had been up very early baking, and the air was rich with the odor of cinnamon. Master stopped in to talk to Ben and Martha while Brenda and I went up to my old bedroom and started getting ready ... for what? Brenda was conspiratorial at first but finally took pity on me and told me that today was the day I would officially end my old life on this earth and begin my new one. Today in this house, the "loose ends" would all be tied up. She admitted that she herself had no idea what would happen, but that Fred had been planning this for the past three weeks, and that I was to do exactly as I was told. Oddly, this only made me feel more secure. My life of "no decisions" was a pleasant life indeed.

We took turns doing each other's hair, helping each other dress, checking each other over for minor flaws. At the end of 45 minutes, we stood side by side before the big mirror and admired our handiwork. My gosh, we were foxy! But professional-looking, too. In fact, VERY professional-looking. My hair was in a tight bun atop my head, my sleek, silk tailored pants suit hugged my curves, accentuated my figure, and displayed my sexuality in a "no-nonsense" kind of way. My silk blouse was slightly open at the neck, and my underwire bra displayed just enough of my cleavage to leave no doubt whatever that these babies are real! As a topper, Brenda disappeared for a few minutes and returned with Mommy's necklace. THE necklace. The one that had been featured in a magazine article several years ago. It sparkled like fire when she fastened it for me, and I was almost overcome with emotion. The chain consisted of twenty diamonds that totaled about 40 carats of pure flawlessness.

Brenda, on the other hand, was dressed to assume the "executive assistant" persona, and she did so (as she did with almost all things) in a sort of innocent-sexy-professional way. Her long, shiny black hair was in a single braid that snaked all the way to the top of her butt, and with her glasses on, she was the sort of no-nonsense secretary that would entice every executive to have daydreams of a purely non-professional sort.

Our high heels clicked sharply as we made our way back downstairs to the big office, where Master was sitting at the massive desk. Brenda was especially disappointed when he told her wait outside in the hall for a few minutes, but she obeyed without comment. I instinctively walked over to him and presented myself for his approval, and I was overjoyed by his brief smile and nod of acceptance. He reached forward, sprang the latches on Daddy's old briefcase, and I was stunned at what was inside. The mahogany box from the mantle at home (I had already come to think of the little house as "home"). I stood, waiting for the feeling I knew was about to seize me, even before he lifted the lid and took out the watch. The watch, you see, has a very strange effect on me. I don't know why, but I try to fight it. Silly, really, since I know there is absolutely no way I will ever evade its profound and overpowering hold over me. As always, when he held it up and began swinging it by its gold chain, I fought and fought and fought its effects and then surrendered and plunged down and down and down into the deepest possible trance imaginable. It was heaven! And when he told me to wake up, I felt oddly self-assured and very professional.

Back in the hall, I became the chief of the group (I felt like the chief of WORLD!), and the three of us literally marched into the executive meeting room in the East Wing of the house. I had rarely ventured into this room, it having absolutely no appeal to me, but Daddy used it many times when he was alive. Now the huge meeting table was surrounded by many people, and I smiled and greeted many of them that I had met before and introduced myself to those who were unknown to me. The IRS was represented (federal, New York and here in Illinois), and I recognized my CPA, personal lawyer, corporate lawyer, other lawyers, other CPA's; at least twenty people. Martha was walking through the room with a tray of pastries. Ben had coffee. A few people had mixed themselves drinks, though it was only ten in the morning. 

A man I knew by reputation only approached, and the others gave him room deferentially. He looked so much like Daddy that he made my skin crawl, but I felt strangely in command here and not only stood my ground, but held my head high. This man was the CEO of the richest chain of mutual funds in the world.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Darlingshire," he said cordially while his snake eyes raked my body from top to bottom, back toward the top and finally rested on my cleavage. "I knew your father quite well. We would often talk well into the night in the Manhattan Club about the mood of the market in modern society."

"God! That must have been stupendously boring," I commented offhand, then ignored him completely as he laughed nervously at my snub. I was concentrating now on a twenty year-old man, a geeky youth with pimples, who had just been featured prominently in several Wall Street publications, and was widely heralded as the newest "protégé" of the business world. I knew that he wasn't really a businessman at all; he was a mathematician! I had come to find his theorems fascinating; and I told him so. He, too, raked my body with his eyes, but I found myself thinking this trait was sort of cute in a really young man. Unfortunately, he had attached himself financially to the "snake" that owned all the funds.

I introduced Fred and Brenda to the room as "members of the press" who would handle the releases of information to the various media. Then I took my place at the head of the table and called for order. I thanked everyone for coming, told them that I was going out of the country, and that that is what had prompted my recent business actions. Then I turned the meeting over to the chief lawyer. I had no idea where all the lines I was speaking had come from, and I frankly didn't care. I sat, unmoving and smiling, while the lawyer went over each page of the documents contained in folders sitting before all the key players. I was selling the mutual fund. I hadn't realized until this moment that's what was happening, and I discovered that the concept pleased me greatly. I DID raise my eyebrows a little when I heard the sum that was to be paid. My profit was indeed very modest, but as I listened I realized that the majority of the surplus capital was going back into the fund itself to cover fees. I smiled at the stroke of genius involved. Whose idea had this been? This way, the fund would be maintained as a "no-load." I won't get into all that here, but to put it simply, it means that small investors are more apt be attracted. In other words, the current and future investors were getting a really good deal this way, and the value of the fund could only go up with the news of new ownership, especially if it was being managed by the protégé.

After the paperwork was done, I took Daddy's old briefcase (I DID hope that the pocket watch wasn't still in there!), opened it, and took out my battered old notebook. This had always been kept safely locked in the vault in the office, and it contained the "strategy" that I had developed. Making a dramatic show of it, I leaned forward and placed it in front of my favorite leering geek. He flushed, had to keep himself from snatching at it, picked up slowly, and leafed through it. (He later explained to me that he had spent almost a year trying to "reverse engineer" my process. The answer, after he'd read my notes, was very simple. But answers, once discovered, almost always are, aren't they?)

There was applause, and there was champagne, and there were pictures, and finally, they all left, though my lawyers and CPA's stayed for lunch. Martha had outdone herself preparing lunch.

I won't get too deeply into the proceedings after the meal, but suffice it to say that by day's end, my fortune was gone. The string of guests came one at a time, and each one of them left the house very, very happy. A huge part of the money was donated to the University for a Department of Textile Arts and Sciences, including a new building that would bear Mommy's name. One stipulation was that her quilts would be displayed under glass in the hallways. There were six large charities that each got massive donations. The house and grounds (as well as funds to cover an annual grant), would constitute a new center for abused women and children ... the largest in the state.

After they all finally departed (including, at last, the lawyers, CPA's and tax men), it was Ben and Martha's turn, and we adjourned to the kitchen table, where Fred and Brenda listened while I gave my maid and butler a quarter-million dollar separation bonus and the keys to the Rolls. Martha and I cried and hugged, and we all talked about Arizona, where they planned to move to be closer to their relatives. Then we all went out to Alphonse's for dinner, and we had a great time, though Brenda and I got pretty tipsy on our glasses of champagne.

Now, I've always had the innate ability to add up a column of numbers in my head and reach a correct sum. So while I didn't really have any interest in the money at all, I simply couldn't help but notice that, after taxes, there was still going to be a little left over. Not much, considering. Ten million, give or take. I don't know (or care) where it's going to go, I just know that it no longer concerns ME. I have nothing, financially; but I have EVERYTHING else in life. I have happiness. I never would have guessed that I would ever have been so happy.

On Saturday, Fred got the old johnboat working in the boathouse down by the little pier, and told us that he'd be taking it out on the lake for several hours. Before he left, however, Brenda said she had something to suggest, and she went into the bedroom and emerged holding two bikinis. She'd purchased them the day before, and since the weather had turned warm, she asked Fred it the two of us could lie on the pier and soak up some sun. I was mortified! I couldn't possibly wear a bikini! My scarred back would look terrible! But Fred actively endorsed the proposition, and that was that. He waited while we changed, and we had to put on a little show for him when the swimsuits were on. Again, I felt big and ungainly next to Brenda's lovely form. She's so beautiful! The top to my bikini barely kept me contained. But Master seemed to spend just as much time ogling me as he did his wife, and that made me blush all the more.

Towels and tanning lotion in hand, we followed him down to the dock, where he got the boat launched and roared off as we waved good-bye. Then we spread our towels on the wooden planks of the dock and took turns rubbing lotion into each other's bodies. Two boatloads of drunken fishermen motored by, then by again, honking and whistling, but I took Brenda's lead and just ignored them. The afternoon turned drowsy, and we both dozed a little, only to be startled rudely awake by the crash of thunder very close by. Neither of us had noticed the skies turn cloudy, and now the heavens opened up and it poured. Grabbing our towels, we fled into the boathouse, but we were both thoroughly soaked, water shimmering and droplets running rapidly down our oiled bodies. I took my towel and dried her the best I could, for the towels were damp, too. The temperature had dropped with the coming of the rain, and I began to shiver. Her own moist towel didn't help much as she tried to pat me dry, so she started rubbing my shoulders rapidly in an attempt to warm me. She was very close.

It was one of those moments you read about in books; one of those "across the room" revelations they try to depict in the movies. Her hands were rubbing me, then they slowly stopped as she looked into my eyes. That "something" was there again; the thing I'd felt in the shower with her on that second day after we met. I'd felt it since. Recently, I'd felt it more often, but I never even considered saying anything about it. I wasn't that kind of girl. Neither was she. Were we? Looking back on it, I don't think any force on earth could have kept our lips apart. It happened slowly, tenderly. After the kiss had gone on and on and on, thunder split the cosmos. The lightning must have been right overhead, but we paid it no heed at all, and the kiss went on. Finally, finally, we parted. We were both breathing hard. Her eyes were unfocused for a moment before they settled onto mine.

"Golly," she said.

I barked a laugh and held her close. "Yeah, golly." We were quiet for a long moment.

I said: "I think I've wanted that to happen since the first time I met you."

And she sighed and said: "Me too."

And I said: "I'm not that kind of girl."

And she trailed her fingernail across my bare skin and said: "Me neither."

And I said: "What are you going to do to me?"

And she said: "Anything I want."

And I blushed and looked into her smiling eyes and said: "Don't tease me."

And for a moment, she got a sort of funny, questioning look, but then she said: "I'm going to make love to you."

And I said: "Okay."

We took a couple of lounge chair cushions off a rack on the wall and put them on the wooden floor of the boathouse, then I stood calmly, my hands at my sides, while she unhooked my bikini straps and peeled the garment off of me. She let me undress her, as well, then we lay down and held each other and kissed some more. Our hands began to roam rather freely, and we both had to stop kissing from time to time to gulp air and moan.

She sort of took charge, naturally, and after awhile, she stopped her French kisses and rested her lips lightly on mine, so that our mouths were always touching. Her left hand was caressing my right breast, rubbing and pressing, stroking and tweaking; and my left hand was doing exactly the same to hers. Her right hand was between my legs, her fingers moving up and down, side to side, round and round my clit; and my right hand was doing exactly the same to her. She would speed up her strokes, and I would speed up mine. She'd slow down, and I would take her cue immediately. The only things she couldn't seem to control were my moans, and she wasn't doing a very good job controlling her own, either.

She suddenly whispered harshly: "Stop! Stop! Stop!" her lips still touching mine, her pleas were breathed into my open mouth. I immediately stopped rubbing her, though she kept up her manipulations of my own love bud. She took a shuddering breath and relaxed just a little. "I was about to cum," she said softly, urgently. "Wait a minute before you start again. And don't let me make you cum yet, either. Tell me before it's too late."

She kept up her ministrations, and I really WAS getting close. I let her keep rubbing me for a few more seconds. "Okay, stop!" I gasped, and for a moment, I thought I'd let her go too far, but I willed the orgasm back into its lair and relaxed a bit. She kissed me lightly.

"Okay, you can start doing me again," she said softly, and I began rubbing little circles around her clit again. She immediately gasped and stiffened against me again. I began rolling her nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and she arched her body into my hand. She was very, very wet. My whole right hand felt oily and slippery. She started rubbing my clit again, as well, and I instantly told her to stop, which she did. "Me too!" she moaned loudly. "Stop! Stop!" And I paused again. We panted and tried to keep ourselves from coming, using sheer force of will.

This little game kept up for several long minutes. I quickly lost count of how many times we told the other to cease and desist at the last possible instant. More and more often, we found ourselves just touching but not moving, gasping and moaning and whispering.

"I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff that's beginning to crumble," I said softly against her lips. "Oh, Brenda, I'm SO close!" We were down to the point that we'd only give each other a single stroke before stopping. I gave her another little tweak and she shuddered but did not cum.

"Wait for it," she ordered weakly. "Not until I say so!"

I could tell she was about to stroke me again. "Wait! Wait!" I urged, and she paused to give me a few seconds peace. I took a few ragged breaths then grit my teeth. "Okay," I whispered, then gasped loudly as she stroked me once. I arched up and almost didn't make it. I gulp a couple times. "Oooh, that was close," I muttered. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, but not too hard," and she moaned loudly and tried to back away from the stroking finger, shuddering, but somehow maintaining the brittle status quo. "So close," she breathed. "So close."

We did that two more times, then rested again, our bodies physically shaking with expectation. "When I say so," she told me in a ragged whisper, "I want you to look right into my eyes and don't stop rubbing." She laid her fingertip right on my engorged clit, and it was all I could do not to jerk and cum. I touched her the same way. She shivered violently.

"Now!" she said, and we locked eyes and rubbed hard, pinching each other's nipple almost painfully. Her eyes, if I haven't mentioned it before, are the loveliest shade of dark green, like an evergreen tree at wintertime. They immediately flew wide, gazing hard into my own, and her pupils contracted into pinpricks as she began bucking against my right hand. My orgasm began instantaneously, and flooded every part of me. I cried out and shook and held on for dear life to her nipple, stroking with the fingers of my right hand for all I was worth. It just kept going and going. Her pupils dilated now, held mine for more long seconds, then they rolled up into her head so that only the whites showed, and she fell heavily against me, limp, damp and breathing hard.

I gathered her into my arms (once I could get them to work again), and held her head tenderly to my breast, gently stroking her long hair, which was still wet from the rain. Almost at once she stirred, then weakly held me. She was crying softly. I was surprised to find that I was, too.

"I love you," I told her. She only held me, and we listened to the rain on the metal roof for long minutes. It was getting lighter now, and after awhile, it stopped completely.

"Dee?" she asked softly.

"Yes?"

She paused again. I could tell she was about to ask me something meaningful.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 09



"I've never, ever even considered making love to another woman before," she said, and paused, waiting for me to comment.

"Neither have I."

We lay like that for more long minutes.

"Dee?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think we're being manipulated?"

Ah, so that's what was bugging her. I decided to pick my words carefully, as well.

"I want to ask you two questions," I said. "The first one isn't very important, but the second one is."

"Okay," she said. "Shoot."

"Do you love me?"

She barked a laugh and looked up into my eyes. "You don't think that's important?" she asked.

"Not to me. You see, it doesn't really matter to me. I would much rather love than be loved. Does that make sense? I love you, and that's all that I really care about. Even if you hated me, it wouldn't make me love you any less."

She thought about that for a second. "Yes," she said softly, "I love you."

"And now for the biggie," I continued. "Are you happy?"

She didn't have to think about that one at all. She hugged me tightly. "Yes. Yes, I'm happy."

"Then the whole thing's moot," I told her.

"Huh?"

"Your question may make some difference to you," I explained, "but the answer is meaningless." She looked up at me questioningly. "Look," I continued, "Fred either forced us to fall in love or he didn't. If he didn't, then it was meant to be and we did it all on our own. We're in love, and we're happy. End of story."

"And if he did 'make' this happen?" she asked.

"Then we should thank him. We're still in love and we're still happy; and just between you and me, I STILL think it was meant to be!"

She relaxed back into my arms. "End of story," she said.

"End of story."

She suddenly struggled out of my arms. "Hey! Let me show you something!" 

She lay back and reached up, taking my head and resting it on her left breast. I snuggled into her. "Just relax," she told me, and when I had, she asked "What do you hear?"

I listened. "The birds."

"What else?"

"The wind on the water."

"What else?"

"Noth .... Your heart. I hear your heart."

"Right. And now, with every beat of my heart, I want you to relax more and more. With every beat, you're going to become more and more relaxed. More and more."

My body seemed to go limp of its own accord. I was suddenly very tired. "You're hypnotizing me with your heart," I murmured. 

"No," she said softly, "but you ARE going to go to sleep now. With every beat, you're more and more and more relaxed."

And I was suddenly dreaming that we were skinny dipping in the lake. The guys that yelled at us earlier were still there in their boats, waving and hollering, but Brenda didn't seem to care, so I tried not to blush. She swam over to me and kissed me, and I kissed her back and told her that I loved her, and she laughed her bright, pleasant laugh, and told me to wake up now. And I did. She was right, she hadn't hypnotized me. I felt just like I did when I awakened from an afternoon nap; drowsy and lazy.

Fred finally got back from his boat ride, full of stories about trying to outrun the storm and how he made it to a marina just in time. I fixed dinner, and that evening we told him what had happened to us in the boathouse, and he smiled and told us that he was happy we had discovered each other. I suppose that sort of confirmed Brenda's suspicions, but once again, it just doesn't matter, does it?

Well, Diary, I guess that's about it. Master has promised me that I will never have to write in you again, and that's okay with me. I don't seem to have enough time as it is, taking care of this house and the two people I love. I still have enough time left to cook dinner tonight (Hooray!): braised beef tips and wild rice. I started marinating the beef last night.

But first, I have to tell you what happened just two hours ago.

I was called away from my writing and into the kitchen by Brenda, who had made a delicious lunch of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (which were pretty good) and coffee (which was too weak). She was pretty proud of her meal, the first she'd prepared since I had come to live with them, and Fred graced her with a smile and praised her household industriousness. I complained again about neglecting my chores due to the writing task. Brenda said she had to spend an hour in the library before dinner. Fred talked about a new boat he'd seen in the marina. 

Eventually, the subject changed yet again, and we talked about what we should do after dinner that evening. Brenda suggested a video, and Fred told us he'd run up to the video rental place and get something.

"No, wait!" Brenda said. "I know something we can watch!" She jumped up. "Wait right here!" and she ran off down the hall. I guess I should have seen it coming, but to tell you the truth, I had now idea the thing still existed! Mommy must have hidden it in one of the storage rooms. I gasped loudly when she returned holding it.

The blue gym bag!



The Addicted Natural Ch. 10



Chapter 10 -- The White Witch of Walden -- Prelude I

(This is the last part in a series of three novelettes that I've come to think of as "The Addicted Natural Trilogy," making up the rather protracted tale of how I caved in to the evils of temptation on several occasions and found myself in a somewhat enviable - albeit undeniably sinful - condition. If the various sections of this tome somehow find themselves scattered in the electronic spectrum, I'm afraid I must insist that you somehow locate the first two parts and peruse them as a reading assignment. "The Addicted Natural" contains the first four chapters of our story, and "Dee's Diary" makes up the next five.) 

*

Now, before I can begin this, the strangest and most fascinatingly dramatic episode of the group, I must really spend a couple of chapters putting affairs in order, so to speak. For the events leading up to my introduction of the White Witch contain emotional, philosophical and prurient aspects that are essential to our plot. I'm sure that once you begin to understand how our new protagonist would come to interact with Brenda, Dee and yours truly, that the "setup" will be well worth your while. And then, obviously, if I'm going to introduce a new protagonist, I will also to have to come up with a new antagonist as well. And this next villain (however short his part in the drama may be) will, I assure you, certainly live up to your greatest expectations. But that, as I say, is for later.

I really need to address the four distinct relationships that existed at the house by the lake; those being my relationship with my lovely wife, hers with Dee, Dee and me, and the most important relationship of all, the rather more complicated state of affairs that existed between the three of us as a unit. These I will discuss in rather colorful prose, I promise. 

But first I feel compelled to defend myself in the eyes of the reader. I suppose, if I'm going to give my side of things, I should revisit that fateful day that I first had my way with Dee sexually. You've heard her version, and I must admit that she made a rather accurate account of it; but now it's time you heard "the rest of the story." It certainly set the tone for the months that followed, and so I'll call your attention back to that day. But even before THAT, I think I'll do a bit of physical observation.

How to go about it .... After careful consideration, I've decide to use that most abused of all literary vehicles: The Vignette. Bear with me.

A CLOSER INTRODUCTION OF CHARACTERS

Yes, I guess it's true (as pointed out in Dee's Diary), I AM just a touch heavier than my true fighting weight, especially after Dee began preparing her gourmet meals; but she (with some suggestions from Brenda) soon switched to a more health-conscious fare; plus I started working out in our exercise room three times a week. I've dropped the weight I added since we moved here, and now I've put a good dent on the original 15 pounds. And Yes, I guess I DO have a "distinguished" hairline, but it doesn't seem to be hurting my love life, as I'll discuss more explicitly in the near future. 

Brenda, as both Dee and I have mentioned, is a very attractive lady. She's petite, and while her figure is exceedingly nice, she's small and sort of "little-girlish" at times. I admit it's always been a bit of a turn-on for me. Her hair, long, straight, heavy, black and shiny, gives her an almost exotic, oriental persona. She's young, effervescent, and extremely intelligent (or at the very least, extremely sharp-witted), and I've always found her personally, intellectually, emotionally and sexually challenging; which is why I love her. I would never think of changing any of those traits, though we both know I have the power to do so. To alter who she is through hypnosis would be to change the thing I most love in this world. And so, yes, we have our little disagreements, but not very often. I listen to her views always. That's because she has an uncanny way of being right about things, especially emotional things. You'll see what I mean when I tell you about the bombshell suggestion she made regarding Dee later in the next chapter.

Dee, for her part, is a true enigma. About five foot-five, wavy red hair, pale complexion with a smattering of freckles highlighting a smallish nose, and delicate, thin lips that turn up or down as various moods strike her. Bright, brown eyes that reflect a profound hidden intelligence when they aren't cast submissively downward. She has a slender waist atop generous hips; but it's her abundant breasts that attract the eye like a magnet. Women's eyes as well as men's. I really enjoy watching people watching HER when we all go out in public. Some women are just like that. They have a feature that makes it almost impossible to look away. I guess I've always been a breast-man. And judging from all those looks, there are a lot of us out there. 

And now, a short word about hobbies. There's a fine line between a hobby and insanity. It's another accurate observation that, while a hobby is infinitely interesting to the person who engages in it, discussing it is, at best, only mildly tolerable when conversing with someone who even shares that diversion. It is, at worst, monumentally boring when discussing it with someone who does not. I have two (not counting my recent propensity for collecting women). You've already been introduced to the first. And while philatelists and numismatists may rank pretty high on the old Boring Scale, they don't hold a candle to bibliophiles. So, thankfully, I won't talk to you about book collecting. I won't talk to you about the second hobby, either. Have you guessed what it is? The clues were all there. I fish. Always have. Ever since I was a boy, and my Uncle Charlie took me out on Michigan after walleye and I hooked into an eight-pounder .... But no, I promised. I won't talk about it. But it does explain my interest in Dee's lake house, doesn't it?

A couple months after we moved there, I bought a new Ford F250 extended-cab 4X4 with a tow package. I had to have something to tow, so I bought a nice (and I mean NICE) bass boat with a trailer. A big 5-man alpine tent, a king-size air mattress and a double sleeping bag, and the three of us were ready to strike out on some camping & fishing trips at other lakes in the area. (This has relevance to our story, I promise.)

THE DAY I BANGED MY WIFE'S BEST FRIEND

"Brenda, are you out of your MIND?!" I implored over the breakfast table.

She'd put on her "tolerant-sexy" face for the discussion, which, in my book, ranks somewhere between her "serious-sexy" face and her "pleading-sexy" face. She blinked at me (which was more like batting her eyes), and reached across the table to hold my hand.

"Freddy, I just KNEW you were going to react like this!" she chided. "You shouldn't. I KNOW you like her. I caught you starring at her three times last night."

"I thought I did an admirable job of keeping my eyes off the wench," I retorted. "And I wasn't staring, I was leering. There's a difference. That's just what men do. But it doesn't mean she's prettier than you are. In fact, if you're jealous, there's absolutely no reason to be. I think you're much more attractive."

"Oh Freddy, you're such a silly goose sometimes! I'm not jealous! I'm just practical. You want her, I can tell. I'm offering to let you have her, that's all. In fact, I'm going to insist on it."

"You'll 'insist' on nothing of the sort, my dear." Ever since this weird conversation had begun, I'd found I couldn't keep the image of Dee's tits out of my mind. Brenda's suggestion of hypnotizing her and taking her sexually had caught me completely off guard. I had never cheated on my wife, and I had no intention of doing so now. I told her so.

"You're very sweet, darling," she answered, changing to her "demure-sexy" face. "But I think it's hardly cheating if I insist you do it."

I sighed. I could have been much more logical in my arguments if I could just manage to get that vision of Dee's mammary glands out of my cerebellum. "What makes you think she really wants to make love to ME?" I implored.

"She doesn't."

"WHAT!?"

"Well, not yet. Not until you hypnotize her and convince her that she loves you."

After staring unbelievingly at her for a long minute, I had to make a conscious effort to close my mouth. "You're crazy!" I said. "That's rape!"

"No, it's not," said the imploring-sexy face across from me. "She may not want it, but she NEEDS it. Once she loves you, THEN she'll want it. And after she's HAD it, then she'll LOVE it!"

This was rapidly turning into an X-rated George Burns -- Gracie Allen dialog. I took a deep breath and consciously pushed the image of the offending jugs out of my mind. They bounced back in like a pair of obnoxious water balloons.

"Brenda, I don't know anything at all about this girl. I only met her twelve hours ago. I don't know if I WANT to make love to her."

"Liar!" said the amused-sexy face.

"I don't even know her last name!"

"Neither do I."

Time for another gawking silence.

She sat back in her chair and put on a face that was a cross between her "logical-sexy" look and something entirely new. I'd come to recognize it in the next several months when she talked about Dee (and even later when she would speak about the White Witch). It was empathy. But this was the first time I'd seen it in this context, and it really caught me by surprise.

"Freddy," she said imploringly, "Dee's a very complex person. I've only known her for a few days myself, but in that time we've formed a bond that I've never had with another person. I think she's the best friend I've ever had, and I think I'd do just about anything to keep that friendship alive for as long as I can." She paused to let that sink in.

"She's an extremely private person," she continued. "I know I could find out more about her, but I also know she doesn't want me to. I respect that, out of friendship. She DID tell me some things about herself; but again, I don't want to tell you, even though I know you could make me if you wanted to. But I don't think you will, because I know you respect ME the way I respect HER. And I know that tonight, when you have her completely in your power, you won't pry into her private life because of that respect."

"I'll just rape her!" I said sarcastically. She ignored the comment.

"I think I CAN tell you a few things without betraying her trust. She's had one lover, but she was never really IN love with him at all; and he most certainly never loved her. He betrayed her." She paused again. "And her father beat her."

"Beat her?"

"Horribly. With a whip. Her back is covered with scars. I saw them when we showered at the health club."

I thought about that quietly for moment. "Do you think we could convince her to press charges against the sadistic bastard?"

She shook her head. "Her parents both died suddenly a few months ago. Now, she's all alone, and she believes that she'll never be with a man again because of her disfigured back. You see, she's never had real love. That's what you can give her tonight. You can give her the gift of love. Not yours; you can give her the ability to love a man; to love YOU. She's read about it; she's seen it in movies. But she's never really experienced the emotion herself. Just for tonight, you can give her that emotion; you can let it overwhelm her, let her revel in it; and then you'll let her make love to the man she loves. It's her greatest emotional need. And you have the power to give it to her."

"Why are you in such a hurry?" I asked, the mental vision of Dee weakening me. "We only just met. Why don't we get to know each other for awhile, and if you still feel this way in a few weeks, we can discuss it again."

She cast her eyes downward so I couldn't see them. "I have a reason, Freddy, but I don't want to tell you. Please don't ask me."

She was giving me a riddle. An emotional puzzle. I've always been a sucker for puzzles. "Aren't you just a little afraid I might fall in love with HER?"

"I bet you WILL," she answered, her eyes still on the table in front of her. "Once you get to know her the way I do, I don't think you'll be able to help it. She's the most utterly loveable person I've ever met. And no, I don't feel threatened in the least. I don't think your loving her will decrease your love for me. My friendship for her hasn't decreased mine for you. And I WANT you to love her. I want you to HELP her!"

"Look at me!" I ordered. Her head snapped up and I could see tears in her eyes. I really wanted to get to the bottom of this. "Look into my eyes," I commanded sternly.

"Oh!" she said in a small, meek voice. I'd caught her off guard.

"Relax ... relax ...." Her shoulders slumped, then her eyes blinked closed and seemed to struggle to open again, still locked into my own. We did this almost daily, and her inductions only took a few seconds now. "Relax ... heavy ... so sleepy. Heavy arms ... heavy head ... heavy breasts. So heavy. So nice." Her hands were resting in her lap. Her head bobbed forward and wobbled back, her eyelids almost closed. "Submit and obey."

"Submit and obey. Submit and obey," she intoned.

"And now, as sleep comes, let your head lower gently to the table. Sleep is coming. So sleepy. It's almost here ...." Her head sank to the tabletop and she rested her cheek on its surface. "Surrender and sleep." 

And she was under. Her breasts and cheek were resting on the table, her hands still stuck in her lap. I sat and regarded her for long minutes. I could do this the easy way or the hard way. A simple order from me, and she'd tell me everything she knew about Dee. The information was mine for the taking. I started to give her the order, but stopped before I got the first word out. I thought about it for another minute. 

Finally, I sighed and sat back in my chair watching my lovely hypnotic slave as she slept peacefully. Oh, what the heck. I've always done things the hard way, anyway. I reckoned that having her tell me the solution to this problem was tantamount to peeking at the answer to a crossword before I worked the puzzle. "Wake up, Brenda," I said softly.

She sat up abruptly, yawned enormously and stretched, her nipples visible beneath her t-shirt and thin bra. She suddenly seemed to remember our conversation, and her eyes regarded me questioningly, then shifted downward as she tried look into her own mind for an important thought. She blinked and smiled up at me.

"You didn't make me tell!" she said, grinning broadly. She seemed very certain of herself. I said nothing.

Smiling broadly, she rose and pulled the t-shirt over her head in a smooth motion as she walked around the table toward me. She dropped it on the floor, reached behind her with both hands and unsnapped the brassiere, letting it drop, as well. She knelt at my feet, grasped my knees and pushed them apart, then undid my belt, unsnapped and unzipped my pants in a couple seconds, pulled my engorged cock from its confines, and lowered her mouth to engulf it. She made smacking, sucking sounds as she worked on me. Her right hand was stroking my shaft up and down while her left squeezed and massaged my balls. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes. In my mind, Dee stood before me, hypnotized, passive, aroused. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra, just as Brenda had done. Her huge breasts swung free.

Brenda made a surprised little noise as I filled her mouth. I was coming very hard.

That night, as Dee moved her body up and down on my cock and her big breasts bounced and swung just inches from my thirsty eyes, I was forced to admit to myself that reality is sometimes much better than fantasy.

THE MORNING AFTER THE NIGHT BEFORE

Brenda walked around the house toward me, and despite how upset I was, I found myself shocked at the expression on her face. I couldn't read it. She was as anxious as I was, but as you may have come to understand, our responses to anxiety are dramatically different. She stood meekly before me but couldn't make eye contact. I was concerned about her, but much more concerned about the emotionally fragile woman inside the house.

"Brenda, something's horribly wrong! Our little 'plan' backfired in a huge way! Dee's in a terrible state of mind! I can only imagine why! I RAPED her, Brenda! She's such an emotionally ..." I groped for the word, "... delicate girl! And I RAPED her! Oh God, what am I going to do?"

She reached out and touched my arm. "You didn't rape her, Freddy. What happened last night is not what this is all about."

That didn't make any sense, so I decided to ignore it. "You ought to see her, Brenda! Her eyes are wild! She's a mess! She shies away from me and she can't even look at me. She hates me!"

"It's not you, Freddy."

"I'm afraid she might be suicidal!"

She looked down at her feet. "Yes, she is."

"You were right yesterday! I was only alone with her a few hours, and I really fell for her! I really care about her! And now I've gone and ...." I paused and blinked. What she'd just said finally registered in my frantic mind. "WHAT?"

She couldn't make herself look up.

"You mean you KNOW she's suicidal?" I asked accusingly. "You mean you knew it BEFORE ...?"

"I was trying to save her, Freddy."

"Save ...?"

"I thought that maybe if she found love ...."

My head suddenly felt as if it was about to explode. I reached up, held it with both hands and glared down at her. She still couldn't make herself look at me, and it suddenly dawned on me why. She'd used me. 

I caught her looking past my shoulder, and I turned to look at Dee standing at the living room window. I couldn't maintain eye contact. I'd never felt more abjectly guilty about anything in my entire life.

"I have to go in and talk to her now, Freddy," Brenda said in a tired voice. But she didn't move. She was waiting to leave until I gave my consent.

I forced myself to settle down. "We can go in together. I need to tell her how sorry I am ...."

"It's not you, Freddy. She only came here to tell me good-bye."

"Good-bye?" This was suddenly getting very bizarre. "You mean she knew that you knew ...? I don't understand any of this! If it's not me, then why is she going to ...?"

"I don't know. I thought I did. I thought she needed love. But you gave her that last night. Now, I don't know ...." She stared down at the ground. "Please, Freddy. Please let me go to her."

I sighed. "I know a guy on campus," I said, trying to take control of a situation that seemed tenuous and uncertain. "A fishing buddy. He's a clinical psychiatrist. We can take her to him."

"I promised her I wouldn't try to talk her out of it, Freddy, but I'm going to go inside and break that promise now." She seemed on the verge of crying.

"If you can't talk her out of it," I told her very sternly, "then you are not to let her leave. Call me and I'll force her to go see my friend. I won't let you go to her unless you promise me that."

"Okay, Freddy."

"Promise!"

"I promise, Freddy." And she turned and went inside.

It had to have been the longest twenty minutes in the history of the world. I paced for awhile, considered barging in on them, paced some more, then thought about peeping in the window; but I finally wound up pacing again instead. I suddenly decided to go and remove the distributor cap from her car so she couldn't sneak past me while I was busy with my pacing, but when I walked to the front yard, I found that Brenda was way ahead of me. She'd blocked the Mercedes in the driveway with her Volkswagen. Just as well. I don't know anything about automobiles. Hell, I couldn't tell you if a car like that even HAS a distributor. So I just went back and paced some more.

But when she finally came back out, Brenda had changed. She'd put on sort of a shy-sexy-imploring-sexy-emphatic-sexy-meek-sexy face, and I could tell something was going to happen. 




The Addicted Natural Ch. 10



"How is she?" I asked, hesitantly.

"She's okay, Freddy. I talked her out of it. It's over." She looked down at her feet again. "Freddy, ...?"

Here it comes, I thought. "What?"

"Freddy, I want you to make her your slave. That's what she wants, Freddy. I want to keep her with us. I want ...."

"WHAT!?"

"I want ..."

"NO!" I screamed. "NO! NO! NO!" I suddenly realized that I'd balled my fists and was actually stamping my feet. "You can't "keep" a person! She's not some puppy you found by the side of the road! She's a WOMAN!"

"Sure you can, Freddy. I'm a woman, and you keep ME."

"WHAT!?"

"I'm your slave, Freddy. I love you more than the air I breathe, but I could never leave you, even if I wanted to. I'm your hypnotic slave. You OWN me! And now you can own her, too!"

"NO! Absolutely not! I have you and you have me, and that's quite enough, thank you!"

"Think about it, Freddy!" Her eyes were big and bright and dreamy. "You could have her anytime you wanted. You could have either one of us! We could be like sisters! Sisters in slavery!"

The two of them, naked, meek and obedient, suddenly walked into my fevered brain and stood awaiting my orders; waiting to serve my every need. I shook my head, trying to clear it.

"NO!"

"And not only that, Freddy," she said demurely. "If she is yours, then everything she has is yours."

The picture suddenly expanded. The two naked beauties were standing in front of that car. That beautiful car. And the car was parked in front of the lake house. 

"NO."

"She loves you! And you love her. And you can HAVE her, Freddy. You can save her, and you can have her ... forever."

The lake ....

"No."

She was looking past me again, and I turned, and there she was. Dee had obviously been crying. Her eyes were wide, like a deer caught in the headlights, and she was suddenly a little girl in a woman's body. Her chest was rising and falling as she breathed. She saw me staring and her breath seemed to catch, and she held it, accentuating those breasts. She seemed so fragile and meek and feminine. The classic lady in distress. She was really very, very lovely. God, those breasts!

I suddenly realized that Brenda hadn't said anything in a very long time, and I turned back to look down at my beautiful, enigmatic wife. She was holding her breath in anticipation, too, and I slowly came to understand that they were both waiting for me to say something, though surely Dee couldn't hear me.

If she wasn't so damned pretty! Both of them! Begging to be my slaves. Needing to be my hypnotic playthings. And that house .... And then, there was the suicide threat, which I could solve simply by enslaving her; making her my willing sexual servant. And that car .... And she needed my control. My complete and total control. And the lake .... And those breasts; those marvelous breasts. 

Brenda was still holding her breath.

I nodded.

THE GREATEST MISTAKE OF MY LIFE

What had Menlo done to Brenda? For more than a year, I really thought I knew the answer to that. I'd found out about the "room below the room." I'd even "changed" Brenda in small ways, with regards to her low tolerance to alcohol, as well as her perception of my manhood. But while this really seemed to satisfy all the various theorems of hypnotic mind control as I saw the equations, it slowly, finally dawned on me that I had horribly underestimated the man. And by the time I discovered this error, the world had lost all traces of Diana Darlingshire forever. One of the greatest sins of my entire life is the sad fact that I unwittingly eradicated a living, breathing human being and replaced her with someone else. 

I discovered my error this way:

On the fateful evening I first hypnotized Dee, I was absolutely flabbergasted by my ease of putting her under my control, and by how I was able to take her into the deepest realm of hypnotic trance so effortlessly. Keep in mind that she was the first person I'd ever actually attempted to hypnotize (besides my lovely bride, who from the very beginning, had literally begged me to place her under my power). Once I had Dee as deep as she was able to descend, I spent great pains introducing her to her own "room," which I attempted to match exactly to Brenda's. I led her to her own "room below," and saw no harm in subjecting her to the same "changes" I'd made in Brenda. 

Getting tipsy on a single glass of wine wasn't that big a deal, I surmised, and even if she was later confronted by someone who had once seen her down a whole bottle, she would probably be only mildly confused. So I used "the way it always was," etc, etc; just like Menlo had drilled into Brenda. I also used the lower room to make the same "suggestion" that my cock was the largest she had ever seen, or ever would see. I wanted her to remember me fondly, and I was relatively sure that my "over-endowment" would not spoil things for her in her future sexual relationships with other men. Likewise, the existence of an overactive G-Spot couldn't hurt anything, could it? I considered it my gift to her.

Back up in her real hypnotic "room," I was careful to discuss her newfound "infatuation" with me in strictly temporary terms. Brenda's arguments from that morning made sense. Sex in a truly loving relationship would certainly be much more meaningful than plain animalistic lust. The results, when I awakened her, were extremely gratifying. At least, they were as far as I was concerned. I don't know why it never dawned on me that she would consider HERSELF the aggressor in the sexual act, and thus shift the weight of all the guilt associated with the evening onto her own pretty shoulders.

The following day, when I finally recovered from a near-coronary after finding out her true identity, I was more than a bit overwhelmed when I realized that the girl actually DID love me. In fact, as the days and weeks rolled along, she seemed to love me more and more all the time. Loved me to the point of idolatry; to the point of worship. I think I was more flattered than anything. Flattered even unto blindness, as the case turned out. It really, honestly never even dawned on me that her love for me was not true (well, not truly her own idea, at any rate), until I read her diary almost a month later. She had insinuated in her text that she thought her love for me had begun the moment she'd set eyes on me. "The way it always was," she'd written, "and the way it always will be." The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I suddenly suspected that something was very, very wrong here.

After thinking about it for a couple weeks, I thought of a test that might shed some light on this new supposition. I walked up to Dee as she knelt in one of the flower beds planting some new type of posies. "Why don't you plant some violets, Dee," I asked innocently.

"Violets are weeds," she answered, looking up at me and smiling.

"It just happens to be the state flower," I observed.

"Oh, they're pretty enough, but they're really one of the most prolific weeds around. They spread by seeds, by rhizomes below the ground, by runners above the ground, and when the wind breaks off a leaf, it takes root and grows wherever it lands."

I sat down on the grass beside her. "Would you like me to hypnotize you?" I asked.

"YES!" she answered immediately, emphatically. She turned and gave me her entire attention. Her shoulders slumped and her eyes suddenly appeared so heavy she could hardly keep them open. I said nothing; just smiled and returned her gaze. It was happening again. "Please ..." she whispered, but her eyes could barely stay open now. 

This was yet another big difference between Brenda and Dee that was beginning to become more evident with each passing day. For despite all of Menlo's talk that morning more than a year before, Brenda WAS addicted to hypnosis. If I went for more than a couple days without giving her the sweet surrender of the trance, she would become more and more anxious, and she'd finally come to me with her meek-little-girl face and beg plaintively for me to take her hypnotically. Dee, on the other hand, would never think about it at all until the hypnotic induction began. I had once gone a week without hypnotizing her, and she showed none of the anxiety that would seize Brenda. But, just as now, once the induction had started, she seemed to suddenly "remember" her addiction, and she would give in to the urge with impassioned, overwhelming emotion.

Now, I watched her trying desperately to maintain eye contact, but she was slowly losing the fight. Her arms hung useless at her sides. She swayed forward, and then she sat up straight again with a supreme effort that seemed to drain the last bit of strength from her. Her lips were mouthing her "Submit and Obey" mantra, but she was too weak to find her voice. Finally, smiling, I opened my arms to her, and she leaned forward, nestling into my body as she made a little moan of surrender. She had hypnotized herself. I'd never said a word.

I gently turned her and moved slightly, so that her head was in my lap, her body stretched out on the grass beside the flower bed. I ran my fingers through her thick red hair. The smile on her lips bespoke her absolute bliss.

"Dee ...."

"Yes, Master."

"Where are you?"

"I'm lying naked on my bed in my wonderful room."

"We're just going to talk for a little while, okay?"

The smile broadened. "Sure, Master. I love talking to you while I'm in my room. I could do it forever!"

"Dee, I'd like to talk to you about violets."

"You must really like them, Master. You've talked about them before. I'll plant some, if you want."

"No, no. I only want you to plant flowers that YOU like. I've given you that one freedom here at the house. You've done very well. Your flower beds are all beautiful."

She blushed. "Thank you, Master."

"But I want you to think about violets now. Picture them in your mind ... see them in the early spring as they bloom in the woods. See them clearly. They're beautiful, aren't they?"

"Yes ... yes they are. I never realized how lovely they are."

"I think you might learn to like them more than you thought."

"Yes. Beautiful ...."

"Wake up now, Dee."

Her eyes sprang open, she blinked a few time, then did her yawning-stretching routine as she gave me her biggest "just-awakened" grin. She sat up and put her arms around me.

"Do you want me?" she asked tentatively. 

I laughed. "Yes, very much."

She jumped up and tugged at my arm, pulling me to my feet while I laughed at her earnestness and she blushed at the inability to hide her raw physical need to please me. She began pulling me toward the house, but I had other plans. I led her over to one of the big oaks, pulled a cushion off the wooden swing hanging from a lower limb, placed it on the ground, and pointed down at it.

"Here," I said.

She looked about her with wide, horrified eyes. "HERE?!"

"Take off your clothes, Dee," I told her flatly. She hesitated. "Now!" And she immediately pulled her t-shirt over her head and began fumbling with her belt, always looking about her. She looked panicked. She was trembling. She was very, very lovely.

"There's a boat out on the lake!" she whined. I turned and looked. The guys in the john boat were a long way out and hadn't taken any notice of us yet. I reached out and held her slim, bare waist with both hands and maneuvered her so that the tree was between us and the boat. She hopped up and down a bit as I did this, her blue jeans down around her ankles, her hands behind her back, fumbling with her bra strap. When I let go, she sat heavily on the cushion and began pulling her shoes off. In a few more seconds, she sat completely naked. I had lain down, my hands behind my head, and I waited for her. There was a deep, pink blush that made her whole face look dark, especially against the contrast of her pale body. Her eyes were constantly casting glances in every direction, then demurely back down at the ground. I'd never seen her more nervous, and I wondered why we hadn't explored the wonderful world of public sex before. 

"Wha ... what do you want me to do?" she whispered.

I grabbed one of the pillows that had toppled off the swing when I had snatched the cushion, and I propped it behind my head and watched her with interest. "Stand up."

"Oh, Master! .... Oh, please!" But she rose, naked and lovely, and stood before me.

Robert Darlingshire had purchased his lake house getaway in the form of six adjacent one-acre rectangular tracts, each 400 feet long, that abutted the lake at the lower edge. He had cleared the center two for the house and lake view, but he'd left the two on either side in dense woods and underbrush. So Dee's little display wasn't really too public at all. She could easily be seen from the house, but there was only Brenda there, whom I had left reading a book in the dining room when I walked down to talk to Dee. The tree hid her from the boatload of fishermen ... for now, at least. Even so, as I made her turn around and display herself to me, she looked absolutely mortified. She shivered, though the weather was warm. I thought I knew the reason for that, at least in part, but my experiment hadn't run its course yet.

"Now," I told her firmly, after I'd made her turn and displayed herself to my heart's content, "I will grant you the freedom to please me any way you wish."

She took a few shuddering breaths, fell to her knees beside me, and began unbuckling my belt. In very short order, she had my cock out of my pants and into her moist, sucking mouth. Bent forward, bare and beautiful over her task, her big breasts swinging and bouncing wildly, she poured her heart into her efforts, and in extremely short order I found myself building toward a climax. I reached down and held her head in my hands as it bobbed up and down. 

"Touch yourself!" I ordered, and she immediately let go of my balls (which slightly slowed my steep ascent toward completion) and reached between her own legs. "Touch yourself in just the right spot," I commanded. "I want you to make yourself cum soon. Very soon. Rub hard!" I gritted my teeth. This was happening fast. She moaned around my fleshy pole. Her body was still shaking, but for an entirely different reason now. I couldn't hold back any longer, and as I began to spurt my seed down her throat, she gave a gurgling, muffled scream and convulsed violently as her own orgasm hit. She shook for many long seconds, then pitched forward and fell heavily across my body, breathing hard.

There were shouting noises from far away; whooping and cheering. The fishing boat had obviously drifted so that the tree no longer blocked the view, and the guys had seen us.

"Oh my God!" Dee muttered, still trying to catch her breath. 

After a long minute, I told her to get up. She held herself against me for protection and reached out to collect her clothes. "No," I told her quietly but firmly. "Leave your clothes. I'll bring them inside for you. I want you to get up and walk back to the house just the way you are."

"Oh Master! Oh, please don't make me!"

"What will you do for me if I command you?" I asked sternly.

"Anything," she said, eyes lowered submissively. "Anything."

"Go. Go inside and tell Brenda exactly what has happened to you here."

She stood shakily, covered her breasts with her hands, then thought better of it and lowered her arms to her sides. She turned, utterly humiliated, and walked slowly back up the hill to the house. She was quite a picture. The guys in the boat apparently thought so, too. I zipped myself back up, stood, gathered up her garments, and followed. I never looked back at the lake.

In the house, the girls were nowhere to be seen, and I supposed that they were in Dee's room talking. They shared everything, and I'd sort of figured that her story would be a nice little gift for Brenda (as it turned out, she had been watching us from the house with a pair of binoculars). I puttered around the in library for awhile. Eventually, I heard the sound of Brenda's "coming noises" from that part of the house, and I knew that Dee's story, along with some loving caresses, had had the desired affect.

The next morning, Dee and Brenda came into the library and announced that they were going for a walk. Brenda carried a picnic basket, and she asked me if I wanted to go along. There was a trail that wound along the length of each of the adjacent wooded lots, and the two of them would often walk down one, across the front of the cleared waterfront, and back up the other side. I declined, but asked about the small shovel and bucket Dee was carrying.

"I'm going to dig up some wild violets," Dee announced. "I'm going to plant some in the upper flowerbed."

"I didn't think you liked violets," I said, matter-of-factly.

"Oh, no, I love them! They're my favorite flower! They always have been. They always will be. I can't get enough of them!"

"You told me once that they're just weeds," I said. My worst fears were being realized.

Dee shrugged. "They DO spread easily," she said thoughtfully. "But it's worth it to see them every spring. They're just gorgeous!" She smiled broadly. "They're the state flower, you know."

They walked off, hand-in-hand, out of the house and into the woods.

So that answered that. 

Brenda had two separate, distinct parts to her hypnotic "favorite place." There was her room with its soft, comfortable bed, where we would talk comfortably and intimately. I might influence her when she was there, but there was never any danger of real change taking place in her mind. If I ever really USED that place, it was to find out something from her, for she had no secrets from me there. And a gentle suggestion that she might like pizza for dinner would result in us having pizza for dinner, nothing more. I never had to worry about pizza becoming her all-time favorite food. I could do that, of course, if I ever really wanted. But that was the realm of the "lower room," her "soul." And, as I said before, I almost never took her there anymore. 

I had patterned Dee's room to be just like Brenda's, but now I understood my monumental error. THERE WAS NO DIFFENCE BETWEEN DEE'S UPPER ROOM AND HER LOWER ONE! Everything, and I mean everything, that I had told Dee while she was under hypnosis had changed her. Changed her for good! Changed her forever! 

What was I going to do?

I racked my brain in an effort to try and remember what I had said to her while I had her under my influence, but in the past month and a half, I had hypnotized her dozens of times. There had been a period, as I mentioned, when I had not put her under for many days. But there had been other days when I had done it two or three times. She loved to tell me, while she was lying on "her bed of truth," how much she loved me. This made her so happy, so peaceful, so content, that I saw no reason not to agree with and support the pleasant emotions. But now I suddenly realized that I had been IMPLANTING those feelings. Without the hypnosis, she probably never would have loved me at all!

I had quickly grown to love her overt modesty, love her nervous shyness, and I had told her this while she was under my control. But now, I wasn't entirely sure if she had EVER been shy or modest. I may have just seen what I ASSUMED to be those traits! Now, they were burned into her personality forever! 

The next day, I took Brenda for a long walk and laid the whole problem at her feet. I had never been so serious about anything in my life. She laughed. And when I started to get angry about her reaction, she laughed even harder. Finally, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me while I fumed, and she tried to compose herself to present her argument.

It didn't matter, she said, WHAT we did with Dee, as long as she was happy with her life. And she WAS, Brenda said firmly. She was completely, totally, enormously happy. Diana Darlingshire was dead. Dead and gone. The girl we now knew as Dee was a pretty, happy, energetic, and thoroughly unique individual, who was content with her place in the world. We had given her the gift of life, and more importantly, we had given her the gift of love. Changing her a little was secondary to all of that. (Or, at least, that was Brenda's spin on things.)




The Addicted Natural Ch. 10



I was far from comfortable with the idea, but there seemed to be nothing I could do about it. So now, I firmly vowed not to do ANYTHING that would alter Dee further. I vowed that I would never order Dee to do anything even remotely strange or odd that might change her life further.

That promise would last for another four months. Then, Brenda would make the most outrageous proposition imaginable ... (No, scratch that. I myself would have NEVER imagined doing something like that) ... and it would change all of our lives forever. 



The Addicted Natural Ch. 11



Chapter 11 -- The White Witch of Walden -- Prelude II

A QUICK DISCLAIMER

Remember back in the first part of this story when I related my conversation with Menlo, and I told you that bad guys always try to justify their actions. Well, in keeping with that tradition, here I go ....

First of all, I NEVER suggested to ANYBODY that Dee should call me "Master." She just seemed to slip right into the habit, and when I didn't immediately reject the moniker, it became a permanent part of her vocabulary. When I voiced my discomfort with the title to Brenda, she told me that there was no harm in it, and since Dee felt so satisfied by saying it, I finally just accepted it. I DID insist on the hard fast rule that she was never to use the term in public, and she complied, just as she complies with all my rules.

And now, on to the question that I'm sure is uppermost in everyone's mind: the money. 

Everything I made Dee do in the three weeks following her induction into our family was done in accordance with her last will and testament. Well, sort of. There's a big difference between giving money away when you're dead and giving it away while you're still alive. Fortunately, we happened to have access to a real financial expert -- Dee herself, though I never let her remember any of the extensive transactions she made during that time. The choice of charities was her own. And the terms of sale of the mutual fund were entirely her ideas. The mansion and grounds, which she had originally earmarked for a state park, went to an organization that helps battered women, and that was MY "recommendation." I thought it appropriate, considering Dee's abusive past. The money for the new building on campus that would bear her mother's name was Brenda's idea. (Dee had originally just set it up as a general contribution.)

And yes, Dee was right in her diary, there was exactly ten million left over. I had her put the entire amount into a brokerage account in HER name. That, along with the diamond necklace (which appraised for almost another mil -- it's in the safe in my home office), and the lake house and the Mercedes, was all that Dee had left of her fortune. And I don't know; maybe she was right about financial people only being remembered in terms of "winners and losers." Quite frankly, I don't give a shit. All I care about is that she's alive and happy.

My office is one of the nicest rooms in the lake house. Obviously, it was once the domain of Robert Darlingshire, but I've now turned it into my own. The girls are forbidden to enter without permission. I soon began sitting at the big desk and writing the outline of what I hope will someday be my attempt at the great American novel. But every Thursday afternoon at one o'clock, Dee knocks at the door and I let her in. She enters with eyes downcast. I immediately order her to look into my eyes, and she is quickly put into a deep trance. Then she logs on to all of her mutual fund programs, catches up on the past week's financial developments, and she makes whatever sales and purchases she deems appropriate. The woman is absolutely phenomenal. In the past year, despite a sharp decline in the DOW, she's seen a total profit of over 10%. Ten percent of ten million. Even I can do THAT math.

When Dee leaves the office, she not only has no memory of what she has seen there, she also has absolutely no knowledge and no interest in what she's just done. Brenda's promise to her of "never having to think about the money again" has been kept. In the meantime, I HAVE used just a little of it. The boat, the truck, some nice acquisitions in my book collection. Pretty small potatoes, considering. Still, I guess you could argue that I've taken advantage of her. 

Who am I kidding? OF COURSE I've taken advantage of her.

BRENDA AND THE BLUE GYM BAG

Before I get to the evening that changed all our lives (Dee's birthday), I feel obligated to shed some light on the relationship between my two women. 

First, about their sexual relationship. It's true that I DID have something to do with that, but quite honestly, it wasn't ALL my doing. The sparks were always there. I realized early on in our lives (as a threesome) that I would probably not be able to keep up with the two of them sexually. And, quite frankly, the idea of two women having a sexual encounter has always been a turn-on for me. So, at various times, while I had each of them in their hypnotic "rooms," I would bring up their most intimate feelings about the other, and I'd gently encourage their curiosity regarding a more physical relationship. Dee had immediately agreed with me (but I know now that by "suggesting" a sexual encounter, I had probably just changed her entire mindset on the topic of lesbian relationships). I couldn't have Dee being the aggressor, though, since Dee is subservient in ALL things. So she simply became subconsciously anxious, waiting for Brenda to make her move.

Brenda, for her part, was much more resistant. Once again, I resolved not to take her into her "lower room" in order to change her sexual orientation, but we had long conversations in her hypnotic "Bedroom Nirvana," and after many sessions talking about Dee's sexual responses, the feel of her skin, the gratification of letting her please the person she loves, etc, etc, Brenda finally began weakening. I could see the "looks" she started giving Dee at certain times when she thought she wasn't being observed, and I knew the time was coming soon. 

I couldn't be more pleased with the way things have turned out. Now, they are not only as close as sisters, they're as close as lovers, as well. My frequent hypnotic reinforcement keeps their desire fresh and strong, and ever since that first afternoon in the boathouse (there have been many others -- it became a favorite rendezvous), Brenda has displayed no resistance at all when it comes to her newfound bisexuality. 

Brenda has always been the more dominant of the two, but I get the impression that she doesn't come by the role naturally. She has, from the beginning of OUR relationship, been an obvious submissive, and she relishes that. She became the aggressor in her love affair with her friend simply because submissiveness is something Dee needs more than she does. While it may not seem very obvious to you (the outside observer), Brenda is an extremely loving individual that seems to naturally slip into whatever emotional part her fellow actors in life most need her to play.

Now, there is no doubt that Brenda has always been more sexually excited by the existence of the blue gym bag than either Dee or me, though I must admit it has brought us all many hours of pleasant diversion. We've watched the pornographic videos, and I let the girls read the books, which they did together in Dee's room. And they loved to experiment with the nipple clamps and vibrators, though they usually seemed to think it necessary to ask my permission before they delved into the treasures of the gym bag for their own gratification.

Very shortly after we moved to the house by the lake, Brenda surprised both of us at the breakfast table with a strange request:

"Freddy, can I have $1,347?"

I put down my newspaper. "What?"

"I need $1,347. Please? I don't want to let you know what it's for, so please don't ask. Can I? Please?"

"You want to buy something?"

"Yes."

I grinned at her. "Does that include the sales tax?"

She suddenly looked flustered. "Oh. I guess not. I suppose you should include ... uh ...."

"One hundred and eight," Dee said matter-of-factly, and when I turned to stare at her she explained. "Eight percent in Illinois. Well ... $107.76. Just round up to One-Oh-Eight. Plus the $1,347 is $1,455." She got up and started clearing the dishes.

"Do YOU know what she wants?" I asked her.

She blinked at me. "Well ... no. I was just trying to help with the math."

I couldn't suppress a laugh. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my wallet, then flipped Brenda one of my two credit cards. "$1,455," I said, grinning. "Not a penny more." Tomorrow was Thursday. I'd just have Dee transfer another couple grand into my account when I had her in my office for her weekly "financial trance" session. I had to admit, I was certainly intrigued. But I didn't have to wait long.

That very evening, when I got home from school, I was greeted with a sight I will never forget. There, standing in the middle of the kitchen, completely naked, stood Dee; her eyes cast submissively downward, her hands by her sides. The nipple clamps adorned her heavy breasts, and from her posture, I guessed (correctly) that the butt plug was inserted in her pretty ass. Brenda had made a "sexual presentation" of her friend before for my amusement and titillation, but this time there was a distinct difference. Every single strand of Dee's pubic hair was gone.

I walked silently up to the lovely girl and observed her closely. She didn't look up; only blushed furiously. Several feet away, Brenda stood nervously, like a starving artist at her very first gallery opening. She seemed to be holding her breath. I walked around Dee, examining her closely from all sides, then paused in front of her and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. She jumped a little, but did not look up.

"Spread your legs a bit, please Dee." She complied immediately. I put my palm on the flat of her tummy and ran my hand slowly between her legs. She made a mewling noise.

"Is this permanent?" I asked Brenda.

My wife replied in a small, uncertain voice. "Yes."

I'd read about permanent hair removal treatments in the newspaper. This, I assumed, was "the bikini area" the ads had mentioned. 

"Brenda, please come over here and stand behind Dee." She did as I told her, quickly but nervously. "Closer," I commanded, and she pressed herself into Dee's back. She slid her hands around her body, holding her just below her chest, as if doing so was very natural. Dee leaned back into her slightly, and Brenda's hands rose to cup and squeeze the full breasts, lightly flicking the clamps with her fingertips.

I was still wearing my suit and tie, but I knelt on the tile floor, gently lifted Dee's right leg and put it over my left shoulder, then leaned forward and began to lick the soft flesh. It was amazingly smooth, and her skin smelled of baby powder. She was wet, and she tasted wonderful. Within seconds, she was coming very hard.

I let her body shake and quiver for awhile, and finally, after her uncontrollable moans died down into heavy panting, I got to my feet and stood once again before her. She seemed unable to control her emotions any longer, and she threw her arms around my neck as Brenda let go and stood back away from her. She was crying softly, and I could feel the harsh metal of the nipple clamps through my shirt. "Please," she begged meekly. "Please, Master. Take me, please! I'll do anything. Anything .... I can suck you! Or you can do it in my ass. You like that! Please ...."

I took her hand and led her into the bedroom.

Later that evening over a dinner of chicken Caesar salad and hot bread, the girls giddily related their day-long adventure at the "hair removal clinic." They had obviously been very nervous, excited, not just a little turned on, and above all else, extremely anxious about my response to the permanent nature of thing. I listened attentively, and then felt it necessary to seize control of the relationship again. I had come to realize some time ago that Brenda often lived submissive fantasies through Dee's subservience.

"Brenda, where's my credit card?"

She displayed her nervousness again, and raced to get it out of her purse. I took it and handed it ceremoniously to Dee. "Dee, tomorrow morning it's Brenda's turn. I want you to order them to leave a small patch of hair just above her slit. They can do that, can't they?"

Brenda suddenly blushed beet red, and Dee answered quickly. "Yes, and they can even shape it, almost like a tattoo. They have a whole book of pictures. They can make a little heart, or an arrow, or ... or just about anything!"

"You pick, Dee. Anything you want. No more than two inches in diameter. Everything else smooth and bare. And Brenda, you are not to say anything to influence her in her choice of design."

Dee looked very excited at the prospect. Brenda lowered her eyes and blushed even more."

"Golly!" she said softly.

The following night, as we lay catching our breath in bed, I rolled onto my side and raked my wife's body with my hungry eyes. Her body glistened with a thin sheen of sweat; her breasts rose and fell rhythmically with her ragged breathing. She looked up at me and gave me a thin smile.

"Gosh, Freddy," she said softly. "You took me so ... so ... hard! You haven't done it to me like that for a long time."

I trailed a finger lazily between her breasts and slid it farther down her moist skin to her newly denuded slit. She exclaimed a sharp "Aaaahhhh!" and arched her hips upward against my invading finger. She grabbed my wrist, and her body was wracked with yet another violent seizure as she pulled my hand away.

"Please, Freddy! Please! I don't think I can take any more!"

My fingers were thick with a mixture of my cum and her own copious fluids. I rested my palm on her flat tummy, and then began tracing the strange patch of hair that had been left a few inches below her naval. This remaining pubic hair was very short, but the jet black patch was in sharp contrast with her pale skin.

"What is this shape?" I asked.

She was still struggling to catch her breath, but managed to answer. "I don't know. The guys at the hair-removal place had never seen anything like it. Dee drew it on a piece of paper, and they just copied it. She didn't have a name for it, but she said that's what she wanted. She said it just suited me."

I wasn't sure I agreed. I'd never seen anything like it, either.

It was a seven-pointed star.

DEE'S BIRTHDAY PRESENT

(I should pause here and explain that officially, outside of a substantial brokerage account and annual income tax filing, Dee Darlingshire no longer exists. Let's face it; she had barely existed before. She had only met a handful of people in her entire life, her father keeping her a physical, as well as emotional, hostage. Brenda and I kept up that sham, which was pitifully easy. Dee's only identification now was a debit card from my bank account which bore the name "Dee Smith." No one in any of the stores she frequented for groceries knew her by any other name. As a child, she'd never met anyone around the lake house, since Old Man Darlingshire had confined her to the house and grounds, and had literally kept her cloistered and at his constant beck and call. At Brenda's suggestion, we had always introduced her to others as an employee, and Dee seemed to appreciate the anonymity more than anything else we could have done. It's a very sad commentary that Dee, who had once been a topic of tremendous mystery and speculation in the business media as the sole heir to the Darlingshire fortune, was literally forgotten now that everyone thought all the money was gone.) 

There are little traditions and rituals in every family, and our household was certainly no different. Well, okay, we WERE different; and come to think of it, so were our traditions and rituals. 

Somehow, Tuesdays became "Naked Dee day," or at least Tuesday evenings did. Brenda would spend the afternoon preparing her, bathing her, doing her hair, and from the moment I came in from work, Dee would not be allowed to wear anything (except an apron while she was in the kitchen). She really makes a rather fetching nude, and through constant hypnotic suggestion, she was never allowed to become comfortable with her nakedness. Sometimes, she would sport some of the mementoes from the gym bag, and from time to time, she would even be restrained by the handcuffs during dinner, and Brenda would have to feed her. It also became ritual during theses meals for Brenda and I to carry on long talks (often about Dee herself), completely excluding her from the conversation. Brenda often commented that this was the best thing for Dee, who needed frequent emotional reinforcement for the subservient role in life she so desired.

I enjoyed seeing the two girls wearing negligees and nightgowns, and as time went on, this became the standard evening uniform after dinner. At bedtime, however, the slinky garments were also shed, and it was my rule that we would always sleep in the nude. Even when I chose to sleep alone, leaving them to "their own devices," they were forbidden to wear anything from bedtime until morning. 

We would all eat out once a week, whether in a five-star establishment or just fast food. And once a month, I would take one of them out for a "night on the town;" just the two of us. A real date. This event was almost always preceded by a day-long build-up, in which one "sister" would excitedly help the other prepare, primping and cleaning and brushing and gossiping. The two of us (my date and I) would not only spend the evening at an entertainment of some sort (a play or movie, usually) and dinner, but we'd get a motel room for a romantic night-long getaway. The next day, the two girls would chat and giggle, while the one left behind pried her female lover for every detail, sexual as well as romantic.

There were many evenings of "threesome sex," as you might imagine, but I would most often pick one of them to share my bed for the night, while the other would sleep alone in Dee's room. And this (as if it wasn't a strange enough practice on its own), often led to yet another bizarre occurrence. For many times, during the height of sexual coupling, I'd become aware of the other one watching. Once in a great while, I'd catch the two of them staring at each other as I manipulated my partner for the evening closer and closer toward her orgasm. It was as if they could share the feeling through their eyes. During the height of our coupling, it was not uncommon for me to hear the other, across the room and peeking around the door, moaning out her passion as the girl I was fucking began to lose control herself. It was actually kind of spooky. But (I argued with myself), not completely unheard of. After all, lots of people like to watch.

The one habit I could never seem to break Dee of was her sneaking into the big bedroom during my nights alone with Brenda, curling up on the floor and going to sleep at the foot of the bed. Several times, I tripped over her as I stumbled to the bathroom in the middle of the night. As autumn progressed, and the nights got cooler, I'd often find her there, shivering with cold. I'd chastise her and quickly hustle her into the big bed with Brenda and me, where we'd warm her with our body heat. Usually, Dee would have no memory of coming into the room. Even when I'd leave her hypnotized in her own bed for the night, she'd show up later in the master bedroom at the foot of the big bed. Brenda never commented on the odd practice, but she bought a thicker oval rug for the bedroom, and she started leaving a blanket on the floor.

I have always been terrible at picking out presents. It's not that I'm an unfeeling sort, it's just that I don't seem to possess the talent for knowing exactly what it is that people most want. Fortunately, Brenda is a master of the art. And so, when Dee's birthday rolled around in early December, Brenda took matters into her own hands and spent a small fortune on reservations for one of my "romantic evenings out" alone with Dee for the following week. It included a showing of "The Barber of Seville" and dinner in a super-posh restaurant in the city. I HATE opera, but I knew in my heart that Dee would absolutely love it.

Dee's birthday happened to fall on a Tuesday, a "Naked Dee Day," and despite my suggestion that we forgo the ritual on her special day, Brenda insisted that it would only make her first birthday in our "family" all the more memorable. I had long since learned to trust my wife in matters of the heart, and so I raised no objections. Brenda went all out for the evening, and spent two hours preparing Dee for her big birthday at home. 




The Addicted Natural Ch. 11



When I came in that evening, I was greeted by the lovely site of Dee, nude and blushing, in all her finery. The pair of nipple clamps was the one that attached to her labia, her hands were cuffed with the long-chained device that allowed her arms to hang submissively at her sides, and the butt plug was obviously in place. A marble cake (that Dee had baked earlier in the day herself) sat tantalizingly on the counter. Brenda had decorated it with sugary roses and violets, and there were 25 candles scattered about its top. An envelope, obviously containing the tickets to the opera, sat next to it, and "To Dee, from her Master" was scrawled across its front. Dee absolutely glowed.

After my normal kisses "hello" to each of my women and appropriate comments on Dee's appearance that complimented them both, Dee was unshackled, allowed to put on her apron, and she began putting the finishing touches to dinner preparations while I read the evening paper and mail. Dinner was an enormous success, as was the cake and coffee, and when the time finally came for presents, the tickets were such a surprise that Dee burst into happy tears and hugged me tightly, despite what must have been some painful tugging on the nipple clamps. As I returned the embrace, I glanced at my wife, who simply smiled and winked.

"And do you have a gift for Dee, my dear?" I asked Brenda, when things had settled down again.

"Yes, Freddy," she replied in a rather small voice. I was suddenly on my guard. I knew that voice. She had something up her sleeve; something I wasn't going to approve of (but somehow or another always consented to in the end). And the way she was staring down at her plate, the way she seemingly couldn't make eye contact, boded ill indeed.

"What is it, Brenda?" I asked nervously. Dee suddenly seemed to catch the undercurrent, and was immediately silent; her wide, innocent, pretty eyes looking questioningly between the two of us. Brenda took a nervous breath.

"Freddy, I want Dee to have your baby."

I blinked. "What?"

"I want you to make her pregnant, Freddy."

I still wasn't sure I understood her. I started to laugh, but didn't. Brenda seemed very serious. "Um, Brenda ... I ... uh ... Maybe we should talk about this; just the two of us ...."

"No, Freddy, I want her to hear. This is my gift to her."

I glanced at Dee. She had assumed her familiar posture, her hands on her lap, her eyes cast submissively downward, the way she always did when Brenda and I would talk about her at dinner. Normally, this seemed to give her a sense of subservience that was a gratifying part of her nature. Now, she blushed almost painfully red.

Brenda had put Dee on birth control pills (the same ones she, herself took) on that first day she had come to live with us in the small house in town. I admit, there were a few anxious days on my part when I realized that our first two unprotected couplings might have culminated in a young heir to the Darlingshire empire; but Dee had had her period right on schedule, and she'd been as regular as Old Faithful every month since. The fact that the girls' cycles did not overlap was especially pleasing to me. In fact, everything about my life was especially pleasing right now. But a baby has a way of changing things. A baby has a way of changing EVERYTHING.

"Brenda ...."

"Freddy, I know you don't think it's a good idea, but that's because you're not thinking about it the right way."

I shook my head and prepared to reason with her. "Brenda, think about how it would look. We've been introducing her as our housekeeper. But if Dee has a baby, then everyone would assume that her baby is mine."

Brenda still couldn't look me in the eye. "It wouldn't be her baby, Freddy."

"What?"

"The baby would be mine."

"WHAT!?"

Now she looked up at me. Her eyes were clear, her voice steady. She'd really thought this out.

"She would have your baby, but it would be raised as yours and mine. That's the only way it could work. It's the only way the baby could truly be yours. We would all raise him, all of us together. But when he got old enough, he would think of ME as his mother. Dee would be his nanny. Don't you see, Freddy? It would bind Dee to us. PHYSICALLY bind her. She could never leave. Never. If she did, she would be leaving her own son. Even when we're all old and gray and our son has moved away from home, Dee would still have to stay with us; stay to see him when he visits; stay to see our grandkids. She would know, now and forever, that her slavery is permanent. There could be no greater bondage."

I was absolutely flabbergasted. The idea was so insane it was practically demonic! 

"Brenda, that's crazy!" I said as calmly as I could. "You can't impregnate a woman against her will!"

"It won't be against her will, Freddy. She will do it because she loves you, and because you order her to do it. She will bear your child and give him to you because you command her to do so."

"Brenda, this 'slavery" thing is just a game! Babies are real!"

"I'm sorry, but you're wrong. Dee's enslavement is very, very real. And doing this will only underscore that reality. It will make it tangible. It will force a commitment to honor the 'slave' contract. For all of us. This would make it FOREVER, Freddy."

I took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair. She was doing it again. She was winning an argument by using logic, but her logic was like no other in the world.

"What if I don't want a baby?" I said defensively.

"Come on, Freddy," she scolded softly, smiling. "A son to take fishing? How could you resist?"

"NO!" I said firmly. But the damage had already been done. The mental image was there. Everyman's dream: he and his son in a boat at sunrise. Two poles and a bond as strong as blood. If I couldn't shake that picture from my head, I'd never be able to talk sense into her.

"I thought you wanted to have your own children. We've talked about it."

"There's plenty of time, Freddy. Dee is older than me."

"Three years!"

She was smiling broadly now. She knew she'd won. "Plenty of time, Freddy."

I was losing it. I had to think of a way to convince her, convince both of them, that this couldn't POSSIBLY work. "You could never make people believe someone else's child is your own! There are doctors and nurses involved. We couldn't hide a childbirth!"

"We wouldn't have to," Brenda replied calmly. "Think about it. Dee would go through a normal pregnancy and normal medical treatment. She'd simply use my name."

"That's crazy!" I repeated. "What about insurance? She'd have to have identification! She'd have to give them her Social Security number."

"We'll use cash," Brenda said. "No one will ask for identification if we don't USE insurance. And she'll give the doctors MY Social Security number. And MY name."

I blinked. It couldn't be that simple. I tried desperately to think of something that wouldn't be covered by such an easy ruse. Exasperated, I turned to Dee. Her eyes remained downcast. She was still blushing; and she was shaking.

"Don't ask her!" Brenda said suddenly. "Order her, Freddy! Command her to have your baby!"

I tried to ignore my pretty wife. "Dee?" I said gently. She looked up, tears in her eyes. I couldn't read her expression, but it was obvious that she was deeply moved.

"Don't," she urged softly, and I wisely remained silent. "Please, Master. Please don't ask!" Her voice caught and she began to cry in earnest. I didn't know what to do. I think I'm like most guys: crying women unnerve me completely. I watched, speechless, as Dee moved her chair back and stood up. Brenda did the same, and in another moment, they were in each other's arms, holding one another tightly, crying. I shuffled my feet beneath the table and waited patiently for this crazy female emotional moment to finally wind down. When, at last, they were dry-eyed and normal, Brenda turned Dee's naked form toward me.

"Command her, Freddy!" she urged.

I sighed and stood. Once again, I was climbing onto the stage of this very strange play that had become my life. Dee stood before me, very meek, very demure, and very, very desirable. I took a deep breath.

"Dee."

She looked up with big, brown, shy eyes. "Yes, Master?"

"Go get me your birth control pills, Dee."

"Yes, Master!" and she moved off toward the guest bathroom as fast as her butt plug and three-pronged nipple clamps would allow. Very quickly, she was back, handing me half a dozen foil-backed pill dispensers. I took them, threw them away in the kitchen wastebasket, and then turned back to my excited slave.

"Dee, you are going to have my baby," I said sternly. "I'm going to make you pregnant."

She cast her eyes downward. "Yes, Master."

And she smiled.

DEE'S QUICKENING

"It takes a willing slave to sustain a vicious master."

That quote, oft used, haunts me to this day. Somehow, I found myself ever deeper in the role of master to my two ladies. It may seem to you that I was being duped by my lovely slaves, who seemed to consistently WISH for more and more ways to expand that role. I truly didn't know what to do. I loved them both absolutely. I wanted nothing more than to make them happy and free. But the thing they wanted most was to be more completely mine. A true conundrum. 

The next Tuesday, normally Naked Dee Day, was instead her big night out with me. I walked through the door, home from school, to be brought up short by a sight that I can only describe as astoundingly beautiful. Brenda had gone out and bought Dee a forest green velvet dress with a plunging, nearly pornographic neckline. Her hair had been done to perfection, and I don't think I've ever seen a more stunningly fascinating woman. I complimented Brenda on her artistry, kissed her good-bye, and Dee and I were on our way.

The big city is a good hour and a half away, but we made decent time. My dread of the operatic evening had been hovering over my head for a week now, but somehow Dee seemed to sense my reluctance, and she'd devised a method of sustaining my interest that again left me absolutely shocked. In our private box in the opera house, she positioned her chair slightly behind me, leaned forward, pressing her breasts in to my back and shoulder, and spoke softly into my ear throughout the performance, translating the words as they were sung. It WAS much more interesting when you could understand what was being said. I had had no inkling that she knew Italian, and told her so when we had been seated for dinner. I fought a losing battle to keep my gaze above her prodigious cleavage (a thousand greedy eyes raked her luscious form that evening, and she blushed almost continuously). She astounded me even further by telling me that she was fluent in Spanish, Italian and French, and that she was nominally proficient in Japanese and Russian. I couldn't believe I'd made such a brilliant beauty a hypnotic cook and housecleaner!

I left to go the bathroom for a few minutes, only to return to find that drinks had arrived. She told me she'd ordered a "genius" for me, though the pint of stout next to my plate was obviously a Guinness. This, as it happened, was exactly what I'd intended to order, which was not entirely surprising. Dee seemed to have an uncanny way of serving me things I wanted at home before I'd even asked for them. Oft times, it was a particular type of tea, or perhaps a favorite meal. At first, I considered it unnerving, but I eventually got used to it. I'd long since chalked it up to the idea that she'd become so attuned to my needs that she could read unintended body language or moods. This, however, was the first time she'd gotten me something that she obviously didn't even know the meaning of. She'd told the waiter "a dark beer called genius," and the guy had figured it out. I pointedly asked her how she'd come up with the order, but she just shrugged and changed the subject.

She'd gotten herself only a glass of water, and when I asked her why she hadn't ordered wine, she answered that now that she was trying to get pregnant, Brenda had decided that alcohol was strictly off limits. I suddenly had a flash of inspiration. 

I passed my hand over her glass and proclaimed: "Dee's water into wine," then I smiled innocently at her.

"What did you just do?" she asked, grinning suspiciously.

"You can get drunk from that glass of water now," I told her.

"I won't get drunk from a glass of water!"

"You will from that one. Do you remember last night, when I hypnotized you?"

"Brenda and me, yes." I'd gotten into the habit of putting them both into a trance simultaneously. It saved time.

"Well," I replied craftily, "I gave you a strong post-hypnotic suggestion that when you heard me say that trigger phrase and saw me pass my hand over the glass, the water would affect you just the same as wine. That way, you could enjoy the effects of alcohol without actually drinking any."

"Really?" She stared hard at the glass. "You really did that?"

"Yes." Of course I hadn't, but if I wasn't entirely mistaken, Dee was so susceptible to suggestion, that the mere belief would make it so. I looked knowingly at her.

She took a sip. "I don't feel anything."

"You will."

And she did. By the end of the meal, she was happy, giddy and very tipsy. When she first "realized" that the water was having an affect on her, it became her favorite topic of conversation, and she praised my "total control" over her, physically as well as mentally.

Our hotel was in the same building as the restaurant, so all I had to do was lead my drunken lovely to our room, where she immediately attacked me, clawing at my clothes, smothering my face in kisses; caressing, stroking, licking.

I retaliated by being very slow and agonizingly gentle. I stretched the act into an hour-long seduction, when it was obvious from the beginning that all she really wanted was to get my sperm into her fertile womb as quickly as possible. Slowly, methodically, I brought her to first one gentle, shattering orgasm with my tongue, and then another with my fingers. When I finally mounted her humping, straining form, I made my deep, slow, rhythmic strokes last a long, long time, and she came twice more before I finally, finally emptied my balls deep inside her.

She cried softly and nestled into my embrace as we lay in bed afterwards and basked in the afterglow of our pleasure. Finally, she looked up at me and asked softly: "Do you think that was the time? Do you think I'm pregnant?"

"Dee, this could take awhile."

She snuggled into me. "I hope I'm pregnant now. I'll remember tonight forever!"

I sighed. "Dee, I have to ask you this. Are you sure you want to go through with Brenda's plan? I won't make you give up your child. You can still have one if you want, but you don't have to give it up."

She hugged me. "Brenda's right. Brenda is ALWAYS right. At least, where emotions are concerned; you know that. And she's right this time, too. If I have a claim on the child, it would never REALLY be yours. So, I'll give you my child. I'd give you my soul, if I could. I'd give up my life, gladly, if you ordered me to. I was born to be a slave, Fred. It's what I've wanted my whole life, but I always thought it was only a dream. I didn't think it could ever really happen. And when it finally did, it was ... beyond a dream that my master would be my one true love." She hugged me tightly and I could feel her tears on my chest. "I'm so happy ...."

But that wasn't "The" night. Dee's period started right on schedule two weeks later, and she was so bitterly disappointed that Brenda called me home from work to hypnotize her and reiterate the fact that this wasn't some "failure" on her part. January's cycle again proved her to be without child, and despite my continued (and often exasperated) explanations that there are many, many women in this world who are NOT on birth control and still NOT pregnant, Dee's always-gay demeanor slowly became strained.

But February came up gold. Or at least blue, which was the color of the little stick Dee pissed on which (as some of you may have guessed) is the result of a positive pregnancy test. Success!

Good grief, what had I done?! A baby! The implications were staggering!

As the weeks and months stretched on, there was absolutely no change in shy, meek, demure, subservient Dee. Well, but then again, there were. She still went about her chores. She still seemed to live to serve both Brenda and myself. She still cooked and cleaned and did all sorts of chores. She still came into my office every Thursday and made obscene amounts of money in various mutual fund investments, (though she neither knew nor cared). She still brought me tea whenever I wanted it (but had not yet asked).

Brenda became a self-styled expert on pregnancy. She bought dozens of books and downloaded literally hundreds of articles from the internet. She established a strict diet, and a rigorous exercise program, which Dee followed without comment or question. Thanks to my positive blood type, there was very little morning sickness. And thanks to the diet and exercise, there was very little change in Dee's body ... at first. But that would obviously, inevitably change. 

A few of Brenda's books and articles referred to a sharp increase in sexual appetite during pregnancy, and after she'd mentioned this to her, I often suspected that Dee's propensity for mental suggestibility spurred just that. The girl was absolutely insatiable. Fortunately, there were two of us to keep up with her.

She began to "show" in late May, though it would still be quite awhile before she would be forced to wear maternity clothes.

On a pleasant spring evening in early June, Dee was serving us from the stove as we sat around the kitchen table. All at once, a very strange expression twisted her pretty face into a look of startled shock, and she sat heavily in one of the chairs. Immediately, Brenda and I leaped up and stood, concerned, on either side of her.

"What's wrong?" Brenda yelled.

Dee looked up into her eyes, then over to me, before settling her gaze down at her gently protruding midriff. "It moved," she said softly.

And, happy and relieved, Brenda and I knelt beside her, lifted her shirt, and placed our hands on her bare belly. It took awhile. But then it happened.

The little tyke kicked.

MAXINE

Later in June, I fixated on the idea that the girls needed a little extra protection when I wasn't around. I decided on another addition to our family. I'd always wanted a dog. A big dog. And now was as good a time as any.

I hustled the girls into the car and headed to the local pound. On the way, I made myself perfectly clear. It had to be a male, since I was tired of being hopelessly outnumbered. It had to be a puppy, since I wanted to train it from youth. And I wanted something big, like a Labrador or some other retriever. They were agreeable. Anything I wanted, they said.

But as soon as we walked in, they both squealed delightedly and raced to a cage on the other side of the room of yapping, howling canines, and knelt, ogling and petting the dog inside. It was small. It was female. It was already two years old. And there was absolutely no way I was going to dissuade them. The attendant told us that this particular dog was scheduled for destruction the next day; and that was that. 

Dejected, I paid the "adoption fee" for the little beast, and the girls put her in the back seat between them. The thing was what I've always called a miniature collie, but I've since found out it's something called a Shetland Sheepdog, or "Sheltie." It weighed barely over ten pounds, smaller than normal (probably due to abuse), and it didn't have a name. I muttered to them that I had really, really wanted a big dog. I'd gone there for a "max," and we'd wound up with a "mini." And so the girls decided on the name Maxine.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 11



The dog absolutely adored me. It would follow me around whenever I was home. It would lie patiently at my feet when it sensed I didn't want to play, and would bound around me ecstatically when I did. She DID prove to be a good watchdog. And, oddly enough, she had another amazing talent. She was a fishing dog. She would sit quietly in the boat as I fished, watching my line with patient interest. If I got a strike, she would perk up her ears. And if I hooked into a sizeable fish, she would bark and jump around until I'd landed it, and then she'd stand proudly over it, as if she'd caught it herself.

She proved to be a great dog. She really loved me. She really loved the girls.

And, a couple months later when she met the White Witch, she really loved her, too.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 12



Chapter 12 -- The White Witch of Walden -- Introduction and Climax

A DAY AWAY FROM WALDEN

On a Friday in late July, we loaded up the pickup for a trip away from "Walden." It was Brenda who had begun calling it that, though I, despite having taught Thoreau in an American Authors class several times in the past, refused to totally accept the moniker. I've always thought old Henry David a bit too folksy. That stuff about "you can tell a lot about a man by the way he stacks his firewood" is just too ... cute, I guess. And anyway, our lake is nothing at all like the "pond" in the books (or the actual Walden lake today, for that matter). Anyway, there was no denying Brenda her image, so I didn't really argue the point.

It took awhile to get the boat trailer hooked up, and when I pulled it around to the front of the house, the girls were ready with the various boxes we'd need for our little camping adventure abroad. Maxine bounded all around barking frantically and seemingly getting in everyone's way at once. We'd done this twice before this year, and she knew what was coming. 

Dee was forced to do less of the manual labor, and was really beginning to look like a woman six months along. Both girls wore shorts, but Dee had begun wearing stretch shorts and maternity tops more than a month before, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was seriously knocked up. Being unable to lift heavy items was having a detrimental impact on her "chief cook and bottle-washer" place in the family, but she knew it was only for a few more months. Actually, she seemed to have a glow about her. She made a very pretty pregnant lady.

We finally hit the road by late morning, and we pulled into a National Park campground (courtesy of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers) about noon. I decided to pitch the tent later, after I'd done a couple hours fishing, but I set up lounge chairs for the girls and unloaded several boxes for them. I packed a small cooler with sandwiches, beer and dog treats, and Maxine and I left them in the shade of a giant oak. The fishing was good, but we'd already decided on burgers for dinner, so I released the several bass I caught (much to Maxine's dismay). I decided to pull the boat back out of the lake because there was no room in the marina, and I drove back to our camp site in the late afternoon.

As I pulled in, I caught sight of the girls talking to an older woman. They'd dragged our three lounge chairs to the opposite side of the huge oak tree since the sun had shifted the shade away from the table. Dee and Brenda were facing me, and all I could see at first was the back of the other woman's head. Her hair was pure snow white, and she seemed to hold the girl's attention to such a degree that at first, they didn't even see me pull up. They were all laughing at some joke. There was something about the woman's hair that held my attention. It was long. Older women usually don't wear their hair long. Then I saw the woman's legs beyond her, stretched out toward the girls on the lounge chair. Long, muscular legs. Nice legs. VERY nice legs. Something wasn't quite ... right; and as the girls finally saw me and waved, before the woman turned around toward me, I thought I knew the answer.

She was an albino. And she was not an old woman at all. In fact, she was a very young woman. Very young. And she was, without reservation or exaggeration, the most exotically beautiful girl I have ever set eyes on. 

She stood to meet me, smiling, and I was instantly enthralled. Not tall, about five-two; very slender; legs, as they say, that went all the way to the ground. Hips that seemed to denote power (a runner?), and small breasts with nipples that were very prominent below her blouse, which was tied below her chest to reveal a flat, tantalizing stomach. Her skin, though the pale pink-cream color caused by her condition, was smooth and without blemish. The skin of a young, vital girl in the prime of life. Her eyes were slanted very slightly, and held a secret of the orient, though that trait was obviously buried far back in the roots of her family tree, and they were the deep, pure, pale blue of a clear summer sky; once again the characteristic impact of albinism. Her hair was like Brenda's; long, heavy, straight and thick, but while Brenda's was absolute black, this girl's was the purest white. White, thin, slanting eyebrows and lashes only tended to heighten the oriental look, but the full lips made me think there was, despite the straight hair, a trace of African blood in her veins as well.

I was instantly hard. And more to the point, I was instantly tongue-tied. Despite living with two very nice-looking women, I have always been (and probably always will be) extremely shy around beautiful girls. Still, I didn't seem to have the capacity to look away, and this "Venus Rising" rapidly became self conscious, blushed, and cast nervous eyes downward under my gaze. Fortunately, Maxine saved the moment by bounding up to the new girl, jumping on the lounge chair, and nuzzling and licking her frantically. With a new diversion, the girl gladly turned her attention to the dog, petting and cooing to her, while the girls introduced the little beast.

But then she was forced to give me her attention again while Brenda introduced me. "Freddy, this is Willie. She's camping in a trailer several campsites down the road."

Each of her movements was graceful, and petting the dog took on a sensual note in my mind. Now she extended her hand to me, and even that seemed somehow sinuous. We shook hands.

"Wilhelmina," I guessed.

She laughed, and it sounded like crystal bells; happy, open. Her teeth were perfect. "Frederick," she guessed (correctly) in turn, bowing slightly. "I've been hearing so much about you." It was a pleasant derivation of a British accent, with slight overemphasis of short vowel sounds. Exotic, just like she was. Ah, I thought, not a runner ... a swimmer.

"Barbados?" I asked.

She opened her mouth in astonished mirth, blessing me with a grin that I somehow found slightly pornographic. "Very good, Frederick," she said. "I lived not too far from there. Actually, I'm from a very, very small island between Kingstown and St. Gorges." She continued smiling, but blushed again and lowered her blue eyes.

"Fred, you're staring," Dee admonished.

"He's not staring; he's leering," Brenda said. I glared at her, but she was ignoring me, and she placed a friendly hand on Willie's shoulder. "Don't take it personally; it's just what men do." 

"It's okay," Willie said quietly, her eyes still downcast. "I'm used to it. I know I look ... different."

"The truth of the matter is," I said rather too forcefully, trying to steer quickly away from this topic, "I WAS leering; but only because you are a remarkably beautiful girl. Please accept my heartfelt apology and deepest contrition. It won't happen again."

"Wanna bet?" Brenda said, grinning tauntingly at me. I gave her another glare and she laughed.

I was making a very conscious effort NOT to stare, and just for something to do, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a map of the campground. I handed it to Willie. "Where are you camping?"

She took the paper uncertainly. She suddenly looked very nervous. "Um ... I'm not too good with maps, I'm afraid." 

She was holding the sheet upside down. I took it and righted it. Then I pointed to a sign hanging from a post beside our picnic table. "We're in campsite D-17," I explained.

Again, she looked nervously at the paper in her hands. "Yes ... well ...." She stared at it for a long moment, then lowered her face until it was only a few inches from the page and glared myopically at it. "Yes, well, you see ... the thing is ...." She seemed to make up her mind about something, straightened her back with false pride, and handed the map back to me. "The thing is, actually, that I can't ... I can't ... read."

I was shocked into inaction. All I seemed to be able to do, for the moment, was to stare unbelievingly.

"Well, I suppose I really must be toddling along, then," she said. She smiled bravely, but her eyes were glistening. She made a movement away from us, toward her right.

"No!" Dee said quickly. She was suddenly at Willie's side, her arm around the girl's waist. I became cognizant that Dee had always been near the girl physically, ever since I'd walked up to them. She seemed ... I don't know ... entranced by her, and there seemed to be some sort of subtle connection between them. "Please, Willie! Please don't go yet. Reading isn't that big a deal. I'd really like for us to get to know each other better. Maybe we could teach you ...."

"I didn't mean to react that way," I told her levelly. "It's just that you're ... well, you're very well spoken. I couldn't imagine that someone with your verbal skills wouldn't be able to ..."

"It's a long story," Willie said. "My auntie raised me." (She used the extended short "au" sound in the word that's prevalent in England and the northeastern U.S., but was a bit of a curious, delightful oddity in the Midwestern states.) "She was very strict about the way I spoke. But I was never taught to read ... words." The way she said it made it sound as if she'd been taught to read something other than words. I didn't question her about it. I never got the chance.

"You BITCH!" a gruff male voice yelled. It came from several dozen yards away, and we all turned in that direction. A guy was walking toward us; a BIG guy. And he looked familiar. I suddenly realized that I'd seen him fishing while I was out on the lake. He'd been in a john boat which had the marina logo on the side, meaning he'd rented it. He was now striding purposefully (and angrily) toward us.

"Who's that?" Dee asked.

"Oh my goodness!" Willie exclaimed. "Does he have a beard?"

Again, something basic but profound about our new friend was instantly evident. She was practically blind. The man, who was still a good way off but getting rapidly nearer all the time, did indeed have a beard; a bushy, black beard that covered his whole face. He wore a checked t-shirt and blue jeans, and he carried himself with the authority of command. 

Albinism robs the eyes of pigment (as well as doing so to the skin and hair, obviously). I'd done a paper on it once upon a time, and found the people who had the condition were, overall, a fascinating group; or at least the ones I'd interviewed had been. There's a lot of adversity to be overcome, but by far, the greatest was simply coping with the general population's outright rudeness. Individuals with the condition stand out in a crown. They are different. And people never seem to let them forget that.

Without pigment, the eye loses definition, and as a result, depth perception. Objects tend to blur when they are distant, and not even strong glasses can correct the lack of sharpness and detail. To compensate for this, it is not uncommon to see a person's eyes jitter and shift rapidly. Willie had not displayed this trait, but it was now obvious that her eyesight was extremely degraded. (It is another widely-held misconception that all albinos have pink eyes; and while a very few do, the vast majority of those I came into contact with shared Willie's eye coloring -- pale blue.)

"Who is it, Willie?" I asked levelly.

She took a deep breath. She suddenly looked like a child. A child in trouble.

"It's my husband."

Another shock. I took a deep breath and turned to meet the oncoming stranger.

"Hi," I said smiling. I put out my hand to shake. "Fred Fielding. We were just talking to your wife. Pleased to meet you."

But the man just swept me aside with the back of his arm and continued past me. I staggered, off balance. He took two more strides toward Willie, raised his huge hand, and hit her hard across the face, knocking her to the ground. "You fuckin' BITCH!" he screamed. "I told you to stay in the tent!" He reached down, grabbed her by one arm, hauled her to her feet, and raised his hand to strike again.

I truly don't remember taking the two steps toward the guy. Come to think of it, I don't remember any of this too clearly. But I was there, somehow, and I'd grabbed the man's upraised arm with both of my hands. I think I said something really stupid, like "Hey, now! That's enough of that!" But before I could get the words out entirely, he dropped Willie, swung hard and low with his other arm, and caught me right in the gut.

The air exploded from my lungs. The blow was of such impact that it literally lifted me off my feet, propelled me backwards several feet, and I landed hard on all fours. I found I couldn't move. And more to the point, I found I couldn't breathe. Now, I realized that such a punch (a sucker punch!) would probably do no lasting damage. I realized also that, with time, I would probably be able to breathe again. But take it from me: when you can't breathe, there is little on this earth more important than taking your next breath. That, unfortunately, wasn't happening. And so, with nothing else to do except to await either life or death, I raised my face, my mouth open grotesquely, and watched an amazing drama unfold before my misting eyes. It happened in slow motion, so I wouldn't have to miss a single nuance. Rather a nice view, actually.

Willie sat at the brute's feet, her hands on the ground in front of her, her head hanging downward, her white hair covering her face. The guy slowly reached for her again, but as he did so, Brenda, who was behind him, raced forward with a screech and jumped on his broad back. She began clawing at his head and neck with her nails. Dee, who was standing in front of him, stepped forward and slapped him hard across the face; but it made no sound (and probably did no harm) because of the thick beard. Maxine lunged for the guy's leg, grabbed a mouthful of denim, and began shaking it ferociously, as if it were a deadly enemy (or maybe a chew toy). It was an astounding site. What was more astounding was how easily he dispatched all three of them.

He twisted violently and brought back his elbow, throwing Brenda several yards. She showed just a bit more perseverance than I, however; for when she hit, she rolled, and immediately raised her butt like a sprinter in the starting blocks, ready to race back into the fray. In the meantime, the guy had sort of kicked his right leg forward (the one dangling the snarling little dog), took a kind of hop, and brought his left foot around hard, kicking Maxine in the midriff. She gave a long, high-pitched yelp, and flew all the way to the picnic table, beyond my range of sight. And almost simultaneously, he spun to face Dee, raised his big meaty fist high, and started bringing it down violently toward her head. Dee, for her part, simply stood there, feet apart, hands on her hips; her chin elevated to meet the oncoming fist, and she glared defiantly up at the asshole. She looked very small, very brave, and very, very pregnant. I opened my mouth even wider to yell "NO!" but there wasn't a spare cubic centimeter of air left in my poor lungs. 

Suddenly, the guy's eyes widened with surprise, shame, and ... something else. I couldn't figure it out. His fist stopped its savage trajectory, and he staggered back a step just as Brenda pounced on his back again.

And that's when fuzzy little lights swam in my eyes and I pitched unceremoniously forward onto my face.

The ground was hard, but not too hard, and in time I found myself thinking that it was really rather comfortable. Still, I must have decided to roll over onto my back, because that's where I eventually found myself. The fuzzy little lights continued to whiz around me, and oddly enough, they started talking to me. They were letting me breathe again. They touched me tenderly, and they even licked me. But when I finally opened my eyes, it was Maxine who was licking my face, while Brenda leaned above me on one side and Dee, crying, worried over me on the other. I groaned, tried to sit, failed, and then made a supreme effort to force myself upright. Willie and her husband were gone.

I have never felt more miserably humiliated in my entire life.

The girls' first concern was about ME, which only made it worse. Then, they urged me to take some action against the louse, which made it worse still. Because I couldn't. Not because I was afraid, but because the guy would obviously, without question, take any aggression toward us out on his wife. That's how wife beaters worked. Yell at them, they take it out on the little lady. Threaten them, they'll just restore their good cheer by knocking her around a bit. Throw them in jail today, they'll be out in a week. Out with a vengeance. I hadn't been able to protect Willie. I hadn't been able to protect my own women. I hadn't even been able to protect my dog! And I was just as ineffective now.

I finally decided to simply call it a day. We hadn't set up our camp yet, and now I had no stomach for it. I threw the few boxes and lawn chairs back in the truck and we drove home. 

Oh, man, I felt lousy!

THE GIRL WITH THE WHITE HAIR

The girls gave me exactly 24 hours to feel sorry for myself. At dinner the next evening, they launched into their case, which unfortunately, was poorly thought out and frankly impossible. We had to find her, they said. We had to find her, and we had to help her.

"Come on, Brenda," I argued pleadingly. "You've been writing about women's issues for a couple years now. You know what the chances are against getting an abused wife to leave her husband; especially one as young as Willie. The younger a wife is, the more convinced she is that it's all 'her fault;' and that 'love will prevail in the end.'" 

"She's not in love with him," Dee said earnestly. "She never has been."

I looked curiously at her.

"And she's not even legally married to him," Brenda chimed in. "I mean, she may be married, but she could get it annulled pretty easily. She's still a virgin."

I turned to gawk at my pretty wife. "She TOLD you these things?"

"Well, no ...." The girls looked at each other for a long moment. I swear that when they lock eyes like that, it's almost as if they're communicating. Brenda took a deep breath and turned her attention back to me. "No, she didn't. I could just tell. It's just the way she ... looks; the way she acts. She's never been ... with him. Sexually, I mean. She's never been with any man."

"You can tell if a girl is a virgin just by LOOKING at her?" I asked. I made it sound like an accusation.

She held my gaze. "Well ... no. No, not from looking at a girl. Not any girl. But I could tell by looking at HER."

"She's right, Master," Dee cut in with certainty. "She IS a virgin! And she doesn't love him. She hates him!"

I closed my eyes and shook my head for a moment. My life hadn't been what I considered "normal" for a long time now. But this was getting bizarre. I looked from one to the other with curious concern.

"Please, Freddy, I know you think that sounds really weird, but it's true."

"And how do know these things, exactly?"

"Because she's like us, Freddy." She turned to look into Dee's eyes again for a second before returning her attention to me. "She's just like us. She's one of us."

And, strange as it sounds, I almost believed that. I sat back in my chair and stared at a spot midway between the two of them, my eyes out of focus, remembering. The girls were silent, letting me see back into the past. Back to Willie. If they saw the bulge in the front of my trousers, they wisely withheld comment.

Every now and then, once in a very, very great while, you'll see a girl like that. Usually, I see them from a great distance; across a crowded room. I rarely come into direct contact with such a woman, because 1) I'm not the sort of guy who EVER gets near a girl like that (or vice versa), and 2) there's inevitably a very large group of guys who ARE near a girl like that (hence the crowded room). They're extremely rare, those girls like that. And I've never really been able to figure out why. I have no idea just exactly what it is they have that other women DON'T have.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 12



I suppose I could subscribe to the old "phemerones" hypothesis. Maybe she gives off a particular scent that makes a man desperately want to hold her, and take her away from the sight of other men, and stroke her for the tactile reassurance that she's real, and selfishly protect her from all the things that he himself wants so desperately to do to her. But no, it couldn't just be a smell, because I could still feel those emotions just from the memory of her. Can a person "remember" a smell? Not like that. The smell most definitely wasn't here now, and I had an erection that was almost painful. No, it was something about the way she looked. And in that appearance, she was certainly different from Brenda and Dee. 

And yet, she was certainly the same, too. The way she held herself. The way she smiled. The way she couldn't hold your eyes, and the way she'd blush and cast her own submissively downward. It was almost like an aura of some sort. And the way she'd stood next to the girls, the way she reacted to them, the way she looked at them (and they at her) lent a firm support to the concept of a sisterly bond of some sort.

I took a breath and returned to the present. "Let me get this straight," I said evenly. "She never mentioned hating her husband, or about not having had sex with him, but you still think these things because of some association you have with her."

"She never even mentioned her husband," Dee said.

"And we don't think it," Brenda stated firmly. "We KNOW it!" She let that sink in a moment. "She's a Natural, Freddy."

"Now, wait a minute!" I said defensively. "You're not suggesting ...."

"No. I'm only saying that we need to find her. We need to find her and HELP her!"

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. Logic dictated that this was not going to end well. But no one ever accused women of having an overabundance of logic. 

"Okay," I said firmly, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control. "I'll see what I can do about finding her. But neither of you is permitted to contact her or take any other action without my implicit direction, is that understood?"

They glanced at each other, smiled broadly, and nodded their concurrence.

"Now," I said, "what's her last name?"

They looked at each other again, helplessly this time, then back at me with blank expressions.

"You don't know?" More blank looks. "And you don't know which campsite they were in."

"She said she was in a trailer," Brenda said earnestly.

"But HE accused her of not staying in the TENT," I pointed out.

Dee was starting to cry. "We have to HELP her!" she wailed, and Brenda went to her and held her soothingly. 

"Oh, Freddy, what are we going to do?"

I sat racking my brain, which was difficult since there was a crying woman in the room. My brain sort of derails when a woman cries. "Tell me about your conversation," I suggested. "What did you guys talk about?"

It wasn't a very big help, except that it allowed Dee to get her tears under control. They'd met Willie in the women's public bathroom, and then they'd coxed her back to our camp for glass of iced tea. They'd only been talking for fifteen or twenty minutes before I arrived, and their topics had ranged from albinism to the weather; but while the girls had mentioned me several times, Willie had never said anything about her husband.

Brenda had returned to her seat across from me, and Dee sat looking down at her folded hands for a long minute as I thought the situation out. She squirmed slightly, and frankly looked slightly guilty about something. Finally, in a meek voice, she said: "Rudy .... Her husband's name is Rudy."

I blinked at her, then looked across at Brenda, who was staring openly at our pregnant lover. "She never told us that," she said.

Dee shrugged without looking up. "Maybe she muttered it while we were ... fighting," Dee said. She took a breath and finally met my questioning gaze. "But that's it, I'm sure," she told me firmly. "His name is Rudy."

I decided not to question her on the point, though I frankly wasn't sure if I believed her or not. At least it was something. I chose to attack the problem on several fronts. I would go back to the campground Monday evening (I still had a job to contend with) and try to find a list of campers for the day in question; then I'd get another list of people who rented john boats from the marina. That, at least, would narrow the number of possibilities down below the entire population of the United States. Brenda would try to match the names Wilhelmina, Rudy, Rudolph (or any other derivation or the name) to any spouse abuse complaints within a hundred miles or so (a long shot, at best). And Dee would try to figure out which island Willie might be from by studying online maps. 

The prospects did not seem very good.

THE NIGHT BEFORE THE BIG BANG

"Surrender and sleep!" I commanded. My wife immediately sagged back against the cushions of the couch, her hands at her sides, deep under the influence of her hypnotic trance, while Dee slumped across Brenda's lap, also in a profound sleep. I'd begun hypnotizing them together like this as an expedient. It saved time and energy on my part, and the girls oddly liked it better this way.

It also helped me set up the nightly sleeping arrangements. Usually, I left one of them in a trance, had her go into Dee's room, strip and get into bed, with instructions that when the grandfather clock in the hall struck two, she would leave her trance and slip into a natural sleep, full of pleasant dreams. I would awaken the remaining woman and allow her to show me her gratitude in the master bedroom. For while we engaged in a "threesome" once or twice a week, I found that I much preferred the company of only one intimate partner for the night.

I still hadn't been able to break Dee of the unconscious habit of sneaking into the big bedroom and curling up on the floor at the foot of the bed on the nights it was Brenda's "turn". She was definitely doing it while still in a trance, for she swore she had no knowledge of coming into the bedroom, and I believed her. Even deep hypnotic suggestions had little effect. I came to believe that this was the epitome of subservience in her mind, and that's why she did it. And while I normally let her indulge in her submissive feelings, I was beginning to worry about the affects of the hard, cold floor on her health, as well as the health of our unborn baby. She was less than three months away now.

But for two nights out of the last five, I chose to sleep alone, and I was going to do so again tonight. There was a lot on my mind, and I'd be staying up late again this evening. Major changes were taking place in my life (little did I realize just how much it would change in the next 24 hours!), and I had a lot of thinking to do. Normally, I would command each girl individually when in a trance, but I now decided on yet another expediency.

"You can hear only my voice," I commanded. "Where are you now?" Each of them answered that she was in her wonderful room, on her wonderful bed. "Who, in the whole world, is most important to you?" I asked. 

"You are," they answered in unison.

"And who, in the whole world is the next most important?" And they immediately answered with each other's name. I smiled. Too easy. "Think about her now. Think about her kisses. Think about her caresses. The feel of her skin. Think about how you can make her feel, how you can make her move in response to your touch, how you can make her moan. Think about your love for each other. Think about your need, about your desire ... feel it ...."

They were beginning to move very subtly. Hips were twisting, dreamily; thrusting ever so slightly. Dee began making little noises in her throat. I left them like that and walked into my office for a few minute's work. I had taken on a summer class, and I was really suffering from burnout. In addition, the department had just circulated a memo asking non-tenured professors to consider cutting back to part-time. The state was in serious financial straits, and the state universities were viewed as a great place to start swinging the old cost-cutting axe. This just might be an opportunity for me. I didn't really need the money. Well, not REALLY. Not with Dee bringing in more than a million a year on top of the fortune she already had. But, I argued, that was DEE's money. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't touch it. But I had, of course. There was the truck, the boat. And I'd been "dipping" into her funds more and more lately, especially for pre-natal medical costs. Now, with the coming of the baby, she'd more or less convinced herself that she'd be my slave for life; my slave forever and ever. She would never need the money ....

I heard Brenda moan loudly. I smiled. Time to let them go. I went back into the living room, where they were both writhing on the couch in the midst of their individual hypnotic yearnings. 

"Listen to my voice," I commanded. "Listen and obey. Do you feel your need for your sister-in-slavery?" They both moaned an affirmative. "Do you want her?" And again they both gasped an emphatic "Yes!" "When I awaken you, your desire will not slacken. Your need will consume you. You must have her. You must have her immediately. You will go into Dee's room, and there you will allow your passion to consume you. You will lie with her all night, holding her, loving her. Do you understand?"

"Yes!" in living stereo.

"Wake up."

And they popped upright, fully awake, fire in their eyes. At once, Dee sprang to her feet, grabbed Brenda's hand, and started pulling her in the direction of the door. Brenda hesitated, looking at me. "This isn't fair, Freddy!"

"I'll be fine, my dear. Off with you, now."

"We've done this two times this week already, Freddy. We should be pleasing YOU tonight!"

Dee was getting frantic. "COME ON, Brenda!" she begged, tugging desperately on my wife's arm. "Please!"

But Brenda wrenched herself free, ran to me, threw her arms around my neck and kissed me on the lips. "I love you, Freddy!"

"I love you, too," I told her. But Dee was back, pulling frantically on Brenda's arm again, and Brenda allowed herself to be extricated from my body. 

"Thank you, Freddy!" she said over her shoulder as she sprinted from the room, hand in hand with her slave-sister-lover.

I smiled wanly and walked back to the office. "You're welcome," I muttered under my breath. I picked up the Part Time Enrollment form and started filling in the blocks. With only one class a week in the Fall Term, I'd have time to work on the novel, time to be with the girls, time to get ready for the baby, time to find Willie ....

She never seemed to be very far from my thoughts. It had been almost a week now, and I still couldn't shake the vision of the young (very young!) woman with the white hair. I'd finally discovered her last name: Wharton; but that very hard-to-find bit of information had proven to be no help at all so far. 

At first, we'd learned that no "Wilhelmina" Anybody had filed domestic violence charges against a husband in any county in the state, at least so far as Brenda could determine from her sources in the police department, and that no complaint had ever been filed against anyone named Rudy (or Rudolph, or Rudyard) Wharton. But that wasn't too surprising for reasons already discussed. There were more than fifty very small islands dotting the South American coast below Barbados, between Kingstown and St. Gorges; so that, too, was of little help. I had gone back to the campground, but my entreaties for information from the campground manager had wound up becoming a full-fledged argument, and I left with no answers at all. Having learned my lesson, I withdrew five hundred dollars from the bank in hundred dollar bills, and armed with this ammunition, I returned the next day to the marina, where I begged the guy at the boat rental for assistance. Begging goes a long way when Mr. Franklin uses his influence (times five), and I got the name (though no first name was listed on the rental form). He'd paid for the boat rental in cash, so there wasn't a credit card number. There was a phone number, but I'd since found that it had been a phony; no such number existed. No amount of digging had produced any results. I'd even paid fifty bucks for one of those internet searches, but to no avail. We'd found a few hundred "Whartons" living in the United States in the on-line White Pages, but none of them matched the first name that Dee had insisted was his. And, of course, since the phone number had been a fake, it was highly probable that the name was, too.

Down the hall, Brenda was making her "coming noises." I smiled.

The girls had taken the news first with excitement and then discouragement, as the sole clue was discovered and then looked as if it might peter out. I'd had to reiterate my promise that I wouldn't give up the search. But things definitely didn't look good at this point. Oddly, in the past two days, both Brenda and Dee had lacked the level of urgency they'd had the day after "the attack." This might be a good sign, and it might not. If they were cooking something up by themselves, we could be in for some REAL trouble. I made a mental note to question them about this during our next hypnotic session.

I was really tired. I folded my hands across the employment form and rested my head on them. 

I dreamed about Willie. And a tree. Was she climbing it? When I awoke in the middle of the night, I was in a panic. The dream faded too quickly for me to hold, but I knew it had been a bad one. She had seemed so real. 

I had a massive hard on.

WILLIE AND THE TREE

I returned home about three the following afternoon. I taught for four hours on Thursdays, and the young men and women in that class were not my favorite students. Let's face it: no one WANTS to be in summer courses. I had dropped my application and letter on the dean's desk, expressing my desire for only one course during the fall semester. Though my two years toward tenure would be held in reserve until I began teaching full-time again, I somehow knew my career as a professor was over. I sighed as I pulled the Mercedes into our driveway. At least I had Friday off. A three-day weekend looked especially tantalizing. 

The girls were outside, waiting for me. They were dressed much the same as they'd been six days ago; in shorts and t-shirts, Dee's stretched tightly over her protruding belly. They stood nervously beside the truck, which had obviously been packed again for another camping trip. Maxine was especially excited, bounding around, barking, whining to be let in the truck's back seat for the trip she knew was coming.

"What's all this about?" I demanded, getting wearily out of the car.

"We thought that we all needed a getaway," Brenda explained. She had a nervous expression. There was something she wasn't telling me. "We didn't get to spend the night last week. We owe Maxine a camping trip." She reached down and stroked the dog's head.

"The boat's still down at our marina," I said. "Why don't we go tomorrow morning? I'll have time to get it out and take it with us."

"We don't need the boat, Freddy. You can rent one, if you really want to go fishing later. We want to go camping today!" She couldn't seem to keep eye contact. Dee kept her eyes downcast, as well. She'd developed the habit of running her fingertips across her abdomen when she was nervous or thinking about something. "Please, Freddy," Brenda pleaded softly, finally looking me in the eye. "We want to go today! Please?"

"They're calling for a good chance of thunderstorms tonight."

"Please?"

"What's this all about, Brenda?"

"Don't ask, Freddy. Okay? We'll tell you tonight, after we're there. It's important to us."

"Is this about Willie? Have you been in contact with her? Are you going to meet her?"

"No." She looked back down at her feet again. "I mean ... no. I mean, it has something to do with her, but we haven't been in contact with her, and we aren't going to meet her. I don't think. I mean ...." She looked back up again, exasperated. "Oh, Freddy, please! Don't make me beg you! We NEED this!"

I held up my hands. "Okay, okay! I'll get ready, and we'll go camping!" I started walking toward the house, Maxine running circles around me, barking, urging haste.

The drive to the same campground was done mostly in silence. This was my fourth trip there that week (including my two fact-finding excursions), and it was almost two hours away. It was a warm day, and we had the windows rolled down, so conversation would have been difficult, anyway. Maxine kept going from one side of the back seat to the other, sticking her head out, seeing if the air was any different on opposing sides of the truck. When we got there, the campground wasn't as crowded as it had been the previous week, but of course that would be the case on a Thursday versus a Friday. Still, our choice campsite from the preceding trip was occupied, and I chose another one nearby that was more out in the open.

The girls told me they would set up camp, and I grabbed my favorite fly rod and walked down to the lake's edge, Maxine at my side. There is nothing as therapeutic as fly fishing; and an hour's effort, though producing only one perch (which I let go), was just what the doctor ordered. As I walked back to the campsite, the dog bounding all around me, I found that I had a much improved disposition and calmer nerves.

The campsite was in more or less good order when I got there. The tent was up, though the girls had missed a few tie points on the large alpine tent, an error I easily rectified. The air mattress was inflated and the sleeping bag was spread atop it. There was a fire going, and Dee had made foil packets containing ground beef, bacon, onions and sliced potatoes, which sizzled on the coals and smelled wonderful. I took out a folding shovel and dug a shallow trench around the tent, just in case the weatherman was right about those storms, which, with building cumulonimbus on the horizon, looked probable. I waited until the meal was almost over before broaching the subject of what had brought us here. 

"We've been having dreams, Freddy," Brenda said as she cleaned up the table, throwing the paper plates and my empty beer bottle into a trash bag. Dee was quick to get me a second beer. I had just decided I'd like to have another, but hadn't yet asked. 

"Dreams?"

"Dreams about Willie. 

I looked toward Dee. "Both of you?"

"Yes," Dee answered. "But that's not the weird part."

"Weird part?"

Brenda took over again. "We have the same dream, Freddy. Each time it happens, we're always together, Dee and I, and when we wake up, we've found that we've had identical dreams. It only happens when we sleep together, but it's been three times this week. And we've always had the same dreams. I mean, they've been different dreams, each time, but we've dreamt them together. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," I said flatly, "it does. One of you has been talking in your sleep, and the other has the dream as she hears it." They looked dubious. "You are both very, very suggestible," I continued gently. "That's how I can hypnotize you so easily."

Brenda shook her head. "It's not like that at all. I KNOW when you've given me a suggestion during a trance. I can ... feel it. I never, ever fight it because ... well, because ... I like obeying you. I NEED to obey you. But I know when you've implanted a feeling in me. Like last night with Dee. I know that you made me have those feelings. But I always surrender to them. Always. Because it's what you want, and because ... because ... I like to surrender."

This was a bit of a revelation. I wasn't entirely sure I believed it, but I saw no reason to argue the point. "Okay," I said, "so YOU talked in your sleep, and it was Dee who heard and had a copycat dream."




The Addicted Natural Ch. 12



Dee suddenly couldn't make eye contact. She was hiding something. I looked at her curiously. "Dee?"

"I...." She looked guilty. "I can .... Sometimes, I can ... see Willie. I can go to her. And I can take Brenda with me. When I'm dreaming, it's easy."

I shook my head. "Oh, Dee. That's just ... crazy."

"It's true, Freddy," my wife stated. "In the dreams, Dee and I are just ... there. We're not really participating. We're just there, watching Willie."

I couldn't think of anything to say. There was some sort of mental unbalance at work here. Had the hypnosis contributed to this?

"Please, Freddy. Please don't look at us like that. We're not going crazy. It really happened!"

"Okay," I said softly, perhaps a bit too sadly. What was I going to do? What sort of psychosis was this? I've never had any experience with mental disorder. I decided to humor them. "What were these dreams about?"

"Well," Brenda said, "in the first one, she was just sitting there, in some sort of strange room. It had funny green wallpaper, with wooden strips running down the walls. And there was a couch that was sort of built into one wall."

"And a bed that took up nearly the whole bedroom, past the open door," Dee chimed in. "The kitchen was part of the room she was in, but the whole house looked ..."

"Small," Brenda continued. "And Willie was just sitting there. And that's all she did."

"That's all she EVER does," Dee said, almost crying from the remembered emotion. "That's all she does all day long. She just sits there. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. No one to talk to. Oh, Master, she's so horribly, terribly SAD!" Maxine, sensing the emotion, put her head in Dee's lap and whined softly.

"And then she looked at us," Brenda continued. "And she said: 'What are you doing here?' And I ... we ... woke up."

I could only gawk at them. Brenda, fearing a comment from me, hurried on. "And the next time we slept together, we had another dream. We were in the same place, the same room in the same little house. And Willie was sitting at a table playing a game of solitaire with a strange deck of cards. The cards were ...."

"Too big," Dee went on. "And they didn't have numbers, though I couldn't see them very clearly. I didn't recognize the game ...." She glanced at Brenda, who shook her head. "And she picked them all up, all the cards that she'd dealt, and she laid out some more, and she leaned over and put her eyes just inches from them, as if she couldn't see them properly any other way, and suddenly she gasped, and then she ...."

"Started crying," Brenda continued. "And she cried and cried. But then she saw us, standing there watching her, and she said 'You again!' and we woke up.

"We have to help her!" Dee sobbed.

This was worse than I thought. My psychiatrist fishing buddy on campus sprang to mind. Maybe I could take the girls to him. I might as well get the whole story, though. "And last night?" I asked. "What was your dream last night?"

They exchanged one of their "looks" before Brenda turned back to me and took a deep breath. "We were in Willie's dream," she began. "She was asleep, and she was dreaming; And we were IN her dream. It was a terrible! It was about ... a tree."

A tree? My mind immediately went to my own dream last night. This stuff couldn't be real. Things like this just didn't happen. 

And suddenly, thunder boomed loudly. We all turned toward the west, and I beheld one of the most impressive meteorological sights I've ever seen in my life.

The sky had been darkening for some time now, both with the coming of the storm and with the late evening sun setting behind the towering clouds. This campsite was on a clearing that extended all the way to the lake, and so we had an unobstructed view of western sky. Massive nimbus extended to spectacular heights over our heads, and the last few rays of sunlight streaked their tops. But down low, along the far shore of the lake, a long, black, roiling, ominous roll cloud stretched from the northern horizon to the southern, as far as the eye could see. It was, by far, of the most powerful gust front I've ever set eyes on. It looked like a massive steam roller barreling directly toward us. As we looked, the trees on the opposite lake shore were lost from view in the inky blackness of the churning horizontal cylindrical cloud. Maxine started barking.

Dee grabbed Brenda's arm with both hands. "It's happening, Brenda! Now! We have to do it now!"

I stood, mesmerized at the sight of the approaching storm. I glanced at them curiously. "Do what?"

Brenda tore her eyes from the spectacular sight, turned to me, and stripped her t-shirt over her head. "We have to make love, Freddy."

I looked at her dumbfounded. As I did so, to my utter and abject amazement, Dee pulled her shirt over her head as well. The wind was picking up, and it was raising goose flesh on their exposed skin. Brenda began fumbling with her bra strap behind her back. This was so incredibly UNLIKE them that it took me a long moment to react. Normally, they were both painfully shy. It was just part of their nature (and perhaps one that I kept at the fore of their psyches through hypnotic reinforcement because I found it sexually stimulating). I glanced around, nervously. There were a couple other people within our viewing, but I doubted if they could see us in the gathering gloom. And they all seemed to be gawking at the rapidly approaching gust front, which would be upon us in just a few minutes. I grabbed Brenda's discarded t-shirt and held it out to her.

"Brenda, for God's sake, put this back on. We need to get in the truck. There's a storm coming!"

She popped the catch on the bra strap and pulled it off. "No, Freddy, in the tent! I need you! WE need you! We need to do it now!"

Dee, topless now as well, unzipped the front flap on the tent, stepped inside, sat on the air mattress and began taking off her shorts. "Hurry!" she urged.

Brenda reacted by pressing herself against me, nibbling on my ear, and then whispering provocatively into it. "Please, Freddy! Now! We need you!"

"What in the world?!"

She gripped my hand, the one holding the discarded t-shirt, and pulled me toward the tent.

"Tell me what's going on!" I demanded.

"Later. Please. Please, Freddy!"

Maxine jumped through the door into the tent just before us and lay down next to the mattress, her assigned sleeping spot for the night. I turned and sat heavily on the air mattress as Brenda turned to zip the tent's door back up from the inside and Dee attacked my belt buckle and the snap on my jeans.

"This is crazy," I told them. "All hell's about to break loose out there. I'm not sure this tent is going to be adequate." In resignation, I began unbuttoning my shirt, but Dee reached up and put a hand on my chest, stopping me.

"Let us do that, Master. Lie back. Let us do the work. Please." She managed to work my pants and underwear down over my hips, and then pushed me backward. I lay on my back. Brenda, completely naked now, stood over me, watching, as Dee lowered her face and took my manhood into her sucking mouth.

"At least let me take my shoes off," I moaned, but then gave in entirely to the overzealous pregnant lady sucking my cock. They ignored me. I couldn't figure it out. They'd both seemed so ... sane ... this morning when I went to work. What in the world had gotten into them?

The walls of the tent began rippling in the growing wind. Thunder boomed. It was growing very dark. Brenda produced a glow-stick from somewhere and broke it, shaking it a few times, and the interior of the tent was suddenly bathed in an eerie green light. The sucking mouth left my cock, and as if it were choreographed, Brenda lowered her cunt to my fleshy pole. She was extremely wet, and she slid all the way to the base in one easy motion, groaning loudly. Then she just sat there, unmoving, eyes closed, seemingly lost in the sensation.

Dee curled herself next to me, pressing her swollen breasts and baby-laden belly into my side. She gently but firmly took my hand and guided it between her legs, then lewdly began humping my fingers. She'd never done anything like that before, and it took me completely by surprise. "Please!" she begged, and when I stiffened my fingers and began probing her slit, she groaned loudly. As a reward, she reached out with her right hand and cupped my balls, squeezing them gently, massaging them with her fingers and palm. My turn to groan. Brenda still refused to move at all. She leaned forward, the palms of her hands flat on my chest. She was panting heavily.

"I want to move," she said.

"Not yet," Dee urged, and moaned again as my fingers worked naturally into her moist crack. "Almost time ... but ... not yet."

"What ... what ...." I panted. Brenda's cunt was contracting around my cock, though she still refused to begin pumping herself on it, and Dee's fingers were squeezing more persistently. "What ...."

In response, Brenda leaned forward and pressed her lips to my ear. "Think about her, Freddy. Think about her now." Then she sat upright again. I was incredibly deep, up inside of her. I didn't have to ask who she was talking about. The very suggestion caused the image of the girl with the white hair to leap unbidden into my mind's eye. The wind howled with amazing volume. The tent was really shaking now. It started a strange undulation, like a balloon inflating and deflating. When I'd purchased it, the box had boasted that it was safe in a 75 MPH wind. Was it going to make it through this?

"... want to move!" Brenda moaned above the wind.

"Wait!" Dee answered loudly, and groaned again herself. "Almost time. Almost ...."

"What ...." I gasped. The wind was deafening. Maxine started whining.

"Now!" Dee yelled, and she started putting even more pressure on my balls as she grabbed my wrist with her left hand and began frigging herself in earnest with my fingers. Brenda raised herself immediately on my pole and slammed her body back down on my own. Using her hands as leverage, her hips and lower body became a well lubed piston, driving relentlessly toward our mutual orgasm.

"BANG!" And, though I've never been very good at sit-ups, I jerked myself into an immediate, stiff sitting position, my chest pressed into Brenda's, completely alert and very, very scared. I knew that sound. There was not another like it on earth. It was the sound of impending death.

"What ... What was ... Aaahhh! .... Aaahhh! ... What was tha ... Aaahh! ... Aaahhhhh!" Brenda was coming hard on my cock, and due to her contractions and Dee's vice-like grip on my balls, I was coming, too.

But my mind was elsewhere. Because another sound would soon be coming. And all I could do was wait for it.

And now, dear reader, we must leave that frantic scene for a moment while I utilize just about the only literary device left in my repertoire. You knew it had to come sooner or later: the flashback.

It was eight or nine years earlier. I had just made E-5 (Sergeant), and my Information Support Detachment had been deployed out of CONUS for nine months. I had more than 60 days leave on the books, and I had to "use it or lose it," as they say; but with no family or close friends around, and with my funds tight, there weren't many options. A close buddy, Jimmy Johannes, had invited me to go home with him, and I gratefully accepted. He lived in a small town on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State. His dad was a logger. His granddad was a logger. When he got out of the Army, he would be a logger, too. Everyone in the community made their living in the forest. Destroying the forest. But hey, it's a living.

And an interesting living it is, too. After lazing around for several days, it was time to go to work with everybody else. It was an opportunity for me to make an extra thousand bucks or so, and to learn about a way of life very foreign to most people. I learned about various saws and how to use them. I learned about hard work, and about trusting the guys on your crew, and about the old ways of logging, and about the new. But most of all, I learned to respect a tree. It can stand there, unmoving, for a thousand years. And in a few seconds, it can kill you.

There is a time in the life of a tree, a fraction of a second long, when its heart fails and gravity - that inevitable, powerful force - takes over. The saw works and works and works, until only a littlewood at its center is left, and then, in that split second, the tree makes a sound. It is, scientifically, the sound of thousands of wood fibers breaking simultaneously under extreme pressure. But I've always thought of it as the instant the tree dies. A romantic sort, ain't I? But romance or no, the sound is one that every logger knows. A crack. A bang. A loud fucking noise, at any rate. And, as I've said, it's like no other sound in the world. When he hears it, the logger will always stop whatever he's doing and look up. Because most of the time, a tree will fall right where the professionals want it to fall. But sometimes ... well, sometimes, people die.

And now, back to our story. Shall I refresh your memory? The wind. The whining dog. The two humping girls acting insane.

BANG! "What ... What was ... Aaahhh! .... Aaahhh! ... What was tha ... Aaahh! ... Aaahhhhh!"

Wait for it ... wait for it .... And off in the distance - but no, not too far away; a few hundred feet, maybe - the sound started. The sound of hundreds of small branches scraping against each other, moving through the air, picking up speed, falling, falling. Loud enough to be heard above the howling wind. Too far away to be a threat to us, but close. Pray there's no one under it! Pray!

The ground shook when it hit.

"Aaahhh! ... What ... Aaaahhh!"

With strength I didn't know I possessed, I grabbed Brenda around the waist, lifted her off of my engorged rod, and threw her to my left. Curled up on my right, Dee was bent around her large midriff, lost in the throes of her own orgasm. "Willie," she intoned, then she moaned loudly as another spasm of pleasure washed over her. "Willie ...."

To my utter humiliation, a long, white, ropy string of semen shot up from my prick, hung suspended in mid-air for a long moment, and then landed with a sickly plop on the front of my shirt. Well, shit! No time to think about that now! I unzipped the tent flap and staggered outside, fastening my jeans. 

It was absolutely pouring. I needn't have felt embarrassed by a cum stain. I was immediately drenched to the bone. The wind had died down somewhat, but the rain made it impossible to see more than fifty feet or so. It was now very dark, a combination of the setting sun and the thick, towering clouds overhead. I reached back into the tent and found my trusty three-cell Mag-light, and with a drenched little dog at my side, I made my way forward through the blinding rain. There was the tree! It was the same campsite we'd been at last week. The same massive oak. The wind had caused a twist-fracture about twenty feet up. And my worst fears were realized as I saw something under it. I couldn't make it out, but there was definitely a tent or something there. There must have been ten tons of tree on top of it. If there was someone in there, they were gone.

I straightened my back. Well, hell! There's always a chance! I fished the keys out of my front pocket, raced back to the truck and started it up. I pulled it up to the campsite as close as I could, set the parking brake, and turned the headlights to bright. By the time I got out again, other people were milling around the scene.

"We need light!" I yelled loudly. "Bring your cars! We need more light!" Several men raced away. Already, another car was positioning itself, its lights blazing.

A guy was trying to start a small chain saw, but seemed to be having no luck. I walked over to him. "The kill switch is off!" I screamed over the pouring rain.

He gave me a blank look, fumbled with it for a moment, and then handed it to me. "I just bought it," he told me. "I've never used it. I don't even know how! YOU do it!"

It was a trimming saw with a fourteen-inch blade. It would have to do. I primed it, threw the kill switch, and it roared to life with the first pull. It was a new blade, and despite the hardness of the oak, it ate through the wood easily. I cut a large limb, and then killed it. "Someone pull this away!" I screamed, and a large man sprang forward to do my bidding. Other guys started lining up. 

A woman ran up to me waving a cellular phone. "The fire department is on the way! Twenty minutes!"

Suddenly, for the first time in my life, other people seemed to naturally assume I was in charge. No time to dwell on my newfound leadership skills. I fired up the saw again and began lopping off limbs.

It had been one of those pop-up campers; a small trailer with a tent-like, canvas top and two shelf-beds that extended out, one on either side. The tree had hit it so hard that the wheels had splayed and broken off underneath. As I made my way beneath the limbs and debris, I saw a telltale sign of the futility of it all. A thin stream of red was mingling with the water pooling under our feet. This wasn't going to be pretty.

I killed the saw to give a couple of guys a chance to haul away some other limbs. "Holy Mother of God!" a guy next to me exclaimed. I followed his gaze and saw Brenda and Dee, huddled together thirty feet away. They were each wearing one of my t-shirts, and it was very, very easy to see that that's ALL they were wearing. The soaked, thin fabric clung to their bodies like a second skin. I didn't pause. I'd talk to them later. I started the saw again.

Only two more cuts, and I was at the tent fabric. I killed the saw once again, took out my pocket knife, and sliced the canvas. Bile rose in my throat. The man next to me promptly turned away and threw up. It was a horrible sight. The man's body had been hit with such force that it had literally exploded. Bits and pieces of him were everywhere. But the wide staring eyes were familiar, and the full black beard left little doubt. It was Mr. Wharton, our favorite wife-beater.

I snatched the nearest flashlight and shined it around the body. "Willie!" I screamed. No response. I suddenly realized (Hoped! Prayed!) that she must be in the other bed on the other side of the trailer. As if to embolden this wish, Maxine began barking frantically from that direction. I grabbed the saw, raced around the fallen tree, and began cutting again. The debris wasn't as thick on this side. Most of the tree's force seemed to have been concentrated on HIS side. Again, men lined up to carry away the limbs as I cut. I hoped beyond hope that the little saw wouldn't run out of gas.

And then I was through! Once again, I killed the saw and pulled out my knife. I sliced the fabric ... and there she was. She was lying on her back, her eyes closed, as if sleeping; her shirt was ripped so that one breast was exposed. And to my utter shame, my first thought was that her nipples were magnificent.

I heard someone gasp beside me, but I didn't turn. "Is she ... is she ...?" the guy said in awe.

I reached out and stroked her face. "Willie?"

Her eyes opened, then widened with recognition. "Frederick? You! You did this?"

"No," I stammered. "A tree fell."

"You!" she said again. She reached up and stroked my face with the palm of her hand. "You did this to me!"

"No, a tree fell ...."

I couldn't take it any more. I reached down and tugged her shirt back over the exposed nipple. She blushed. "Can you move?" I asked urgently.

Red lights were flashing. The fire department was here.

"My arm," she said matter-of-factly. "I can't move my arm. I think it's caught under something." She stroked my face again. "My husband is dead." It was said in a mild tone. She was smiling.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 12



"I'm sorry, Willie."

"I belong to you now, Frederick."

A burly guy in a yellow slicker and fireman's hat was suddenly beside me. "We have a live one here!" he screamed back over his shoulder.

"Her arm's pinned under that branch," I told him, pointing. "Want me to cut it?" I held up the saw.

"Better let us handle it, buster!" he said, and bent over Willie.

I backed off and left it to them. Thus endth my fifteen minutes of fame. I thanked the guy who had lent me the saw and gave it back to him, telling him he'd bought a good one. He beamed and wandered off. 

I approached the girls. Dee was white with worry. "Is she ...?

"She's okay," I told them. "They should have her out in a few minutes."

And indeed they did. Brenda and Dee both rushed forward to her while the EMT guys carried her to the ambulance on a stretcher; and when I joined them, Dee turned to me with tears in her eyes.

"I'm going with her to the hospital!" she declared.

"Dee ..."

"I'm going with her!"

I sighed, took off my shirt, and put it on her. It didn't come close to hiding the fact that she was pregnant, but it did a passable job of covering her other assets. I asked for the name of the hospital they were taking her to, and then I stood with my arms around Brenda as we watched the ambulance pull away.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 13



Chapter 13 -- The White Witch of Walden -- Perception and Reality

THE STRANGEST NIGHT CONTINUES

"Brenda, I want answers! I want them now! What was all that about, back in the tent?"

We were on our way from the campground to the hospital, which was about a twenty minute drive. It had taken us only ten minutes to break camp. The tent was a wet, muddy mess, but everything else had stayed miraculously dry. Well, everything except Maxine. We'd spread a sheet over the back seat to protect it, but the truck smelled strongly of wet dog. Right now, however, I wanted desperately to make sense of the evening's events. I waited for my pretty wife to answer me.

"I'll tell you the truth, Freddy, but you're not going to like it ...."

"Why not?"

"Because it won't make sense to you. I think that that's your biggest trouble in life. You believe there must be a reason for everything. But some things just ARE. Some things just HAPPEN. If you don't have faith in that, you can spend your whole life looking for answers that aren't there."

"Tell me," I ordered firmly.

She sighed. "I told you the truth about the dreams. Dee told you the truth. But ... I think there's more to it. I think that, though the dream was Willie's, it was Dee that linked into it, somehow. I think that I was just sort of along for the ride."

I started to say something, but decided against it.

"Dee seems to have some sort of ... connection with Willie. You can see it if you look closely." She paused to let that sink in. "She has a connection with me, too, Freddy. You MUST notice it. It's ... sort of weird; but really, really nice, too. It's almost as if we ... sort of ... merge. But I don't think I have much to do with it. I think Dee makes it happen. It's just that it can't happen unless there are two, so it happens to both of us. Does that make sense?"

I didn't trust myself to answer.

"And when she does it ... when we do it ... I ... I can feel what she feels." She seemed to be struggling with herself, afraid to reveal more. "I can feel the baby, Freddy."

"Aw, Brenda ...." I couldn't keep the sadness and concern out of my voice.

"I know. It doesn't make any sense. You don't believe it. You never will." She was silent for a long minute, building herself up to continue. "It doesn't really matter if you believe or not. But somehow, someway, she was able to see into Willie's dream, into her life. And we saw her death, too."

"Death?"

"The tree. Last night, we saw the tree kill her. It was awful! Terrible!" She shuddered. "But Dee thought that if we could somehow ... connect with her again; connect with her just as it was happening, then we could make her ... move. Move out of the way of the tree. And ... and ... I guess it must have worked."

"Why did you want to have sex with me so badly?"

"It only happens when we have sex. The dreams, I mean. They always come just after she and I have sex. Sometimes I come so hard that I fall asleep right away. Or maybe I pass out or something. Anyway, that's when the dreams come. So Dee decided that our best chance of connecting to her would be during sex. She seemed to know exactly when it would happen. I just did what she suggested."

"And did you see her again? Did you see Willie while we were doing it in the tent?"

She shook her head and blushed. "No. I didn't see anything. But I've got to tell you, Freddy: that was the best orgasm EVER!" She was silent, thinking back on it. "I mean ... Golly! I'm STILL tingling!"

"Brenda ...."

"I know, I know. You don't believe a word of it. But you wanted to know. You deserve to know. And that's what happened."

We were pulling into the hospital parking lot. Oddly, the night was still young. It was only 8:30. With all that had happened, it seemed much later. I parked as near the front of the building as I could, and we went inside. Brenda went off in search of Willie, but I had a premonition (correct, as it turned out), and visited the admissions department first. Sure enough, I learned that even though the doctors were recommending a 24-hour observation period in the facility, the hospital administrators wanted to discharge Willie immediately because she evidently had no insurance. The ambulance service was on the hook for $750, as well. They didn't want to disclose any of this information to me until I pulled out my checkbook. Once again, the old adage was proven: the American medical establishment will give you the best treatment money can buy. 

It took me awhile to find them. I'd paid for a private room, and they were moving her. By the time I walked through the proper door, I found an intern giving Willie an injection. 

"That will help you sleep," he told her, then smiled at her (it was more of a grinning leer) and walked out.

I bent over to give her a kiss on the cheek. "How are you, Willie?"

She put her arms around my neck and hugged me tightly. "You saved me! You're my hero!"

"Aw, shucks, ma'am." I gave her my best bashful cowboy routine. "How's the arm?"

She flexed her hand. "It's slightly stiff, but they tell me there are no broken bones."

"I'm sorry about your husband, Willie."

"Don't be, please. I didn't love him. I hated him!" She watched the shock register on my face. "I belong to you now, Frederick."

I shook my head. "I don't know what in the world you mean. You said that once before. It didn't make any sense then, either."

"Well, you see, it's just ... just that ... that ... OH!"

She sank back into the pillows at the head of her bed. She blinked her eyes slowly once or twice. "Oh! I'm suddenly ... suddenly ... very ... sleepy."

"It's the injection they just gave you. You'll sleep for a long time."

"NO!" she said emphatically, sitting up, swaying, and then falling back into the pillows. "No! I must tell you something first. You must get my cards! You have to save my cards ... Please!" Her eyes rolled. She struggled to keep them open. "My keys ... in my ... pocket."

Dee went to a closet, picked up a pair of torn, grimy denim shorts, fished around in the pockets, and eventually held up a key chain.

"There's an address on the tag .... You must ... go there ... and ... get my cards. I must ... have ... my ... cards."

I bent over her and put my hands on her shoulders. "It's okay, Willie. We'll go there first thing in the morning and get your cards."

"You ... should .... There are ... boxes ... under ... the ... bed. You should ... keep ... them." She was fading fast.

"Okay. We'll get the boxes, too." I watched as she struggled to stay awake. I couldn't help it. I looked directly into her powder-blue eyes. "We'll bring your cards and the boxes. But now it's time to go to sleep. Do you trust me?" She nodded with effort. "Good. Now, look into my eyes. Sleep is coming. I'm going to count to three, and when I say three, I you will surrender to the sleep. Just let the sleep take you. You will have very, very pleasant dreams. Trust me. One ... Two ... Three."

She closed her eyes and slumped heavily into the pillows, fast asleep.

We stood around her bed, just looking at her. I can't begin to describe how beautiful, how innocent, how (Lord help me!) desirable, that young girl looked. Finally, I tore my eyes from her.

"Brenda, I want you to stay here with her tonight."

"Okay, Freddy." She walked to the bed and began tucking the sleeping girl in. 

"Me, too!" Dee said emphatically. "I'm not leaving her!"

I turned to her and put my hands on her shoulders. "Dee, what are you?"

She blinked. "What?"

"What are you?" I asked again in my most serious voice.

Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she cast them demurely, submissively downward. "I am your slave, Master."

"You will obey me."

"Yes, Master."

I allowed my voice to soften. "We need to think of your health, Dee. And the baby's. You'll sleep in a bed tonight."

"Yes, Master."

"But not OUR bed." She looked up, confused. "We're driving south, toward the city. We're going to get Willie her cards."

Dee gave a little shriek of delight and hugged me around the neck. "Yes, Master!"

I got Brenda a pillow and a blanket from the nurses' station to make her night on the room's only chair a little more comfortable, and then Dee and I left. I walked Maxine around a small patch of lawn at one end of the building, rubbed her down with another towel, and we all got back in the truck. It was a couple hours to the city, but I stopped a little short, since the suburban area indicated in Willie's address incorporated a large area. The motel was old, but the rooms were clean. It was after ten now, but it felt like I'd been up half a lifetime, and that bed looked very tantalizing. We had to leave Maxine in the truck (no pets allowed). Dee and I stripped and shared a long, hot shower, then climbed under the covers. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. 

HOME (NOT-SO-) SWEET HOME

I'd left a wakeup call for five-thirty. Dee brewed a small pot of coffee (provided in the room), while I walked next door to a gas station to buy pastries and a detailed map. It took me several long minutes of study before I could locate the street name indicated on Willie's key chain. It was in a very small subdivision containing numerous short, minor streets. I carefully plotted our course, fed the dog, finished my second cup of coffee, and we were off. I was expecting a house, or maybe an apartment. It was instead a small single-wide mobile home in a trailer park, sandwiched among hundreds of others, the units separated by only a dozen feet on either side. This one was much shorter than the other homes, and we drove past it twice before we figured out which one it was.

Once again, I left Maxine in the truck as Dee and I climbed the short set of metal stairs to the front (and only) door. It was still before seven a.m., and either no one was about this early, or they just chose to ignore us. The key fit the lock, and we went in.

The walls were a sickly shade of green, and thin wooden strips were spaced along them. I happened to know that this is a very prevalent feature in mobile homes. They cover expansion joints, which allow the walls to flex as the unit is being towed on the highways. A naugahyde couch was built into one wall, and it faced the only table in the room, the dining table, I guessed. This small room obviously encompassed the duties of living room, dining room, kitchen, den, and everything else except the bathroom and bedroom, which lay behind a partially open sliding door at the far end. 

Dee started crying. "She was so ALONE here!" she whispered through her tears. I had to agree. There was no TV, no radio, and evidently no books. I opened the top of a small chest of drawers, and immediately came across an amazing find. It was a small, flat mahogany box, about four inches by six, and maybe three inches deep, inlaid with ancient signs of the zodiac all around its base. The top was varnished and hand painted with a great deal of skill: a picture of a woman in a sheer robe, her luscious body clearly visible beneath, an aura or halo surrounding her head. It was absolutely exquisite. 

"That must contain the cards," Dee told me. "It was on the table when she was playing her game." I looked at her quizzically. "In my dream," she explained.

This didn't really impress me; I still didn't believe all this rigmarole about dreams. We'd come specifically for a box of cards, and here was a box that was certainly the right size. I set the box on the table and took off the lid. It contained, as I expected, a tarot deck. The cards were set inside in two stacks, side by side, and like the box itself, each card was an individual work of art. I picked up the top one and turned it over in my hand. It was made of some type of wood, very thin and very hard. The card's back was inlaid with the same design that was on each card, precisely identical, excruciatingly exact in every detail. The face of the card bore the same picture as the one on the box, obviously hand painted, and amazingly intricate. I knew that there were literally hundreds of different tarot designs, some dating back hundreds, perhaps thousands of years, as well as some very modern ones. I also knew that the collectors of these decks often waited impatiently for the latest designs from the more famous tarot artists, who normally painted one new series of cards every year. And, I realized the value of the deck that now lay before me. It appeared VERY old. I would guess that collectors would gladly pay thousands of dollars PER CARD for these. This deck belonged in a museum.

"Is that the queen?" Dee asked, looking over my shoulder. She picked up the next card on top of the deck, and her brow furrowed. "They're all face cards. Is this one the jack ... or the king?" She obviously knew nothing about the tarot. Quite frankly, neither did I. One of my students had written a paper on it once, but I had no idea what the symbols were or what they meant. I took the card from her, put them both back in the box, and put the lid on it.

"Let's get out of here," I told her. "Get the boxes out from under the bed. I'll look around a little, and we'll get back to the hospital." I began rummaging through the other drawers, but they were mostly empty. In one, I found no fewer than seven passports, four issued in the United States, and the rest from different countries. All were for our "Mr. Wharton," and all were under different names. Willie's clothes were in a drawer under the "couch," but they were not in very decent shape. I found a plastic bag in the kitchen and began stuffing shorts, t-shirts and underwear into it. I had an eerie premonition, and I suddenly decided to eradicate all evidence of Willie from the place. I snatched up a hair brush, a package of Cotex, a woman's razor, and threw them into the bag, as well. There weren't many feminine items in the place.

"Master! Quick! Come here!" Dee yelled from the bedroom. I plopped the bag containing Willie's things on the table next to the card box and went to the bedroom at the rear of the trailer. She had pulled three boxes from under the bed, and she knelt next to an open one, holding up banded bundles of currency toward me. The box was full of money, neatly stacked. I opened another box, which was also entirely full of bills. I flipped through a bundle. They were all fifties, but the bundle under it was a stack of hundreds. No denomination seemed smaller than a twenty. There were six boxes in all. Some of the bills were obviously new, others just as obviously were not. I couldn't even begin to estimate a total.

We quickly carried the boxes out to the truck, made sure not to forget the plastic bag or the tarot deck, and I locked the trailer's door securely. As we drove off, I marveled at the fact that we had not seen one other human being since we arrived. 

"What do you suppose it all means?" Dee asked me.

"I don't know," I answered. "Nothing makes any sense at all." We drove in silence for awhile. "I found all of her things in the living room in a couple drawers under the couch."

"That's where she slept," Dee said with certainty. "HE slept in the bed."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Dee, but I simply can't believe that you could know that she's a virgin just by looking at her. And I can't believe that Wharton, or any other man for that matter, could call a girl like that his wife without ...." I couldn't finish.

"I know what you mean, Master. I feel it, too."

We drove north quickly, toward ... what? "I don't know what we're going to do, Dee," I admitted. She let a long minute go by before answering.

"Brenda will know what to do," she said confidently. "Brenda ALWAYS knows what to do."

And after thinking about it for the next sixty miles, I was forced to admit she was right.

BORN TO BE A SLAVE

The hospital was ready to discharge Willie when we got there about ten o'clock. Our young, white-haired beauty sat on the edge of her bed in one of those hospital gowns that gaps open in the back no matter how hard a person tries to keep it closed, and I must admit that the few glimpses I caught of her smooth young back and buttocks were certainly enticing. I tried hard not to stare; but I also noticed that Brenda noticed that I noticed. She smirked. I shrugged.

Willie's clothes were in tatters, so Dee had brought her a change of attire from the plastic bag. While the girls fussed over her, I went back to admissions to check her out. I didn't want to associate Willie with her husband or the address we had visited down in the city, so I gave them my address at the lake as a contact point. I wasn't sure how we were going to handle the inquiries I knew would be coming from the coroner's office and other officials. I'd figure out something later.

The drive home was a little strange. Everyone just naturally assumed that I'd be taking her home with us. Willie never asked where we were going or what was going to become of her. She just did exactly what she was told. The girls both chatted constantly about all sorts of things: what we would be having for dinner, Brenda's latest article, weeding the front flower garden, the addition to the house. (We had decided to add on to "Walden" to accommodate the new nursery, and that topic was good for a bit of time. I couldn't see just adding one room, so the new addition would be comprised of three new rooms and a third bathroom. The workmen would be coming in a few weeks, and they expected to be finished in October. That was the plan, anyway.)

It was a beautiful day, and as we pulled up to the house Willie gave a gasp. It soon became evident that her eyesight was a little better in the bright light. I was anxious to learn the limits of her visual abilities, but that would come in time, I knew. (Was I already beginning to think of her as a permanent resident?) 

The girls took her on the grand tour, walking slowly down to the lake and back, Maxine running happily all around them, before they all finally disappeared inside the house. They had seemed to be chatting almost constantly, and I could tell, as I was setting up the sodden tent to dry out, that Willie, who had been almost painfully silent during our drive, was beginning to join in the conversation. It was nice to see her opening up. Come to think of it, it was just nice to SEE her, period. 

It's difficult to describe her. The analogy to feline grace is a tired metaphor, but the girl definitely had a way of moving that was ... well, MORE than just attractive. It was mesmerizing. She walked with a sort of subtle, slinking gait that was a cross between innocence and pornography. She obviously didn't know she was doing it, and that made it more tantalizing still.

When I'd finished putting things away, I joined them indoors. Brenda and Willie were sitting on bar stools watching Dee make lunch. To Willie, everything around her was new and exciting, but her demure nature wouldn't allow her to ask questions until her curiosity became too great to be denied. The girls were more than happy to explain everything to her: the food processor, the electric can opener, the microwave, the coffee maker. More than once, I found myself about to demand how it was that she had never been introduced to these common items before, but I wisely remained silent.

Lunch was a rather pained event. Willie watched all of us discretely but closely, then followed suit with her soup spoon for the clam chowder, and daintily picked up her tuna salad sandwich and nibbled a corner. Finally, unable to contain herself, she practically inhaled the meal. We couldn't help but stare as she wolfed her food. Sensing our gazes, she blushed and stopped eating entirely. Albinos are interesting folks when they blush. They turn much redder than other people. 

"I'm sorry," she said in a low voice after she had chewed and swallowed. "This is VERY good. I haven't had the pleasure of eating food like this for many months now."




The Addicted Natural Ch. 13



"What have you been eating?" Dee asked, her voice quivering.

"Don't be sad, Dee," the girl answered. "I survived quite nicely, actually. Rudolph gave me bagels for breakfast, and he brought me a 'Buddy Burger' every evening." She paused. "EVERY evening. I'm afraid I got quite tired of Buddy Burgers."

"Why did he do that?" Dee asked, unable to contain her curiosity. "What did he DO to you?"

"I ... I'd really rather not go into that right now," Willie said softly.

"Well," I said, finishing the last of my sandwich and standing up, "you're going to have to tell us. Tonight. After dinner. I'll let you work up your courage, but I really, really want to know what this is all about. I'm expecting to hear from the police tonight, tomorrow at the latest, and I want to know the truth before I'm forced to make up some lie." I walked to the kitchen door. "I'm going fishing. While I'm gone, I want you girls to count the money in those boxes. I've put them in the living room. Come on, Maxine!"

But the dog didn't move. She had her head resting in Willie's lap. Willie bent over, stroked her ears, and said distinctly "Go on, Maxine. Go to him. We mustn't disobey our Master."

Maxine came to me immediately, and we left and walked down to the lake. 

When I returned, the sun was low in the western sky. I'd given them enough time. Now, I was going to have all the answers to my questions, one way or the other. Once again, just as my life was beginning to follow some sort of badly needed routine, it had been turned topsy-turvy. Tonight, I was going to know why.

Dee had outdone herself in the kitchen. Both she and Brenda came to kiss me when I entered, while Willie simply stood and blushed at the open display of affection. Brenda had obviously gone to the store for the needed provisions, and little Willie had donned an apron and was helping to cut up the ingredients for the salad. Every so often, Dee would stop and demonstrate something, but after observing for a moment, Willie would complete the task with speed and confidence. My wife fixed me a martini, which was the only fare she prepared very well, and I got the distinct impression they were doing their best to "loosen up" the old master.

Before we sat down to the feast, Brenda asked me to open a bottle of wine, which I was happy to do. She'd set out three wine glasses and a beer stein (I preferred beer with my meals), and she poured a glass for herself and one for Willie. As we were seated, Willie regarded it suspiciously.

"I have never partaken of wine, or any other alcoholic beverage," she told us sheepishly. "I really think I'd rather not."

Brenda, who was sitting at my left, across from her, reached out and put her hand on mine. "Tell her to drink her wine, Freddy."

I regarded my wife curiously. "Brenda, if she doesn't want wine ...."

She left her hand on mine. "Freddy. Tell her. She'll obey you."

I was shocked at this, and I'm sure my look conveyed it. Brenda, however, made no further comment. I looked to my right, at the slender, erotic newcomer, and was about to make some apologetic remark on my wife's behalf, when Willie suddenly reached out, picked up the glass, and drank a large gulp. Her eyes widened, then she gasped and began coughing. 

"That's okay, Willie," Brenda said sympathetically. "You're just not used to it. Sip it. Like this." She demonstrated.

The meal went from normal to strange to bizarre several times. After we were all served, Brenda suggested I "turn Dee's water into wine," and I self consciously complied, waving my hand over the water in Dee's wine glass and reciting my little ritual. This demanded an explanation for Willie's benefit, which Brenda was happy to give. Willie was both fascinated and accepting, telling us that her "auntie" had explained all about the beneficial powers of hypnosis, though Willie had never witnessed them firsthand. Brenda also gave me several little glances and nods in the direction of the wine bottle while Willie wasn't looking. It took me awhile to get the gist of this silent signal. She wanted me to keep her glass filled. I finally, finally began to see her design. Willie was obviously extremely nervous about telling us her history. The alcohol would make it easier for her.

At last, the conversation turned to the boxes we had taken out of the mobile home, which contained, Dee told me, $932,200. I was flabbergasted. The meal was nearing completion by this time, and we all turned to stare at Willie. She had been in the process of drinking yet again from her wine glass, but sensing our gazes, she quickly set it down and looked demurely at her lap. When no one spoke for long seconds, she stole a peek at us. "Is that a lot?" she asked meekly.

"The better part of a million bucks, Willie," I told her flatly, and when she didn't respond, I sighed. "Yes, that's a lot. Where did it come from?"

"Rudolph won it in some sort of contest," she said meekly. "Several, actually. Apparently, that was the reason he made me his slave."

"Slave?" I asked.

"Contest?" Dee and Brenda asked simultaneously. They looked at each other, then back at Willie. "What kind of contest?" Brenda asked.

"I'm not really certain. He had to go away to participate in them, but they seemed to be listed in the daily newspaper. Every morning, before I was allowed to eat my bagel, he would read me a list of strange words. There would be many, sometimes six or more groups, with eight or ten strange phrases in each group. I would lay out my cards after he read a group of words, and they would reveal the winning words in the contest."

"What sort of words?" Dee asked.

Willie sighed. "Show me the money," she said. Dee, Brenda and I exchanged quizzical glances. "Slizzin' Suzie," Willie continued. "Burning Bacon, Harold's King ...."

"Horses," Brenda and I said together. I snapped my fingers. "I knew I'd seen that ugly mug somewhere before. There was a picture of him in the paper a month or so ago. He won the trifecta at Hawthorne. More than fifty grand."

"And Willie picked the winners with her cards," Dee said.

"Nonsense!" I retorted. "Coincidence! The guy could just pick the ponies. But he was looking for some sort of "lucky sign." Big-time bettors are ALWAYS doing stuff like that. Don't try to read some sort of supernatural thing into it." The three girls fell nervously silent and the conversation died. "Okay, okay," I said conciliatorily. "I'm sorry that I don't believe in your ability with the cards."

"That's alright," Willie said, not looking up. "Many, many people don't believe." She reached out for her glass, but found it empty. I filled it again. "Oh, maybe I shouldn't," she muttered. "I feel ... sort of ... funny."

"That's okay, Willie," I told her. "You shouldn't worry about feeling a little tipsy. We want you to feel good. But it IS time you told us about yourself. Where are your parents? Are they still alive?"

She took another gulp of wine. "I don't know," she said so softly that Brenda and Dee leaned forward to hear. "I never knew my parents. Raoul told me the story when I was young. He said that he had been sent by Auntie to fetch me before I was born. She had cast the bones and read them, and learned of my impending birth. He found my mother and father and told them that the baby that was coming was of the spirit world, and that they should give it to HIM when it was born. Albinos are not well received in many parts of the world, and they are sometimes put to death upon their births. Once they saw me, they considered me lost, like a stillborn, and they gave me to Raoul, who took me back to Auntie."

"Who's Raoul?" Dee asked, enthralled.

"Auntie had four slaves on the island. Besides me, there was Raoul, who was from the mainland, and Johnathan and Ann, from Barbados. She had others, too: mostly men; but they didn't live on the island. They just showed up from time to time."

"She kept slaves?" I asked. "That's a bit archaic, even for small tropical islands."

"It's not the type of slavery you think, Frederick. I was born to be a slave, but the others joined her voluntarily. Well, no, that's not quite true. They STAYED with her voluntarily." She glanced around at our questioning looks. "Auntie was a succubus."

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!" I exclaimed. Willie fell silent and sat quietly, looking down at her folded hands on her lap. Finally, I relented. "I'm sorry. I won't interrupt anymore. Please continue." But she still remained quiet.

"Are YOU a succubus?" Dee asked.

"Dee!" Brenda chided.

"Well, she might be!" Dee responded defensively. "You can feel it, can't you? Feel her attraction?" She blushed and cast her own eyes bashfully down. "I can!"

"It's okay, Dee," Willie said. "It's a perfectly reasonable question. No, I'm not. Succubae are possessors. They are mistresses. They enthrall and enslave through their sexual favors. But that does not mean they are evil or bad. Auntie was a wonderfully kind mistress, and none of us would have ever dreamed of leaving her. We all loved her. But she greatly attracted any man, and many women, who came into contact with her. It was not her fault, or necessarily her intention. It's just the way she was. We soon found that I had the same sort attraction. But I was never born to be a mistress. I was born to be a slave, and I will always be one. " She took a shaky breath. "I am a siren."

I opened my mouth to make a snide remark, but shut it again. I thought of another, and another. It was a real effort to keep them to myself.

"I know what you are thinking, Frederick. No, I do not sit on rocks and sing at passing ships. In fact, Auntie once told me that I cannot sing well at all, though she never discouraged me from trying. But a siren carries a curse of sexually attracting all those who see her. It has been a terrible burden for me."

"But why," Brenda asked calmly. "I would think that any woman would love the ability to attract men."

"Men want me, but cannot have me," she said sadly. "Auntie told me that once a man loves me, physically, my powers will cease. I will no longer be able to read the cards. She knew this, and shielded me from the outside world, except for those special individuals she had invited to her island."

"What kind of special individuals?" Dee asked. She was hanging on Willie's every word.

"Auntie was considered by many to be a Master Witch, an individual who could train many types of psychically gifted people. Children, mostly. None was ever there very long; a few weeks, at most. But I would play with them, and talk and make friends. That is how I began swimming at night. I cannot stay long in the bright sunshine because of my skin. One of the visiting girls came to Auntie and asked if we could swim in the bay at night, in the moonlight. Auntie threw the bones and saw by what means our lives would end. She informed us that neither of us would die in the water, so we were safe. I started swimming far, far out into the ocean. Oh, it was wonderful!"

"But you've never loved," Brenda said sadly.

"It could never be. I must live by the rules that govern my existence as a slave and reader of the cards. I must never read anything except the cards themselves. That is all I have ever read. And I can never love, nor give a man my body. Everyone knew about this. Rudolph knew. That is why he kept me hidden. He made me cover up in heavy clothes when we had to travel. He never allowed me to talk to anyone, and he became terribly angry if I did. I talked to one of his girls one night, and it was awful."

"His girls?"

"I had a profound affect on him, but he knew that if he took me sexually, I would be unable to read for him anymore. So he would use his money to pay women to come and take my place in his bed. They were always making loud noises in the bedroom .... It made it very difficult to sleep, sometimes. I kept wondering what they were doing; what services she was providing that a wife was expected to do. I've never actually seen .... Anyway, one night, after a girl had serviced him, she left him and came out and sat beside me on the couch. She told me that my father was a mean and hateful man for having sex while his daughter was right in the next room, and that if I wanted, she would help me run away. I told her that he was my husband; and after a long pause, she told me that he was even more mean and hateful than she'd thought, and that she should take me away. I was trying to explain when Rudolph came out and found us talking. I've never seen him so angry ... except last week in the campground."

She was looking at Brenda. "He bought that camping trailer and the fishing poles. I came to realize that he had been a man of the sea, and he greatly missed fishing. He couldn't risk leaving me behind for an extended period, so he was forced to take me along. And when he left to go fishing, he told me not to go out for any reason; but there was no bathroom. I HAD to go to the public restroom, against his express orders. I never intended to talk to you, or anyone else, but I found myself unable to resist. You have a way of ... I mean, when I talked to you, I felt ...I couldn't help myself when you led me back to your campsite and talked. I LOVED it. But he found us."

"And that's why he hit you," Brenda said.

"Oh, no. He hit me quite frequently. He delighted in hitting me. He hated me. But more than anything else, he wanted me. I could see it in his eyes, every time he looked at me. Oh, how he wanted me! I think that when he had enough money, he was going to take me. It was his plan; I'm certain of it. When my powers were no longer important to him, he would delight in taking them away."

I couldn't stay silent any longer. "I'm sorry, but this is one of the oldest tales in the world. Literally. The saga of the psychic that would lose her powers if she fell in love, I mean. The story's been found in scrolls from ancient Greece. Another version was written in ancient Egypt. Hell, I think it was in one of the James Bond movies! It's been a standard storyline for literally three thousand years, and it's still going strong. But it's just a story, Willie. Don't let it stand in the way of your happiness."

She looked at me and blinked, then blinked again. I suddenly realized that she was pretty drunk, though her speech hadn't been slurred at all. She cocked her head a little to one side, just like Brenda and Dee do when they're trying to figure something out, and she began nibbling on one side of her lower lip.

"What happened to your aunt?" Dee asked, breaking the spell of the moment.

Willie jerked herself forward as if she'd been struck. She slowly looked down again, and tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over. "Rudolph killed her," she said quietly.

"Killed her?"

"Yes. He murdered her. And the Captain, too. He shot them both."

"Why?" Brenda asked. We were all shocked.

"He wanted me. He stole me; and the Captain's ship. That's where he got the money to play the ... horse contest. He sold the Captain's ship. And he brought me here."

"Alright," I said, holding up both hands to call for order. "Let's just start at the beginning. Who's the Captain?"

Willie blinked her tears away, but refused to wipe her cheeks. She smiled a little at the mention of the name. "The Captain had been coming to the island for as long as I can remember. Auntie enslaved him, but afterward, she had sent him back to his two wives. He told me once that he had a wife in a city called Singapore and another in Europe. They didn't know about each other; the two wives, I mean. He showed me pictures. He had children, too. But once a year, he came to our island in his ship and unloaded boxes and boxes of food and clothes and other things for us. Then Auntie would reward him by letting him sleep with her for a week. Actually, I think Auntie liked the Captain more than all the other people she would have sex with. Even Raoul and Jonathan and Ann. Auntie loved them all. But I think she loved the Captain the most." 

She smiled again. "He would always give me a present, wrapped in bright paper, a different color each year; but I would have to save it and open it at Christmas. That was always very hard. Waiting, I mean. It would always be another month before Christmas." The frown returned. "Rudolph was the Captain's First Mate, and he was first there two years ago. The Captain must have told him about me. I never liked him; the way he was always looking at me. I caught him once, watching me from the beach as I swam, nude and alone in the night." She shivered, and then was silent for a long time. The tears started again.

"And then last year, on the second night they were there, while Auntie and the Captain were making love in her room, he went there with a big gun ... a big gun with two barrels; and he shot them. I knew something was wrong right away when I heard the noise. We never kept guns on the island. I ran into the room and screamed and screamed, but he just grabbed my arm and dragged me away, back to the ship. The only thing he let me take with me was my deck of cards. There was only one other man working on the ship, and he was obviously part of the plan, because several days later, they steamed into a city called San Juan, and they sold the ship and split the money."

She was silent again. I looked around. Brenda and Dee were both crying, too. I turned back to her. "Willie, why in the world did you stay with the creep? You must have had lots of opportunities to escape. Why didn't you run to the police and report him?" 

She met my gaze patiently. "He was my Master."

"WHAT?"

"I keep telling you, Frederick: I am a slave. I cannot live without a master. He killed my mistress and took me for his own. I hated him, but the fact remained: he was my Master. It is not unheard of. Many slaves hate their masters. But now, he has been killed, as well. And now, I am yours."

"NO!" I said, perhaps a little too-emphatically. They all jumped. "Willie, I DID NOT kill you husband. Call it whatever you want: an act of God, a freak of nature, fate, what have you. I'm sorry he killed your aunt. I'm sorry he beat you. I'm sorry he was such a louse. I didn't like the creep. But I did not kill him!"

She looked across the table at Brenda, and then stared long and hard at Dee, who averted her eyes. Finally, she turned again to me. "You SAVED me, then. I'm not sure what you did; I only know that I belong to you now, Frederick. I will do anything you command. I will read the cards for you, if it is your wish. Or you can send me away. I will do whatever you desire."

I couldn't think of any response to such a preposterous statement. Fortunately (or unfortunately), Brenda saved me from making a comment by jumping in with her strange brand of logic.

"Willie, if Freddy were to give you your million dollars and send you away, what would you do?"

She thought for only a moment. "I would give myself to the first man that wanted me." She caught me staring at her unbelievingly. "I MUST have a master, Frederick."

My wife laid her hand on mine again. "And who do you suppose would be the first man to want her?"

"The first man to SEE her," Dee interjected.

"You CAN'T send her away, Freddy. She's like us; like Dee is; like I am. She NEEDS you."

I looked into Brenda's eyes and saw only sincerity. I looked around the table. They were all holding their collective breaths. Waiting. How did I always get myself into these situations? I still wasn't ready to give in.

"And what am I going to do with her? I do not believe in this tarot mumbo-jumbo. I will not believe! The whole idea is crazy!"

"What DO you want to do to her?" she asked, smiling wickedly at me. I gave her an exasperated look. Could she tell I had a hard-on? "Make her one of us, Freddy. I mean, REALLY one of us. Hypnotize her. Make her love you."




The Addicted Natural Ch. 13



"WHAT!" Willie and I exclaimed in unison. I glanced at the white-haired beauty.

"You wouldn't want to use my abilities?" she asked, shocked. "You'd let them ... just ... go away?"

"He doesn't believe in them," Brenda said flatly. "If he chooses to keep you as a slave, he would want you only for yourself. He'd want you for who you are, not what you possess. He'd LOVE you, Willie."

The girl looked down and blushed beet red.

I gawked at my wife. "Are you out of your mind?! I can't just MAKE a girl love me!"

She laughed gaily. "Of course you can! She's a Natural. You can make her do anything you want!" She met my indignant stare with one of gentle patience. "Look at her! She's starting to fall in love with you already. And she's ALWAYS been in love with the IDEA of you." She reached up and stroked the hair above my ear, a habit she has when she's trying to be endearing. "You're her dream come true, Freddy: a benevolent Master."

"I ..." I didn't even know where to begin. This was the most far-fetched idea I'd ever heard, but once again, Brenda was twisting things around, presenting me with a proposition that was so attractive, so tantalizing, that the word "irresistible" doesn't even begin to cover it. I sought blindly for objections to something I suddenly wanted very much, but that I knew was socially unacceptable. And then, I thought of one. A big one. 

"How old are you, Willie?" I demanded rather harshly.

She looked up, puzzled. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I've never had a birthday. Raoul told me the story, but he never told me when it was supposed to have taken place." She shrugged. "I really have no idea."

"She's been MARRIED," Brenda said empathically, sensing my moral dilemma.

I gave her my best stony glare. "I'm not a pedophile, Brenda. She's obviously young; and with her coloring, language skills, physical attributes ... I don't have a CLUE how old she really is. I will NOT ...."

Brenda silenced me by holding up both hands. She was silent herself for a long, long moment, thinking hard. Then, she got a sly glimmer in her eye and smiled. "Can I borrow your eyes, Freddy?"

"What?"

"Just look at her." For a moment, I tried to figure out where this was going, but then I complied. Willie looked up questioningly. "Look into his eyes, Willie. Deep into his eyes. And Relax."

She fidgeted. "What is she doing?" she asked, not taking her eyes from mine.

"Tell her to do what I say, Freddy. Tell her to listen to me and relax."

I didn't have the chance to speak. "Your eyes are so dark," Willie said, gazing at me. "Am I being hypnotized now?"

"Relax, Willie," Brenda continued. "Just relax. Take a deep breath. That's it. Relax. Another deep breath."

Willie's shoulders slumped. Her stare never wavered.

"Willie," Brenda continued. "I'm going to talk to you and make you remember something, and then I'm going to ask you a question. You will not be embarrassed. You will just answer. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"I want you to remember your first period, the first time you bled between your legs. All girls remember that. You remember it, don't you?"

"Yes." Despite the instructions, she blushed again.

"And now, I want you to tell me how many months it was before the Captain came. How many more periods did you have before he next arrived?"

"Just one. I bled again, and the next week, the ship came."

"What color was your present that year; the Captain's present to you that was always wrapped in a different colored paper. What color was it, Willie?"

She smiled broadly. "Green!"

"Wonderful. And the next year. What color was your present that year?"

"Orange!"

"And now, I want you to move forward a year at a time, and tell me the color of your present. Each year, when the Captain came again. What came after the Orange one?"

"Blue!" Willie said immediately, smiling excitedly. She paused a moment. "Then red! And green again. Blue. And pink ... bright pink!" Instantly, her smiled dissolved. She sat soberly, looking deeply into my eyes. "And another red one. But I never got a chance to open it."

"Thank you, Willie. You can stop looking at him now, if you want."

She didn't. "Was I hypnotized?' she asked me.

"Oh, no!" Dee told her with such enthusiasm that Willie looked over at her. "Just WAIT until he hypnotizes you! You're going to LOVE it!"

"The average girl begins menstruation at age twelve, Freddy," Brenda told me patiently.

"I was twelve," Dee chimed in.

"So was I," Brenda said seriously. "I know this isn't as scientific as you'd like it, but I think we're being pretty conservative here. Heavy physical conditioning often delays the onset of menstruation. So, I think twelve is probably on the early side. Still, we'll say she started on her twelfth birthday, and we'll say she was born in the middle of the month, just to pick a date. That means we'll celebrate Willie's twentieth birthday in three more months, on October 15th. She's nineteen, Freddy. She's the same age I was when I fell in love with you during my sophomore year. She's not a child. She's a woman. And she needs love, just like every woman. Give it to her. Please."

I looked questioningly at my pretty wife. "Aren't you even a little concerned? A husband making love to another woman is every wife's worst nightmare."

She gave me her best understanding-sexy smile. "It's a little late for that," she said, glancing at a very pregnant Dee. "And Willie's not just another woman. She needs to be one of us, and you are the only one that can make it happen. She needs YOU."

I sighed and looked back to the sexy young thing to my right. Willie was looking silently, demurely down, again; just like Dee did when Brenda and I talked about her. She was chewing on her lower lip again. But I suddenly thought of another obstacle to my wildest fantasy.

"How am I supposed to go about this?" I asked. "She's never been hypnotized; and ASSUMING I can do that, what experiences am I supposed to reinforce and build on? She's never been in love. She's never done it with a man. For all I know, she's never experienced physical arousal! She's probably never been KISSED!" I glanced back at Willie, who's only answer was to blush even deeper. Nope, never been kissed. "You want me to enslave her by building on feelings and emotions she's never even had!"

Brenda patted my hand. "I'm sure you'll do just fine, darling."



The Addicted Natural Ch. 14



Chapter 14 -- The White Witch of Walden -- Plot and Seduction

A PLEASANT SWIM IN THE OCEAN

The morning barely dawned at all. A warm front had rolled into the area during the night, and the weather was rainy and foggy with a low overcast that looked as if it was here for the duration. It was difficult to roll out of bed, since Dee lay on her back next to me on one side, while Brenda had cuddled herself into my other. They had stayed up late into the evening talking to Willie, and I often heard their raucous giggling as I worked in my office before going off to bed. Brenda and Dee had tucked the newcomer into Dee's bed and joined me in the master bedroom. It was to be Willie's last night sleeping alone, they said. And, they confessed, neither of them particularly trusted herself sleeping in the same bed with her. 

We found Willie up and sitting on one of the kitchen stools, looking out at the rain. She seemed a little bleary-eyed, but claimed not to have a headache, which was a little surprising. She'd had three or four glasses of wine the night before, and considering it was the first time she'd consumed alcohol, she was in pretty good shape. Dee took over in the kitchen, just as she always does, but Willie insisted on helping, even though she didn't have the slightest clue what to do. Dee, the ever-tolerant teacher, had her doing small tasks while explaining how the food was being prepared. The coffee was first, and I sat and sipped while Brenda and I watched as the omelets, sausage and toast made their way to the table.

I'd been awake half the night worrying about how the Saturday was going to progress. Brenda had made a few minor suggestions, but had wisely left the major decisions to the Master himself. I wasn't at all sure this was going to work, but after the meal was finished I outlined the plan I'd eventually plotted out. Throughout the explanation, Willie sat in her standard pose from last night (the same pose Dee gave Brenda and me when we talked about HER and her role of slave); i.e., hands in her lap, head tilted slightly downward, eyes lowered, a mild blush on her skin. 

If Willie still wanted to join our little family in the role of third slave, she would do so today, I told them. I would hypnotize her soon; this morning, and take her as deep as I possibly could to test the boundaries of her trance. Then, if everything went well, the three of them would go shopping for clothes during the day. I would take her out tonight to the fanciest hotel in town, the one with the rotating restaurant perched atop it's 22nd floor; not tall as buildings go, but the tallest our little college city had to offer. We would take a room there for the night, and after dinner, I would introduce her to physical love, then hypnotize her again. If she really WAS a Natural, she would be my emotional slave from that moment. The concept had Brenda and Dee flushed and fidgety. Willie didn't comment or look up. She was the picture of alluring meekness.

The three girls did the dishes in silence while I shaved and dressed. By the time I came back out to the kitchen, Willie was dressed in a pair of tattered cutoffs and a faded t-shirt, and she rose from her chair and stood demurely before me.

"Are you ready, Willie?"

"Yes, Frederick."

I took her hand and led her into my office. There are two large, comfortable chairs in that room, and I sat her in one of them, then pulled the swivel desk chair over and placed it in front of her. The mahogany box sat on the mantle, and I took the watch from it and returned to sit facing her, several inches above her level. She had been looking around curiously. It was obviously the first time she had been in the room, since the girls were not normally allowed here.

"There are so many books in this house," she said in awe. "There are as many in this room as there are in your library." 

Our "library" was sort of a second den, with a large table in its center. Brenda worked on her compositions there, while Dee was always reading one of the novels. "This is where I keep the books I collect," I told her. "We are a family of readers. If you become one of us, I will give Dee the task of teaching you to read."

"If?" Willie asked, concerned.

"This is your last opportunity for freedom," I explained. (I'd rehearsed this.) "If you so choose, I will grant it to you. I will give you the money we found in your home, and you can lead a normal life." While I said this, I looked fixedly into her eyes. I leaned forward toward her, my forearms resting on my knees. As I expected, she returned my gaze for only a few seconds before dropping her eyes to the watch I was idly playing with in my hands. "I don't believe in your ... abilities with the cards, but if it means that much to you, you should seriously think about this. It is my final offer. You consider yourself a slave, but believe me: when I finish with you tonight, you will be enslaved so totally, you will be so completely in my power, that you will never, never be free again."

She was staring at the watch, rapt. "Like Dee?" she asked quietly.

"Like Dee, yes. Like Brenda."

She sighed. Her eyes seemed to lose focus. "Oh, Frederick," she said dreamily. "That would be ... wonderful."

I had expected a little more ... hesitancy, I guess. "And you're no longer concerned about the card-reading?"

She was silent for a long second. "If you will not believe, then I am of no use to you anyway. That is all I am good at. It is all I can do. I will have to ... find some other way to serve you. Perhaps you will want my body?"

It was my turn to be flustered. I wanted desperately to reach down and shift my iron-hard cock, which had somehow become overly-confined in my trousers; but I was afraid that might wreck the mood we had somehow already attained. Her eyes seemed to droop a little, and when they blinked, they seemed to struggle to open again. They never left the watch. Her head had slowly cocked a little to the right, and she leaned very slightly forward toward me.

"What are you doing with that watch?"

"Nothing," I replied idly. "I use it to hypnotize Dee and Brenda. They can never resist it. It always, always puts them into a deep, deep hypnotic trance. Always. But I just want to sit here and talk with you for awhile. I might use the watch later. Let's just talk a bit. Okay?"

"It's so ... shiny." She blinked again slowly. "Pretty. And it always puts ... Dee and Brenda into ... always ...."

"Yes, always. I just swing it on its chain, and they can't look away. They try sometimes. I watch them as they try to turn their heads away; but they can't." 

She didn't turn her head, but she slowly tilted it to the left, her eyes remaining locked on the watch. "Will you swing it for me?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "Please? Like you do with Dee? With Brenda?"

"I just want to talk awhile," I persisted, shifting the watch slowly from one hand to the other. This was happening too fast. "We can talk, and maybe I'll swing the watch later. Like I do with Dee. With Brenda. Because when I swing it for them, they start to get very, very sleepy. They can't help it. They can't fight it. There's nothing at all they can do about it. Nothing. Nothing. They just get sleepier and sleepier." 

She seemed to deflate almost immediately. Her eyes drooped to mere slits and her head bobbed forward a little before jerking back up again. This was definitely progressing too rapidly. I wasn't getting all the high points of my induction in.

"Just like ... in the ... hospital," she mumbled. "You're making it ... happen again."

I hadn't anticipated her making that connection. She was almost under. I still hadn't said anything about "Naturals" always obeying "so they'd be sure to wake up." This was like acting in a play and having some other player skip ahead a dozen or so lines by mistake. I was having to ad lib, but I wasn't sure where to pick up the dialog. In another moment, she'd be asleep, with or without my prompts.

"Surrender and sleep!" I ordered firmly.

Her eyes closed and she rocked gently forward toward me. I put my right palm against her chest to keep her from falling out of the chair, and I gently pushed her backwards. Her head lolled to the right and she rested, limp and unmoving, against the back of the chair, her hands in her lap, her mouth slightly open.

"You will follow my voice," I told her firmly. "Follow and obey my voice. You will see what I tell you to see; you will do what I tell you to do."

"Yes, Frederick," she mumbled into the chair's back.

"As soon as you fell asleep, you found yourself back on your island, long ago. You have no idea how you came to be here, but everything seems very familiar. You are sitting in your auntie's lap, and you are very small, very young. This is the past, and you cannot change what is happening. You can only relive it."

"I must be dreaming," she said, surprising me. When I had hypnotized Dee, I had had to entice her to comment; speech hadn't come naturally when she had first been put under.

"Yes. You know it is a dream, but you cannot wake up. You cannot remember anything about falling asleep. You are only aware of what is happening now. Happening again. Your auntie is holding you, gently but firmly, and you are so young, so small, that you cannot resist her embrace. She makes you feel so good, so comfortable in her arms. She presses your head against her breast and starts humming a lullaby. She strokes you hair."

"She's trying to make me go to sleep. Naptime, Willie ...."

"And everything is so real. You see everything clearly. You feel everything. You hear the birds singing, the wind blowing. Her breast is soft, like a wonderful fleshy pillow. Her arms are strong and gentle and wonderful. Her voice fills your head. You are beginning to fall asleep. You cannot help it."

"Naptime, Willie ..." she repeated groggily. 

"And you sleep. When you open your eyes, you are dreaming again. You know it is a dream, but you cannot wake up, and you are all confused. Is this a dream within a dream? You are big again, but you are in a strange place. It is night, and the ocean is all around. You are on a sand spit, but it is very small, and the tide is coming in. Soon, all the sand will be underwater. There is a full moon, and the night is beautiful. Again, everything is breathtakingly real. You can hear the surf. You can smell the sea. You can feel the warm breeze against your bare skin, for you are completely naked; but there is no one else around, so you are not embarrassed at all. You can see the stars ...."

She gasped. "OH! They're so beautiful. They're just like everyone always told me they'd be!" She sat up and lifted her closed eyes toward the ceiling. "Thousands of them. So pretty ...."

Again, I saw my error only after the fact. It hadn't dawned on me that she had never seen the stars before because of her poor eyesight. "But there is no time to study them now," I continued. "Even as you watch, the waves begin breaking over the sand spit. You cannot stay here. You can hear the surf off in the distance, and you can look in that direction, a long way off, and see another island. There are cliffs rising above the water."

I was startled for a moment as she opened her eyes; but they only stared at a far-distant vista in her mind. "I can swim there! I can swim forever!"

"Yes, you'll have to," I said, regaining my composure. "There is no other way. You must begin now." I watched, rapt, as the muscles in her arms and legs began tensing and relaxing rhythmically, though her hands remained in her lap and she continued to sit upright in the chair. "But as you swim," I continued, "something is happening to you; something that you've never felt before. You can't seem to figure out what it is. It feels ... very nice, actually, but it also feels as if it isn't SUPPOSE to be happening. So strange. Finally, finally, you figure it out. You suddenly realize, as you continue to swim, that somehow, someone has hypnotized you, though you cannot remember it happening. You can't imagine who could have done such a thing to you. You stop and tread water as you try to figure out what is happening, and what you should do.

"You know you are hypnotized, because it is somehow connected with your swimming. Each stroke you take, you go deeper and deeper into a state of total and complete hypnosis. Each and every stroke takes you deeper and deeper. You realize that if you keep swimming, you will soon be as deep as you can possibly go; and you will be totally and completely in the power of this individual. You know that this is wrong. You should not be giving yourself to someone you have probably never even met. You try to think back and remember who it was that put you in this deep hypnotic dream, but you cannot. You cannot even remember falling asleep. But that's the way dreams are, of course. And now, what will you do?"

She turned and looked back over her shoulder, then ahead again. Her brow was furrowed. She gently bit one side of her lower lip, lost in concentration.

"You cannot go back. The sand spit isn't even there anymore. You must go on. And so you begin swimming again. And with each and every stroke, you go deeper and deeper into a state of complete and total hypnosis. You know that you will soon belong to the man who did this to you. You will have no recourse. He will control you totally. Completely. But it DOES feel nice. Doesn't it?"

Her muscles had begun flexing again, though her arms and legs never really moved. A wistful smile crossed her lips.

"But now there's something in the water with you. A mermaid! And she's lovely."

"Now I know I'm dreaming," she told me. "You're a myth. You don't really exist!"

"But she's so real! You can see her skin clearly; smooth and soft. Her breasts are very nice; large and soft and pliable. They move with the water. Her hair is golden in the moonlight, and you can see her scaly tail moving below the surface. She has a wonderful smile, and when she speaks to you, you find she has a marvelously feminine voice. You are swimming toward your new Master, she tells you. He is waiting for you. Swim harder, she urges. She seems so sincere, so nice. You look up and see that the cliffs are closer now, so you tell her good-bye, and you swim on."

"Good-bye!" she said, smiling at me. 

"And now you meet another of the same sort of creature, but this is a male."

"A merman!"

"And he looks at you the way all men look at you. He leers. He wants you; wants you sexually. He cares nothing about your ability with the cards. He wants only you. And he tells you so. Come with me, he says, and I will show you ways to have sex. It will feel good. You'll like it. Come with me."

"NO!" Willie told me, looking at me with unfocused eyes. "I have to swim to my Master! He's going to control me! I have to go to him! Please let me!"

Something was definitely wrong here. She was saying her lines before I could prompt her. Either she was a natural born actress ... or maybe she really WAS psychic. I decided to shrug it off.

"'I will let you go,' he tells you in disgust. 'Go to him! See if I care!'" She began "swimming" again. "And with each and every stroke," I prompted, "deeper and deeper. So deep. So nice. And now, you are at the cliffs, rising high above you; sheer and steep. The water here is still very deep. You don't see a way out. The surf is crashing against the steep rocks." She looked up at the ceiling and again nibbled at the corner of her lip.

"But wait! Ahead and to your left! A cave! You glide over to it, and find that you can easily swim inside. It is a huge cavern, and it is lit by a faint, glowing light. Now, as you swim, you think that you cannot possibly go any deeper into your hypnotic trance. You are so, so deep. The water is suddenly shallow. You can walk up onto the shore, here inside the cave; and before you are three doors. There are words on them."

"I can't read," she lamented. "I don't know how!"

"It doesn't matter. You know what the words are, anyway. You aren't sure how you know, but you do."

"Like reading the cards."

I decided to ignore that. "The door on the far left says 'Brenda," the one in the middle says 'Dee,' ...."

"And the other one is MINE! My room! It's the door to my room!" She reached out with her right hand.

And suddenly, I knew. She wasn't psychic. She'd been prompted! This is what they'd stayed up late yakking about last night! The girls had told her about their "rooms," and now she'd come to expect this. "The door is locked!" I said suddenly, before she could "open" it in her mind. I immediately felt guilty, because I realized that I'd done it out of spite. I hadn't liked losing control.

"NO!" she wailed. I watched in amazement as she raised both fists and beat on the imaginary door. "I want in! PLEASE!" And in another moment, she stopped, seemed to physically sag, hung her head, and sniffed as a tear slid from her left eye.

"Um, Willie ...."

"Too good to be true," she lamented sadly. "I thought ... I thought ...."

"It's a puzzle. The door is a test. You can still get in ... but you have to figure out how to make it open."

"I can?" She noticeably brightened. "How? I'll do anything!"

"Have you figured out who your Master is going to be if you can get inside?"

"Frederick! He's Dee's Master! Brenda's, too! And he'll be mine if I can get inside. But how?"

"There are words written under your name."

"I can't ...."

"But you know what they say, just the same. Look at them. They say 'Submit and Obey.'" 

"I will! I promise!"

"You must believe the words; completely and absolutely. In your room, you must obey immediately, and without question. Otherwise, you might like it so much, you might not wake up when I tell you."

"I will. I'll do anything! I promise! I'll obey! I'll be a good girl! Please! Pleeeeease!"

"Say the words, Willie!"

"Submit and Obey!"

"You hear a click, and the door swings open. You can go in now, Willie."

She broke into a 24-carat smile and laughed delightedly. It sounded almost musical.

SHE BELONGS IN HER WONDERFUL ROOM

I went about patterning Willie's room exactly as I had done Dee's, which was in turn patterned after Brenda's. It took the better part of an hour to do so. Eventually, it had its little vanity (which I had to define, since the girl had evidently never seen one), its rich wallpaper, its incredibly soft bed, and its chandelier sporting little pocket watches. But mostly, I just had her lie "naked" on her soft, comfortable "bed of truth" while I deepened her desire for my logical conversation and total control. As with her trip to the room, she acted as if she expected this, and she welcomed it.

When I was satisfied that she was truly responding to my commands and was not acting according to some predetermined set of rules of her own, I had her get out of her bed and peel back the braided rug to discover the trap door beneath. I went through the whole spiel about her "soul" being down there, and "the way it always was," etc, etc, and was rewarded with a look of genuine concern. THIS she had obviously NOT been prepared for, which made sense since Brenda and Dee had never been allowed to remember even the emotional possibility of such a place. 

I again took my time taking her down into this deepest realm, and again I found a little satisfaction in her appearance. She had slumped in her chair, her mouth hung open, and she almost appeared catatonic. I decided to progress as I had before, but his time I was cognizant of the possible repercussions. I had no idea whether ALL of my commands were going to have a permanent affect on Willie, as they had had on Dee. Still, the basics were definitely in order. I was not going to instill all of them, since she still had no baseline of emotions from which to draw. But one of them had been established last night.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 14



"Willie, how many glasses of wine did you have last night?"

"I don't know," she replied dully. "I lost count. Three, at least."

"No, Willie. You're wrong. You only had one. Listen to me now, while I refresh your memory. You can remember clearly seeing me pour it, just after I pulled the cork from the bottle. You can see it in your mind. You take a drink, just a small one, and you cough because you aren't used to it. Then you sip again. Just a small sip, because you don't know how the alcohol might affect you. And that's a good thing, because as you continue to sip from that one and only glass of wine, you started feeling funny, didn't you."

"Yes. Dee told me I was drunk. I felt dizzy, and I couldn't seem to make my words sound right."

"Yes, and you felt happy, too, didn't you?" She nodded immediately and a small smile crossed her lips. "And now you know how you will feel after drinking just one glass of wine. Other people can drink several glasses before they feel that way, but now you know that you cannot. Alcohol affects you much more quickly than it does other people. That's the way it always will be. Always. And if you ever drink two glasses, you will find it almost impossible to speak coherently, and it will be very, very hard to walk because you will be so dizzy."

"I'd better not try it. No more than one for me. I got pretty drunk on one."

I nodded, satisfied with how my first session was going. I spent the next ten minutes laying the groundwork for future trance inductions, telling her that when I commanded that she look into my eyes, she would do so immediately and without conscious thought; and that she would instantly become relaxed and sleepy, totally open and receptive to the trance she knew would follow. I also intoned the litany about the watch; how she would fight the instantaneous and rapidly growing affects of it, and how her inevitable, complete and total surrender to it would be one of the sweetest things she would ever experience. 

We'd see how effective all this had been while we were out on our "date" tonight. I finished by telling her that the things that were discussed here in this "room below" were emotions and thoughts that always were, and always would be; and so no memory of this place would follow her back to her wonderful room. I then had her climb the steps back up, close the trap door and replace the rug. Sure enough, when I questioned her about where she had been, she couldn't tell me. Satisfied, I woke her up.

She yawned and stretched, just like Dee and Brenda did when they awoke from trance, and I couldn't help but believe that they'd told her about THAT, too. I couldn't keep my eyes off her chest. Her nipples are extremely prominent on her small breasts, and they seemed to be pointing accusingly at me. Willie herself only blushed, started to cross her arms in front of her chest, and thought better of it.

"That was WONDERFUL!" she exclaimed, grinning broadly. "I can't WAIT to tell the girls about it!" She thought a moment and frowned a little. "I can do that, can't I? Do you mind if I tell them?"

"Turnabout's fair play," I said, smiling.

But when I opened the office door, I was surprised to find Brenda waiting for me. "Is anything wrong?" I asked her.

"No," she said in a small voice, and I thought: Aha! Poor Brenda's been neglected. 

"Freddy," she said in her sexy-little-girl voice. "It's been two days. I know you've been busy with everything that's been going on, but could you please ...."

"Get Dee and meet me in the den," I ordered. She smiled, turned, and ran off down the hall. "Willie, you go into Dee's room ... I guess it's your room now, too ... and wait there. The girls will only be a few minutes."

"What's wrong?" she asked, confused and uncertain.

"Nothing. Brenda needs her hypnosis, that's all. It's been a couple days, and she ...."

"She's addicted!" Willie said, her eyes wide. "She told me that would happen! She NEEDS it!"

I smiled. "Yes."

Deep in thought, nibbling on the corner of her lower lip, she walked away toward the second bedroom.

I found Dee and Brenda occupying the love seat in the den, sitting quietly next to each other. I still had the pocket watch in my side pocket, and without preliminary, I pulled it out and held it in front of them. Four beautiful eyes, two brown and two green, were instantly locked onto the thing. I swung it gently and told them how tired and sleepy they were. It was all over in thirty seconds, and they had somehow wound up with Dee sprawled across Brenda's lap while my wife's head was tilted against the seat's back, her mouth slightly agape, in a deep, deep asleep. I'd been about to seek them out for this very purpose when Brenda suggested it. It was necessary. 

I had only taken them to the "lower room" together once. I rarely did it at all anymore, as I've mentioned before, but now it didn't really seem important in Dee's case, since I'd found out that she was so very suggestible in any kind of trance. I spoke to them as if I were speaking to an individual, which, I'd found out, is easier than it sounds. I was simply careful not to use their names. And now, when they were in their deepest places, I told them that Willie had had only one glass of wine the night before, and that her drunkenness seemed, in their minds, to prove that she was a Natural. When the little lie was in place, I brought them back up and awakened them. 

Stretching and yawning, they got up and came to me, hugging me and asking sexily if they could please me. I laughed, kissed them both and declined the invitation, telling them they only had five hours to shop and buy Willie a new wardrobe before she and I left on our date. I handed Brenda the credit card and told her there was no limit, and I wished them fun. Dee rushed out to tell Willie to get ready, but Brenda hesitated.

"You changed me," she said with a slightly accusing smile.

"What?"

"I'm different. While I was hypnotized, you changed something. I can always tell, but I can never figure out what it is."

I regarded her thoughtfully, but couldn't think of anything to say.

"I'm not criticizing you, darling. To tell you the truth, I like it. You're always reminding me who the Master really is. I love you, Freddy."

"I love you too." I took her in my arms again.

"But I'm right about Willie, aren't I?"

"About what?"

"She's one of us! She really is. There shouldn't have been any doubt about it after last night."

"What happened last night?"

"The wine! She only had one glass, and she was drunk as a skunk! And now, you've hypnotized her. I was right, wasn't I? She IS a Natural, isn't she?"

"Yes, dear," I said softly, and smiled into the top of her head as I hugged her to me.

TELEPHONE CONVERSATION, JULY 20th, 2:20 PM

"Hello; this is Doctor Fielding."

"This Frederick Fielding?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"This is Sheriff Randy Tatum."

(Pause) "I thought Jim Jacobson was sheriff."

"Wrong county, son. You was campin' out at the national park couple nights ago."

"Oh. Yes. You're calling about the man who was killed. Terrible thing. He was dead when I got to him. I was just cutting up the tree, trying to see if there were any survivors ...."

"Actually, I'm lookin' for the little bit of fluff that was with him."

"The what?"

"Girl. There was a girl. Accordin' to the guys at the hospital, YOU paid for her ambulance. YOU paid for her treatment."

"Yeah. Well, my wife ... she's the sort that takes in stray cats, you know? She sort of ... got involved. The girl looked like she needed help, so my wife insisted."

"Accordin' to witnesses, you had TWO women with you. Those witnesses definitely remember, 'cause they were dressed sorta skimpy."

"They'd gone to bed."

"Yeah, well, one of 'em was pregnant."

(Pause) "That's what wives do, Sheriff. They get pregnant."

"And the other one?"

"She's not."

"Don't get too smart on me, son."

(Pause) "She's my wife's cousin, Sheriff. What the hell does this have to do with a tree falling on a guy?"

"Nothin', nothin'. I'm just doin' the paperwork. Don't get your shorts in bunch." (Pause) "Now, about this bit of fluff: Wilhelmina Wharton" (he pronounced her first name with a long second "i"). "Where is she now? I need to talk to her."

"I don't know. We were going to bring her home; bring her here, that is, just to make sure she was okay; but she insisted we drop her off at the bus station; the one just a few blocks from the hospital."

"She ain't there with you?"

"No. Like I said. We dropped her off at the bus station. My wife gave her a hundred bucks. (Pause) I DO know that that wasn't her real name, though. Wharton, I mean. She just gave it to the officials because she knew it had been HIS name; the guy the tree fell on, I mean. She'd been with him, and I guess she didn't want people to talk, so she told them they were married."

"They wasn't married?"

"No. I .... Well, I don't like to spread rumors, but ... well, apparently, she was a ... a working girl."

"A fuckin' WHORE?!"

"Um ... Well, yes."

"A God damn fuckin' cunt whore? Workin' in MY county?"

"Um ...."

"Did you say you was a doctor?"

"Uh ... yes. I'm a professor of literature, here at the university."

"Oh. Not a real doctor."

(Pause) "No. Not a real doctor."

"They say she was a albino."

"What? Oh, the girl. Yes. Yes, she is."

"They're not white, ya' know."

"What?"

"White. You can't have a white person albino. It's a known fact. That means she was a colored girl. Fuckin' freak."

"Well, actually ...."

"A known fact, I tell ya'!"

"Uh ...."

"Makes my skin crawl. And now, I gotta find her ...."

"Find her?"

"The doc here ... he was elected the coroner, 'cause he's the only doc in town ... well, he tells me that that old boy in the pop-up, he had the HIV. Can't have those HIV bugs spreadin' around my county! He did it to that whore, so now she's got it. Do it once, 'ya got it."

"Well, actually, according to the CDC ...."

"I don't give a Goddamn about the fuckin' DDC! It's a known fact, I tell 'ya. I read it on the internet!"

(Pause) "Well, actually, Sheriff, I can assure you that the girl is no longer in your county."

"What makes you say that?"

"All she could talk about was getting back home to South Carolina. Take it from me, she's on her way there now. She may already be there."

"'Ya' think?"

"I'm certain of it. She couldn't wait to get back there."

(Pause) "Well .... Ain't no skin off my teeth if the fuckin' cunt whore spreads her Goddamn HIV bugs in South Carolina."

THE NIGHT SHE'LL REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE

"What can you see?" I asked her. "Can you see the sunset?"

"Oh yes, Frederick. It's beautiful! And I can tell there are buildings down below us, but I can't distinguish them individually." She let her eyes linger on the scene outside the window of the revolving restaurant. Her clipped Caribbean-British accent just added to the exotic atmosphere of the evening.

She was achingly beautiful. The girls had stopped at a make-up counter in one of the mall's classiest department stores, and the woman in charge had taken Willie as her greatest challenge. The result was a blend of very subtle shades for her eyelids, lashes and lips that somehow seemed to add several years to her age. They had all come home giggling and laughing as Willie tried valiantly to negotiate the walkway in high heels, the first time she'd ever worn them. Now, she was clad in a long dress of emerald silk that whispered across her skin with every movement, but that left her shoulders provocatively bare. Her snow white hair was piled atop her head, accentuating her long, graceful neck. Men all over the restaurant were trying in vain to keep their eyes on their own dates.

When the wine steward came, I ordered a bottle of Krug Reserve. He asked to see Willie's ID, and when I explained that this was her 21st birthday, and that she'd forgotten her purse, he informed me that he'd take my word for it (rather than lose the additional tip from a $350 bottle of Champagne, I guessed). Willie expressed reservations about getting "a little tipsy like last night," but she obediently tasted the wine, giggling at the bubbles tickling her nose. She never even picked up her menu, and I asked if I could order for her. Anything except a Buddy Burger, she answered with a twinkle in her eye, and I ordered steak and lobster tail for two. We chit-chatted throughout the meal, and she slowly became more candid and less reticent as she slowly consumed her one glass of wine.

"People are staring at me because I'm different," she said, blushing and looking down at her lap.

I cast a quick glance around the room and caught at least two men and a woman openly staring at our table, though they all quickly looked away when I made eye contact. "They're staring at you because they're rude," I told her flatly; "and because the men are covetous and the women jealous. You're an extremely beautiful and enticing young woman. You're just going to have to get used to the idea that men want you."

"But only YOU are going to have me," she said in a small voice, looking up at me.

I regarded her seriously. "Yes," I said at last. "I am going to have you. Are you afraid?"

She took a slightly ragged breath. "Yes, a little. In another hour, I won't be a virgin anymore." She met my gaze. "You look so ... calm and in control."

"To tell you the truth, I'm nervous as a cat. I've never taken a girl's virginity before. I don't want to hurt you."

"Brenda says it's going to hurt. She says the first time always hurts at least a little. But she says that when it's over, I'm going to be hopelessly, madly, endlessly in love with you." She blushed even more hotly and couldn't meet my eyes. "Brenda says I'm in love with you already, and I think Brenda's ALWAYS right. I DO feel something for you. Do you think it's love?"

This thing about Brenda always being right was starting to be a little disconcerting. "There have been men who have devoted almost their entire lives to poetically defining the word 'love,'" I told her. "I can't answer your question. I think that maybe the definition is very, very personal, and it often changes from person to person."

She sipped her Champagne and nibbled her lower lip. "Do you think Brenda and Dee are okay alone?" 

I laughed. "Oh, yes. I got them some fresh batteries and gave them permission to open the blue gym bag."

"The blue ...?"

"You'll find out about it in due course."

She bit her lip some more. "Frederick?"

"Yes?"

"Am I going to start having sex with Brenda and Dee?" She didn't give me time enough to answer. "I don't think I've every really thought about doing that before. I'm not sure I want to. I mean, I like them; I like them a lot. But I'm not sure I could ever really LOVE another woman. Not enough to have sex with one, I mean." I was trying to think up a response when she rushed on. "But you could MAKE me love them, couldn't you? You could hypnotize me and MAKE me want to have sex with them, couldn't you? You could MAKE me love them and want to please them and want to just sort of ... of ... surrender to them, the way I'm about to surrender to you, couldn't you? And you could make me WANT them, the way I want ... I want ...." She searched my eyes. "Oh, Frederick, if you don't take me downstairs to our room and ... and ... get ON with it, I think I'm going to scream!"

I threw back me head and laughed out loud at this little speech, while she picked up her wine glass and downed the remaining ounce. I got up and helped her from her chair, tipped the waiter (including giving him the remaining half bottle of Champagne to split with the chef), put the tab on the room bill, and led my young virgin away toward the slaughter.

In the room, she quickly snatched up a small overnight case and sprinted to the bathroom, where she spent ten long minutes barricaded in preparation for the mating ritual. She emerged wearing a short, blue teddy with no panties. Her hair was down now, straight, shiny and very white. The makeup was gone, and she looked so young that I once again couldn't help but question the legality of this plan. But, oh my goodness, she was desirable! My cock felt as if it was about to burst. I had an almost overwhelming, animalistic urge to grab her, throw her down on the bed and take her immediately ... take her HARD! I took a ragged breath and tried desperately to calm down.

She couldn't force herself to look up at me. "I don't know what to do," she said in a small voice. "I asked Brenda and Dee, but they just laughed and told me that it would just come naturally. But I don't think ... I mean ... I'm not sure how to act naturally. I mean ... all I want to do is please you, but I don't know HOW!"

"It's going to be alright, Willie."

She was quiet for a long moment. I finally stopped drinking in the sight of her and took a step forward, opening my arms to her. "Come here." She rushed to me and flung herself into my arms, shaking with anticipation. I just held her for a long minute.

"Do you think it's going to hurt a lot?"

"I can use hypnosis, and you won't feel the pain," I suggested.

"NO!" she almost screamed, pulling back slightly. It made me jump a little. "Don't!" she urged. "I WANT to feel it! I want to feel everything a woman is suppose to feel! Please?"

I hugged her some more and finally used a forefinger to lift her chin so that our eyes were aligned. "Okay," I told her calmly. "You're about to feel everything. Are you ready?" She seemed incapable of answering, so I simply lowered my lips to hers.

The kiss went on and on and on. Her hands hung limp for several seconds, then went to my chest; then around my body, though it must have put her in an uncomfortable posture, arched slightly backwards as her body plastered itself against mine. Finally, of their apparent own free will, the arms snaked around my neck, one hand running its fingers into my hair.

I opened my mouth, and when she did not immediately follow suit, I began stabbing playfully at the lips with my tongue. Finally, they parted and I began teasing her tongue with my own. She began rubbing her slender body against mine.

And as for MY hands: well, they were not so indecisive by a long shot. I stroked her sides for awhile, and then slid them down beneath the hem of the teddy, where they began stroking her bare buttocks; then they slid effortlessly up her back, under the flimsy garment, up and down her bare sides, and finally one of them made its way around front to play with one of those magnificent nipples. I pinched gently at it, tweaked it a few times, and began rolling it lightly between my thumb and forefinger. She shuddered violently and made a small noise into my mouth.

I broke the kiss and looked at her. Her eyes were closed, she swayed softly, and she was gasping for breath. I waited patiently until her breathing had steadied somewhat, and finally she opened her eyes and looked questioningly into mine. "Look into my eyes, Willie. Deep, deep, deep into my eyes. Relax. Relax for me. Deep into my eyes and relax."

The beautiful blue orbs widened with shocked curiosity for a moment. "Are you ... are you going to ...?"

"Relax. Listen to my voice and relax in my arms."

"Oh!" she exclaimed weakly. She seemed to be taken completely by surprise with this. Even so, I felt her body relax perceptibly in my arms. "Don't you want to ...?" Her eyes suddenly drooped and then struggled to open again. They were still locked onto my own. "Oh .... It's going to happen, isn't it?" The eyes drooped again; forced themselves open. "I'm ... I'm going to be addicted .... I'm going to be like Brenda .... Addicted forever ...." Her knees would no longer support her body, and she sagged in my arms. "Yours ... forever ...."




The Addicted Natural Ch. 14



"Yes. Mine forever. So relaxed. So very, very relaxed. Heavy. So wonderfully heavy." Her arms slipped from around my neck and hung limply by her sides. "Sleep is coming. You can't resist ... you don't want to resist, do you?" She made a little noise. "And now, there is only my voice. Everything else has drifted away. Only my voice. Only my eyes. So relaxed. So sleepy. Submit and obey."

Her eyes widened for a moment in recognition. "Yes," she mumbled. "Submit and obey. Submit and obey."

"So very, very relaxed. So very, very sleepy. You want it so very, very badly. Surrender and sleep."

Her body just collapsed and she hung backward, limp and lifeless in my arms. I moved one hand to her upper back and heaved her upright. "Stand up, Willie," I told her. Her feet immediately moved beneath her and she stood, opening her eyes and looking right at me. I thought, for a moment, that I'd lost her trance somehow, but then I realized that her eyes were unfocused and staring. "Where are you, Willie?"

She smiled. "I'm naked and I'm lying in my wonderful bed in my wonderful room. I love it here!"

Once again, I puzzled a moment about how easily this was all going. "Do you remember what you were doing just before I brought you here?"

"You were about to make love to me, but you hypnotized me instead; and now I'm addicted forever. Just like Brenda. Just like Dee. I'll never be able to leave you now, even if I ever wanted to." She paused. "Brenda says I love you. I think she's right. I know you will tell me only the truth here. IS she right? AM I in love with you?"

I clenched my teeth. My balls ached. I wanted to take her NOW, and I fought with myself for control. "Hold up your arms," I ordered. She did so immediately and I peeled the flimsy teddy from her beautiful young body. She just stood like that, arms raised, eyes blank, smiling innocently. I had never wanted anything so much in my life. Stretched like that, her slim, muscular body made her small breasts flatten even more, accentuating her long, stiff nipples to the point of distraction. My mouth watered. "Lower your arms, now, Willie." Her arms were at her sides again. She looked at me (but not really AT me), and smiled sweetly.

"Do you think I'm in love with you?" she asked, conversationally.

I took a ragged breath. "Yes. Yes, you're in love with me." Oh God, what was I doing?

"I KNEW it!" she squealed. "I AM in love with you. Oh, Master, it feels so GOOD!"

I turned away from her and paced back and forth across the room until I felt my tenuous control of the situation returning. At last, I stood in front of her again and quickly made her get out of her imaginary bed, peel back the braided rug and descend into her make-believe "soul." As I did so, her eyes became glassy, she lost her smile, and she stood motionless and wooden before me.

"Where are you?" I asked her.

"Somewhere ... in my mind. It's the way it always was, and the way it always will be." Her voice was lifeless, flat.

"Do you remember our kiss?" 

She smiled. "Yes. I'll never forget it."

"How did it make you feel?"

"Excited. All fluttery inside. It made me want ... you; made me want to surrender to you. I wanted ... to please you ... so much. It felt ... good. Better than good."

"And now, Willie, as you think about it, the feeling was even better than that. Think about it, and you will find that the feeling ... the GOOD feeling, was many times better than you've just described. So wonderfully good. Marvelously good. It was, and it always will be. Whenever you are kissed in the future, it will be just as good as the first time, just as wonderful. Whenever you are kissed. It always will be like that. Always."

"Whenever I am kissed ... by ...."

Ah, she had picked up on the tense. "Yes, Willie, whenever you are kissed by me ... and also, eventually, by Brenda or Dee. I want you to think calmly about them now; and deep, deep inside, you know ... you know that your feelings for them are more than just friendship. Soon, you will acknowledge that you love them, just as you love me. You know that they want you, sexually; and eventually, soon, you will be surprised to find that you want them, too. That you will want to touch their smooth, sensuous bodies; that you want to kiss them, the way that you kiss me; that you will want to please them, the way that you want to please me; sexually; sensuously, lovingly. You don't have to dwell on these thoughts now. You don't have to think about it at all. In time, soon, it will just ... happen. Those feelings have always been there. They always will be there. Always."

Her lips parted slightly and she began breathing raggedly.

"And now, do you remember how you felt when I touched you?"

Her breath caught for a second. "Yes. It was ... it was ...."

"It was much, much better than that, Willie. Many times better than that. It was, and it always will be. Always. Whenever your bare sides are caressed, whenever your bare back is stroked ... the feel of hands on your bare body ... on your back and sides and tummy ...."

"And my breasts!" she almost shrieked.

I smiled. "And your breasts ... and your nipples. And it will always be that intense. Always. It will make your body want more. Your body will surrender to the touch and want more and more and more. You will be unable to fight the feelings, the demands of your body. Always ...."

"Always," she whispered, shuddering. "Hands on my body ...."

"Yes," I said pointedly. "My hands; and eventually, soon, you will feel like that when Brenda or Dee touch you, too. You do not have to dwell on it now. You don't have to think about it at all. But eventually, soon, you will find that the idea of them touching you will be ... very, very exciting. And when they do touch you ... that way ... when they do touch you and stroke you and caress you the way that I do, the feelings will be just as powerful, just as good. So very, very good ...."

She was panting now. The script called for me bringing her out of it here. I fought with myself to do so. I decided to pace a little more, but my cock was almost painfully hard. I had to unzip my pants before I could adjust myself enough to walk. I took a deep breath and counted to ten. Then, believe it or not, I decided to stay the course. I ordered her back up to her "wonderful room," and into her "bed."

"Where have you been, Willie?" I asked her.

"I don't know. Somewhere. It doesn't really matter."

I smiled. "When I wake you up, I will kiss you again. It will take you a minute before you realize you are not wearing anything. It feels very natural to be naked here in your wonderful room, and that feeling will follow you back. That's perfectly natural, isn't it?" She nodded and assured me that that made perfect sense. "Wake up, Willie."

Her eyes snapped open, she looked up at me, raised her hands above her head and stretched and yawned sinuously. I couldn't keep my hands off of her. I slid them around her waist and pulled her to me. She looked at me again, smiled, and nibbled the corner of her lower lip demurely. 

"I'm addicted now," she told me.

I thought of a hundred ways that I SHOULD set this record straight. I hadn't really "addicted" her to hypnosis at all. Instead, I returned her gaze steadily and answered "Yes."

She nodded. "And I'm in love with you! I really am! I know it now!"

I pulled her to me tightly. "I love you, too, Willie."

She tried to pull away. "No! You don't have to love me! You love Brenda and Dee! It's enough just to know that I love y.... Umph!"

I had decided to smother this silly blather about who was supposed to love whom the most with another kiss. I can find no adequate description of how great it felt to wrap my arms around her slender, nude body and hold her light, quivering form to me. Her arms went immediately around my neck again, and her lips parted to allow me access to her sweet mouth. Suddenly, she stiffened. She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed herself away from me far enough to look at me.

"My nightgown!" she gasped.

"It was lovely, but I like you better this way."

"You made me take it off when I was hypnotized!" she said. She searched my eyes. "You can make me do ANYTHING!" 

I spun her ninety degrees to the right and scooped her up in my arms. She couldn't have weighed a hundred pounds. "Just wait 'til you see what I'm going to make you do now!" I told her, carrying her over to the bed. It was one of those four-poster jobs that held its queen-size mattress almost three feet off the ground. I sat her on its edge, then bent forward and kissed her again hard. I could tell she was struggling to keep up. Again her arms went around my neck, and again her lips parted invitingly. I pressed my body toward her, and she finally got the picture and spread her knees so I could hold her closer. Her feet didn't even come close to the floor. I ran my hands all over her: her back and sides, her breasts and tummy, her hips and thighs. Finally, she moaned loudly into my mouth and as I broke the kiss, she tried to follow my lips to maintain contact. Her eyes were wild. She gasped for air.

She gave a startled grunt as I pushed her back against the mattress. I swept her hair away from the side of her face, leaned forward, and began kissing her neck, her shoulder, the side of her face. I licked and nibbled her ear and her whole body went stiff and she shuddered. Back to her neck again, her chest, and finally, finally, I took one of those long, stiff nipples into my mouth and sucked. Another moan. She wrapped her arms around my head and held it as I suckled, nibbled, rolled the nipple between my teeth and teased it with the tip of my tongue. Another shudder. Little kisses down across her flat stomach, and I picked up her knees, which had been dangling at the edge of the bed, and threw them over my shoulders, opening her sex to my waiting mouth.

"Frederick, what are you DOING?!!" she screamed in a hoarse whisper.

Her pubic hair was very sparse and, of course, very white. She smelled pungent and sweet, and as I licked and gently bit her labia, her body jerked and arched up against me. I brought my hands around her slim thighs and spread her moist lips. Like her nipples, her clitoris was amazingly long and hard. It peeked below her body's lips before I spread her thighs, and pointed upward like the tip of a small, moist finger now that I had exposed her completely. I gave it a long, slow lick, then another, and another.

"Fred ... Fre ... Freder ... What ...wha ... what are you ...?"

I couldn't help it. Despite the script, I pushed one lovely thigh off my shoulder, brought my hand around and pushed a finger into her moist hole. Her opening was slick and slippery, and my finger slid in easily; but she was shockingly, almost impossibly tight. I was suddenly very concerned that I wasn't going to fit into her. I mean, I may not be very well endowed (in actuality), but I my girth was certainly much greater than my finger, and I suddenly realized that there was no way I could even push one more finger into this tight orifice. Finally, after sliding my finger in and out of her to the depth of a few inches (which made her arch up, shudder and moan), I came to understand that the tightness was being caused by a very thin membrane at the opening of her cunt. So this was the hymen. Somehow, I'd thought it was going to be farther up inside of her ... a barrier that would block the entrance instead of only allowing limited access. These were uncharted waters for me. She was beginning to rotate her hips against my lips and tongue. I began running my finger in and out of her, then took the stiff clit into my mouth, sucked hard, and began flicking it rapidly with my tongue. Immediately, she clamped her legs around my head, arched her back, and her body jerked as if a powerful electric shock had seized her.

"UNGH!" she bellowed. Ungh! Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!"

And I was shocked into amazed inaction as my hand, chin, and chest were suddenly drenched in warm fluid. I held onto her as her body arched and quaked for several more long seconds, and then she seemed to collapse, quivering and gasping, and she made little sobbing sounds as I slowly disentangled myself to see what had happened. 

I had heard about female ejaculation before, but I'd never really thought about it much. In fact, I don't think I'd ever really believed it. But the fluid that was coating my hand and chest was definitely just more (much more) of her body's natural lubricant. Brenda became VERY wet when I made love to her, and looking at it dispassionately, there probably wasn't much more of it here now with Willie. It's just that she squirted most of it at the moment of orgasm instead of oozing it during the buildup. I snatched a few tissues from a box beside the bed and wiped some of it off my chest, and then I turned my attention to the crying girl. I climbed into bed beside her and she turned toward me and buried her face in my chest, sobbing.

"What's the matter?" I asked, concerned. "Did I hurt you?"

"Something happened to me," she whispered, settling down at last.

"You came. You had an orgasm," I said softly, holding her tenderly.

She was silent for a long moment. "I don't know what that means," she said. She looked up at me. "I've felt it before, though. Twice. The first time, I had a dream ... about a month ago, one night after Rudolph had entertained one of his lady 'visitors.' I couldn't even remember what the dream was about. I woke up I the middle of the night and I was having that feeling, only not as ... not as ... hard as just now. Not nearly as hard. And my bed ... I mean, the couch I slept on in the trailer ... it was wet. And I thought I was going insane. I thought something was very, very wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong, Willie. It's perfectly normal. In fact, nothing in the whole world is more normal."

She searched my eyes. "Really?"

"It felt good, didn't it?"

"Well ... yes. I mean, it felt ... very, very good. But I didn't ... I mean, I couldn't control it. I felt ... sort of helpless and lost to it."

"Yes," I said softly. "I know exactly what you mean."

She gazed up at me. "Do men ... I mean, to they ... feel ... that, too? Do they ... I mean .... You put your thingy in me, don't you? And when you do that, do you ...?"

I laughed. "Yes, yes I do." I had to settle my nerves for the next act in my drama. I put on a stern face. "But first, I'm going to hypnotize you again."

Her eyes locked into mine instantly. "Oh," she said in a small, little-girl voice. "Oh. I ... I mean ...." Her eyes seemed to droop. "I mean, you just did that. Why ...?"

"You can't resist, can you, Willie?" I said in my most masterful voice. "You're already very, very sleepy, aren't you? You're so, so relaxed. So very relaxed."

"I'm addicted," she said drowsily. 

"Yes, and so sleepy. The heaviness is coming now; the wonder heaviness. Heavy arms. Heavy legs. Heavy breasts. So sleepy. So heavy. Submit and obey." She began her little repetitive mantra until I continued. "Nothing but my voice. Nothing but my eyes. So sleepy. Surrender now, and sleep."

She was under. "How do you feel, Willie?"

"Mmmm. I still feel all tingly from my ... my ...."

"Orgasm?"

"Yes. Orgasm. It felt sooooo goooood! But it felt scary, too. I couldn't control what was happening to my body. It just kept going on and on and on."

"Yes. No control. Just like now, when you're hypnotized. No control. I control you. And when we make love, I can control you then, too, can't I? I know just where to touch you, don't I? And when I touch you in just the right way, and in just the right places, and I make you feel so very, very good, you have no control over what your body does, do you?" She was starting to gyrate her hips on the bed. "Willie, I want you to get out of your wonderful bed. Tell me when you're standing next to it."

I quickly had her peel back the piece of braided rug and descend into her "soul" once more. We were nearing the final act now. I only had to set the stage.

"Willie, are you pleased with the way I hypnotize you? When you wake up, do you feel good?"

"Oh yes. I feel wonderful."

"I know you also feel an almost overwhelming urge to please me for making you feel that way, don't you? You always have. You always will."

"Yes ... must please you."

"How, Willie? How can you please me?"

"I ... I ... I can use my body. You can put your thingy in me."

"My cock, Willie. You will call it a cock. I can put my cock into your cunt; into your pussy. I know you consider those words harsh and vulgar. I know that you always blush when you say them ... you always will. But those are the words you will use."

"You could put your cock in my cunt," she said, blushing nicely. "Then you can have an orgasm, too; just like you gave me. And you'll squirt inside of me; but I won't have a baby, because Brenda gave me some pills."

"What?"

"Brenda gave me some pills. One a day keeps the babies away ...."

Hmm. My pretty wife again, thinking of everything. I wouldn't have to use the prophylactic after all. This was getting better and better. "Willie, we need to talk about my cock ...."

"I can't wait to see it. Brenda and Dee say it's really, really big."

I sighed. "Yes. Yes, it is. It's bigger than you can imagine. When you see it, you will be worried, I know. Worried because you won't believe it possible that we'll be able to get it into your cunt. When it's hard, it will look very, very big; and very fascinating, too. You won't want to take your eyes off of it. You'll want to look at it, and touch it, and smell it, and taste it. You will want to stroke it and suck it. But most of all, you will think about what it will feel like when I put it into your cunt." She was taking deep, ragged breaths, her eyes closed, an almost red blush covering her entire body. "And now, Willie, I want you to remember what you felt like just before you came ... just before you had your orgasm. Do you remember?"

"Yes ... oh, yes!"

"When I push my cock into your pussy, you will feel it stretching you almost impossibly ... filling you beyond your imagination. It will fill you and fill you. You will feel a little pain the first time we do it, but it will be very slight, and very exciting. And after the first time, it won't hurt at all; it will just stretch and fill you and push deep, deep into your body. You will only be able to think about how much I am filling your body with my massive cock. It will always be that way. Always. And when it is inside you all the way ... when you feel my crotch rubbing against yours, and you know that I am all the way, deep, deep inside you; that's when you will feel me pushing against a spot, way, way up inside your cunt, and you will begin to feel that feeling ... the feeling you had just before your orgasm; remember?"

"Ah! ... Oh ... oh, yes!"

"Very good, Willie." I quickly brought her out of the realm of "The Way it Always Was," and had her rejoin her comfortable bed in her favorite room. Once again, I quizzed her about where she had been, and once again, she had no memory of her time in my mind-bending room below. "Wake up, Willie."

She stretched sinuously on the bed, then sat up and put her arms around me.

"Please, Frederick! Don't you want me? I notice you looking at me sometimes ... the way other men do. Won't you take me? Please? You can put your ... cock in my ... my ... pussy. I'm not sure what to do, but won't you teach me? Please? I'll do ANYTHING, Frederick! Please?"

"Yes," I said, standing. "I do want you. You can begin by removing my clothes. All of them. Hang each piece in the closet as you remove it."

She was on her feet in a second, and nimble fingers made short work of the buttons on my shirt. She hadn't thought of the buttons on the sleeves, however, and I had to shuck the thing back on as she stammered her apologies and remedied the situation. In less than a minute, the garment was hanging in the closet, and she was on her knees in front of me quickly removing the shoes and socks. She kept sprinting across the room to deposit each item in the closet, and her slim, nude figure was athletically enticing, to say the least. My undershirt, neatly folded, was set on one corner of the dresser. My pants were removed in mere moments, and were hanging upside-down from little clips on one of those special hangers they always put in hotel rooms. 




The Addicted Natural Ch. 14



And then she was back on her knees in front of me again, shaky fingers reaching tenuously out toward the waist band of my boxer shorts. I'll never forget the way Brenda first looked when she'd done this. Or Dee. And now, the memory of Willie's unbelieving, shocked, staring eyes will forever live in my memory, as well.

"Oh!" she whispered. "Oh! I ... I ... um .... Oh!" She reached out and touched it, then put her little hand around it. She bent forward.

This wasn't going to work at all. I was so close; my poor, aching balls were so full; every part of my anatomy was so READY for an orgasm, that if I'd let her put her mouth on it, I'd never feel the satisfaction of taking her the way I'd been imagining all day. I'm afraid I sort of lost control.

With a bellow, I reached down, forcibly lifted her off the floor, and threw her onto the bed. I grabbed her ankles, jerked her body down toward me to the edge of the bed, her legs spread wide around me, and I found myself poised to thrust into her immediately. She gave a little cry of shock, and I forced myself to pause somehow. Instead of cramming myself into her, I reached down, grabbed her around the back of the neck, and pulled her face up to mine, kissing her hard, roughly, passionately. When I broke the kiss after half a minute, she was panting heavily, and she clutched at me, my shoulders, my neck; writhing, pressing herself against me. I pushed her back, then reached down again, grabbed her shoulders, pulled her torso to my mouth and sucked hard on her left nipple. Her fingers were in my hair. She cried out, moaned loudly, cried out again.

Once more I pushed her back, and no amount of self control could keep my body at bay any longer. Still standing facing the bed, I pulled her hips toward me and guided my engorged cock to its target. The head slipped in right away, and Willie arched up toward me and moaned. All too soon I encountered the pliable maidenhead I had examined before. I pushed gently, though it took more self control than I thought I possessed. Another loud moan. I pressed again. Oh shit, I thought, enough of this crap! I pushed forward hard, and I was through. Willie arched her body to the point that only the back of her head was making contact with the mattress. Her eyes bulged, looking shocked and sightlessly toward the ceiling, her mouth open in a large, soundless O. I ground my pelvis into her. 

I looked down at her, mesmerized. I could actually see the outline of my cock as it bulged up under her flat tummy. I didn't know how many strokes I'd be able to make. Already, I felt my balls churning, ready to spew forth my pleasure. I took a ragged breath and began withdrawing.

"No!" Willie said between gasps. "NO! Please leave it in there! You just got it in!"

I laughed maniacally, pulled back a few inches, and pounded home again. Again, I could watch the bulging outline of my cock as it moved up into her. Willie gave a sort of surprised, grunting moan. And then I rammed into her again and again and again. And that was it for round one! I pushed in as far as I could and emptied myself into her, surprised to realize that the hoarse cry that filled the room was my own. An instant later, Willie's body convulsed once, powerfully enough to bring her off the bed and into my arms. Her thin, quivering form jerked again, and then once more, and I felt my fluids gushing into. I didn't think I'd ever stop cumming. Finally, I just held her for the longest time. She clung to me and cried softly into my chest, shaking. 

"Are you okay?" I asked her gently.

She rested her face on my chest and held me with thin, shaking arms. "It was ... wonderful." She sighed. "I love you, Frederick. I love you, and now, you're not just my master .... Now, I'm your slave. Really and truly your slave. Forever and ever."

I put my cheek on the top of her head. She smelled of ... what? I couldn't put my finger on it. The odor was very weak, very pleasant, and ... something else. Did phemerones really exist? I was amazed to find my cock growing again.

"Oh!" she said softly, reaching down and taking it in her hand. "Oh!" She squeezed it a few times, and then began scooting her body down, maneuvering her face nearer, nearer.

And I thought that life was very pleasant indeed. No wants. No needs. No fears.

But then, fear is a funny thing. Sometimes, a man's greatest fear is something he's never even imagined. Strange that this would be true in my case. Because in less than 24 hours, I would come face to face with mine.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 15



Chapter 15 – The White Witch of Walden – Conflict and Resolution

MY INTRODUCTION TO MY GREATEST FEAR

I will be brief with this portion of my story. It's painful for me. Fear, or the admission of it, is … somehow unmanly. So forgive me if I just forge ahead right through it and get it over with. I'd have given anything if I could have done that while I was experiencing it. That's the worse part of fear, sometimes. It just goes on and on.

It's difficult to imagine, since I've droned on for dozens of pages now, but my episode with the tree had occurred on Thursday evening, the start of a long three-day weekend. It was now Sunday of that same weekend, and despite my newfound passion and love, I felt very rushed. My computer at home held 31 ungraded essays on American poets of the early 20th Century, and I had to sharpen the old electronic red pencil and work my way through them before my Junior-level Lit class the next day.

Willie had opened herself sexually to me once more during the night, and then she'd practically raped me when she awoke around eight. Then, my insistent hands gave her yet another orgasm in the shower. We behaved quite well when room service brought us our breakfast, but we didn't make it through the meal. I insisted, after the room service guy left, that she eat in the nude, and she begged me to return her the favor. We both laughed uproariously as the napkin in my lap began levitating, seemingly on its own, as we talked about various positions for making love; and she insisted that the magic trick be rewarded by allowing me to teach her the basics of "doggie-style."

But after said demonstration, those essays began calling to me in the back of my mind, so we checked out and returned home around noon. I took lunch in my office, while the girls talked and talked in the den, and their raucous laughter interrupted my work on several occasions. By dinnertime, I'd gotten through twenty of the things, and I took a break and joined them in the dining room. Dee had done a fabulous job on some sort of salad with breaded chicken in it and a type noodle soup that she'd never made before. The girls were all wearing nightgowns (Willie had borrowed one of Brenda's, though it was a couple sizes too big), and they were all extremely enticing, to say the least. I had more or less decided that I'd take Dee to bed with me that night and see what would became of Brenda and Willie when they were forced to share the same bed. The idea was very appealing, somehow. I would discuss my nocturnal plans with them when I finished with the essays.

After the meal, I'd just gotten through another five of them when there was a knock on the door and I called out for them to enter. They all looked very demure, and not a little suspicious. Brenda had evidently been elected ringleader, and she came and stood before my desk.

"Freddy, we want to have a party. Can we? We'll be quiet, I promise."

I smiled at them. They'd been loud and giggly all afternoon, and there was little chance there would be any difference after their "party" started. "Sure," I told them. "Go ahead."

"Can we have a glass of wine, Freddy? Please?"

"Sure."

Brenda motioned to Willie, who brought her a glass of water. "And can you make Dee drunk, the way you've done before?" I laughed and had Willie bring me the glass. I looked right into Dee's eyes as I proclaimed that the water would now have the same affect as wine on her. Finally, I turned back to the computer, but the girls were still there, waiting.

"Freddy, Willie wants to show us how her cards work. Will you let her?"

I sighed. "I thought her power was gone, now that we've made love," I said, trying not to sound placating.

"She just wants to show us what they are … what each card represents, I mean. Please, Freddy? You don't believe in them anyway, and now that her … abilities are gone, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

I smiled again. "Of course you can play with them. Go ahead. Knock yourselves out."

They rushed out of the room, and I got back to work. I rued the day I'd ever signed up for teaching these stupid summer courses. Only two more weeks, and they'd be over. I'd only be teaching one day a week during the fall term, and I'd probably just quit altogether after that. The girls burst into another fit of loud laughter, then obviously tried to shush themselves, but wound up laughing even louder. I sighed and tried to concentrate. I was trying to make some sort of sense of my life. I was in love with three women; I was trying to maintain a large house, including putting on an addition; I wanted desperately to start that novel; I had to stay involved with Dee and her small, growing fortune. And then there was the baby.

More giggles from the den. I forced myself to push all those thoughts out of my head. Compartmentalize, I ordered myself. At least the girls were quiet for a spell after that, and I struggled through two more essays.

The door burst open and they all rushed in; they'd never entered without knocking before. A quick glance told me something was wrong. Brenda looked worried and determined; Willie was nervous and guilty-looking; and Dee just looked scared. Her eyes were doe-like, and tears were pooling. I was out of my chair in an instant.

"What's wrong?"

Brenda opened her mouth to speak, but closed it again. She looked quickly to Willie, who looked down and shuffled her feet, then she looked at Dee. Finally, she turned back to me and took a breath. "Freddy, there's something wrong with the baby."

I was immediately around the desk and was holding Dee by the shoulders, looking frantically into her eyes. "What's the matter? Where does it hurt? It's way too early for labor pains!"

Dee simply looked back up at me, seemingly unable to answer.

"What is it?" I almost yelled. "Did your water break?" She shook her head. "Is there bleeding?" She was silent. A tear spilled onto her cheek.

I spun around to the other two. "What in the world is going on?!" I screamed.

Again, Brenda tried to articulate something that she seemingly couldn't. She looked back to Willie, who stood before us, meek, innocent, afraid.

"Brenda …." I growled menacingly.

She squared her shoulders and faced me. "Freddy …. Now don't get upset …."

"Upset?!" I roared.

"Willie …" she stammered; "Willie saw … saw that something was wrong … wrong with the baby …."

"WHAT?" I yelled. "Do you mean to tell me that she read those fucking tarot cards and made you think …."

"Freddy, calm down," Brenda ordered firmly. "What if she's right?"

"RIGHT? Brenda, it's just a bunch of cards! The whole concept is a sideshow sham!"

"What if she's right, Freddy?"

I spun on Willie, my anger near the boiling point. I caught myself before I could say something really mean, and I took a deep breath. It wasn't her fault, I told myself. The poor girl had been brought up under the delusion that her "gift" was real. "I thought your 'powers' were gone, now that we've made love," I said, trying to keep accusation out of my tone.

"I … I don't understand it," Willie said, finally meeting my eyes. "The images in the cards … they were just as sharp, just as clear as ever." She was pleading with me. "I love you, Frederick. I really, really do. I would die for you. I would do anything. ANYTHING! My abilities should be gone. But the images are still there!"

"Oh, Freddy, can't you understand?" Brenda interrupted. "It was just a story! It was a story her aunt made up to protect her! And everyone believed it! Don't you see the beauty of it? No man interested in GAIN would ever take her virginity. It would be like shooting the goose that laid the golden eggs! Only a good man, a man interested in HER and not in her powers, would claim her love! And HE would have it ALL! He would have her AND her powers! Oh, God, it's so ROMANTIC!"

"It would be romantic except for one small factor: her 'powers' don't exist!"

Brenda took a deep breath. Uh oh … here it comes, I thought, the famous "Brenda Logic." She looked squarely at me. "If she's wrong," she said soberly; "if there's nothing wrong with Dee or her baby …."

"Only the baby," Willie said suddenly. "Dee's okay. The baby … it's … it's … hungry. It needs … something it can't get!" She looked pleadingly at me. "Please, Frederick! Please? If I'm wrong, I promise you can take away my cards, and I'll never look at them again! Never, ever! Please?"

"Oh Master, I'm scared!" Dee wailed, and rushed into my arms.

"Freddy," Brenda continued, "if there's nothing wrong with the baby, and if you took Dee to the hospital, what's the worst that can happen?"

"I could look like a FOOL!" I told her.

She paused for affect. "That's right, Freddy. That's the worst that could happen." She let that sink in. "And if for some reason … even if Willie DOESN'T have any powers … for ANY reason … if something's wrong, and you DON'T take her in …."

I felt my shoulders slump in defeat. How does she DO that, I asked myself. How does my slave-wife ALWAYS get her way? I sighed. Because Brenda's always right, I conceded. But someday … someday I'm going to show her who's REALLY boss around here.

"Go get dressed," I ordered them, and they all rushed out of the room as I picked up the phone.

Forty-five minutes later, we were all waiting at the gynecologist's office. I'd called him at home on a Sunday evening and tried to entice him with the offer of three thousand dollars cash for an after-hours exam. He refused the money and told me to bring her into the office, but he definitely wasn't happy; and when he arrived and learned that there were no outward signs of distress with the pregnancy, he was less happy still. Dee had just had a checkup the preceding week. His chagrin only deepened when Brenda and Willie insisted on escorting Dee back to the examining area of the empty doctor's offices, and we all crammed into the little room with the single examining table in its center. The doctor gruffly ordered Dee to strip and he left. Dee nervously and self-consciously began taking off all of her clothes before climbing onto the table.

(It should be noted here that Brenda's middle name is Diane. Now, normally that would have absolutely no bearing on our story, except to help rationalize the irrational. Keep in mind that our little charade (that is, Brenda's bright idea of a charade!) was to show in all the medical records that "Brenda Fielding" was having this baby. This was to be Brenda's and my child, and THAT was somehow going to emphasize Dee's role as servant and slave for the rest of her life. I STILL wasn't too sold on the idea, but Dee was so caught up in the concept that I hadn't argued with it. So, we had registered Dee under Brenda's name, Brenda's social security number, the whole works. We'd still called her Dee, however, by explaining to everyone that it was a nickname derivation of her middle name. Make sense? Well, not much, I guess ….)

The doctor returned with as sour a disposition as when he'd left. He seemed to be taking out his frustrations on his patient, for he rather roughly positioned Dee's legs in the stirrups, sat at the end of the table between her obscenely spread nether region, and began poking around. Dee groaned, which he ignored, and then she looked over at us and blushed furiously. Willie rushed to her side and took her right hand, comfortingly, while Brenda and I exchanged knowing looks. Dee got off on humiliation, but Willie hadn't figured that out yet.

Sullenly, the doc got up, repositioned Dee's legs back on the table, and came around to stand next to his patient. He seemed to soften a little. "Everything's okay down there, Dee. I don't see any problems at all, so far. Let's fire up the ultrasound." He began flipping switches, and ordered Brenda to turn on the TV sets hanging from the ceiling at each side of the room. He pressed a shiny silver paddle against Dee's midriff. She stifled a small shriek. "Sorry," he said. "Normally, we warm them up, but it's not working hours …." He looked accusingly at me, and then turned his attention to one of the monitors.

I could make out parts of the fetus; a hand and arm, the back and spine, the legs. I was mesmerized. I'd accompanied Dee back here for her exams before, but usually I'd find myself just nodding dumbly when something was pointed out to me, and I was rarely able to see what they were talking about. Now, the little kid was really starting to look like a kid. Neat.

"I notice from your record that you don't want to know the sex of the baby until delivery," the doctor said without looking down from the monitor."

"That's okay," Dee told him. "I know it's a girl." I looked at her questioningly, but Dee was smiling up at Willie and clenching her hand. Oh good grief, I thought, the oldest sideshow trick in the book. Willie and her cards had a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right. If she didn't, she could argue that the cards' message had been "jumbled." And if she did, she'd look like saint performing a miracle.

The doctor glanced at me for a moment, then seemed to discount my presence. I was the source of his ruined Sunday evening. "Well, Dee," he said, looking back up at the monitor, "your daughter is doing just fine. Perfectly healthy, as far as I can see. A little small for this stage, but we discussed that during your last visit. Did you increase your daily caloric intake, the way I said?" He kept staring at the screen.

"Yes," Dee said in a meek voice.

He didn't look down. "Any other problems? Any at all?" He kept staring.

"Um …." She hesitated for a long time and blushed even more. The doctor kept looking at the monitor. "Um … I'm … I'm horny all the time."

The doctor grunted; not quite a laugh. He kept staring. "That shouldn't be a problem for another month. I'll tell you when you should stop having sex."

Willie finally turned away from Dee, though she still held her hand, and she looked at me with confused eyes. She shook her head slightly. Poor kid. She'd been so sure. But then, I was the one that was looking like a fool, here. I turned and tried to convey some silent signal to Brenda, but she was looking fixedly at the doctor. I followed her eyes and suddenly realized that the doc hadn't looked away from the monitor once in several minutes. His face was a blank. I turned and looked at one of the TV's but I couldn't recognize anything, anymore. It looked like … nothing; just a grayish mass. It slowly dawned on me that he wasn't looking at the fetus any longer. Something was wrong. All at once, everyone felt it. No one spoke.

Finally, finally, he turned and switched the machine off and the screens went blank. He laid a palm on Dee's bulging midriff and stared at a point somewhere across the room, his eyes unfocused, thinking. We all held our breaths. At last, he looked directly at me and said: "Something's in there. Something else."

I had a lump in my throat the size of my fist. "What is it?" Brenda asked calmly. 

He looked at her. "I don't know, but I'm not going home tonight until I find out." He patted Dee on her tummy. "Get up. Get dressed. I'll meet you at the hospital." She didn't move. We all just stared at him. He clapped his hands once loudly. "Let's GO people! I have to close up the office!"

And that's the end of my narrative wanderings for this part of the text. I won't go into great detail about the longest night of my entire life. I won't go into the mundane but excruciatingly endless administrative efforts of checking Dee into the hospital, or the tests; and more tests; or the three tense, nearly hysterical girls I had to try and calm (I finally wound up hypnotizing each of them at least once during the night when there was no one else around). 

This is neither the forum for, nor the audience that would find interest in, the medical problems that can arise during a pregnancy; so I'll keep my description mercifully brief. There are several types of ovarian cysts; but usually, women are most concerned only with whether or not they're malignant. I thank all my lucky stars that Dee's was not; but this damn thing had attached itself to her uterus and was literally robbing the fetus of the nutrients that Dee's body was making on the child's behalf. It had already grown larger than the baby itself was at this stage. It hadn't been detected yet because: 1) the OB-GYN doctor had been interested only in the baby itself and hadn't looked further, and 2) the thing was almost undetectable by X-ray or ultrasound because it had no real substance. Chances are that it never WOULD have been detected until childbirth if the doctor hadn't felt so compelled to spend a little extra time on his examination. The cyst was beginning to push Dee's other organs aside as it grew, and he'd noticed that there was "something" there that shouldn't have been.

Fear was like a fiery lump in my stomach all night. I'd never really given the baby itself that much thought to this point; not as a person, I mean. But now, I knew the painful uncertainty of losing something I didn't yet really have - but that I wanted so very, very much.

They wheeled Dee into the operating room a little after eight in the morning, and she didn't emerge again until almost eleven. Though Dee's chances were excellent, we were told, the baby's were only about 50-50. Brenda and Willie cried a lot. I had to be strong for them. It kept my mind occupied.

The doctors were jubilant! They came out laughing and slapping each other on the back and congratulating one another: God-syndrome run amok. They had done the job without disturbing the fetus, they told us, and Dee should be able to carry the child to term. She would have to stay in the hospital for a week, and once home, she'd be confined to "complete rest," which, we found out, meant no walking about, no chores, no exercise of any type, etc. We would be able to wheel her around the house in a wheel chair if we wanted, or she could rest in a chair or on the couch, but that was it. No sex, of course.

When Dee was out of intensive care, later that day, we all mobbed her room and celebrated the good news. She, in turn, showed us her new scar, which was almost a foot long, running up her right side. Poor kid. Another scar. But she never looked more beautiful, at least in my eyes. Either Brenda or Willie stayed by her side for almost the entire stay in the hospital. 

And as for Willie; I thought about giving her a little lecture about the tarot reading just being a coincidence, a fluke, a lucky guess; but I didn't. I also felt a near-overwhelming compulsion to explain to her that, though things had turned out very well because of this strange little intervention, I STILL couldn't bring myself to believe in her so-called "abilities," and I probably never would. But a deal's a deal. I let her keep her damn cards.

AN EVENING WITH BRENDA

A flash of lightning lit the room, and the vision of Brenda, impaled on my cock, a sheen of perspiration covering her naked torso and breasts, was seared into my mind. She groaned loudly, lifted herself up a few inches, and with another loud moan, plunged back downward. Her palms were pressed against my chest, but she lifted them and rocked backward, sitting up very straight and taking me as far into her sopping cunt as was possible. "Oh, Freddy, you're so deeeeep!" she growled. She closed her eyes and shuddered.

The wind billowed the window shears as the storm advanced toward us. Thunder boomed. It was late August, and Dee had been home for only two days. What with all the comings and goings, along with the "shifts" we took with Dee in her hospital room, I hadn't made love to my beautiful wife for almost a week. She was certainly making up for it now! She ground herself down on my manhood, arched her back and groaned loudly, then leaned forward with her hands on my chest again and tried to find a rhythm. I put my hands on her slender waist and closed my eyes, reveling in the sensations she was generating. When I opened them again, I caught her giving her head a quick toss to her left, sending her thick, black hair over her left shoulder, and she cast a glance back behind her and to her right, toward the bedroom door. I knew without looking what was there.




The Addicted Natural Ch. 15



I moved my hands to her buttocks and pulled her down hard, pressing my cock as deep as possible up into her womb. As I suspected, this caused her to close her eyes and moan, her body shaking. I glanced quickly toward the door just as another bolt of lightning lit the entire room. Yep, there they were: Dee in her wheelchair, Willie standing beside her, holding her hand. They both appeared to be watching, but oddly, their eyes were closed. They were only visible for a fraction of a second in the glare, so I figured that I'd just seen them while they were both blinking. Hmm. If it was a show they wanted ….

I grabbed Brenda roughly around the waist again, sat up, and twisted us both toward the center of the king-size bed. She squealed loudly, then grunted as I pinned her beneath me, my cock still buried to the hilt inside her body. 

"Oh, Golly, Freddy!" she gasped, and reached up to put her arms around my neck. I grabbed her by the wrists and roughly pinned them to the bed on either side of her head. She struggled for a few moments, trying once again to hold me, but I refused to let her budge. I began lifting my hips and pounding my cock into her. My pace was quick and relentless, and I used a great deal of force, making her grunt each time. Our stomachs slapped together over and over again. Once more, she struggled to free her hands and put her arms around me, and once more, I held her securely. She cried out once, then again. I began picking up the pace. She had a small orgasm, then started building toward a big one. It wasn't going to be much longer for me, either. I was going as fast as I could now, and she brought her legs up and pushed her heels into my buttocks, pulling me deeper with each stroke.

"Unnggh! Oh, GOLLY, Fre … OH! Ahh! Aaahhh! Aaaahhhh!"

She was coming hard, and as her cunt gripped me, I felt myself spurting what I envisioned to be gallons of semen into her. At last, I released her wrists, but she just left them there, limp. I lay atop her, totally spent, and at first I thought she'd passed out, but she stirred after awhile. I rolled off of her and pulled her to me. She rested her head on my shoulder and moved one of her legs across my body. I could feel the fluids from her cunt leaking onto my thigh, but I didn't move. We couldn't speak for a long time, and as our breathing slowed, the sound of the rain on the roof and the distant thunder was all that we heard. 

"Golly, Freddy. That was the best!"

I was silent for another minute. "Do you think we put on enough of a show for your girlfriends?"

Pause. "You saw them?"

"Yes, I knew they were there." I held her close. "You ladies really like to watch, don't you?"

Pause. "Watch …. Yes."

"Why do you and Dee always do that?"

"It's … um … fun." I remained silent, basking in the afterglow. "Uh … Freddy?"

"Yes?"

"I think … something's wrong with Dee. Not with the baby … it's something else." 

I gave her my full attention. "Like what?"

"I'm not sure. It's as if … as if she's done something wrong, and she's afraid to tell us. I've tried to talk to her about it, but she just makes excuses. She feels … guilty. She's very troubled by whatever it is."

"When did all this start?"

"A couple weeks ago. About the time we met Willie. At first, I didn't think it was worth telling you about, but it's been worrying her more and more."

"I'll talk to her."

"Let me try one more time," she suggested. "I'll sleep with her tomorrow night." She put on a smug grin that I could see in the dusky light. "You won't mind sleeping with Willie again, will you, Freddy?"

I smirked, but slowly my mind was invaded by other thoughts, very prurient thoughts. "Have you slept with her yet, Brenda?"

She gave a little laugh. "You mean: have I made love to her yet?"

My turn to pause. "Yes."

She was silent for a long minute. "I tried to resist her. I really did. I didn't know if she'd be … receptive. But in the end, I just gave in to it; the urge, I mean." Another half-minute's silence. "I think she has a … an odor. She smells … good. I think that might be it. Have you noticed it?"

"Yes, I think so."

She seemed to be trying to get her thoughts in order, but they were jumbled. "Her nipples are … really big; long and hard and rubbery, and she just seems to melt inside when I suck on them.

My weary cock gave a twitch.

"And … Freddy, she squirts!"

I laughed. "Yes, she squirts."

"I didn't know women … DID that!"

"I've heard that some do. I didn't know whether it was the truth, but I guess I know now. There's no doubt that she ejaculates when she cums."

Brenda giggled, but she hesitated before going on. "I love her, Freddy. I really love her. Like I love Dee. I couldn't be happier."

"Yes," is said softly. "I love her, too."

We held each other for another long minute. "Freddy?"

"Yes."

"She wants to go get her pubic hair permanently removed, like Dee's and mine. Can I take her tomorrow? Please?"

My cock gave another little jerk. You could hardly see Willie's sparse white pubic hair against her pale skin as it was. It made her look very, very young. I could only imagine what it would be like when it was smooth and bald. I had to clear my throat. "Sure," said.

Brenda laughed and hugged me, then changed the subject yet again. "Freddy, she's incredibly bright. She seems to be able to learn anything! She's never been allowed to learn before, and now she can't seem to soak in the knowledge fast enough."

"I've tasked Dee with teaching her how to read."

"I … I know you don't believe in her … abilities … with the cards; but there was probably a good reason why her aunt didn't teach her to read before. I have to assume that if we teach her to read now, it may degrade her … powers with the tarot."

"Even if I DID believe in all that rot," I told her firmly, "I would gladly trade her so-called 'powers' to give her the knowledge she's going to need to live her life. She deserves to learn to read. Every woman … every person deserves that. I would never deprive her of it."

Brenda hugged me so tightly I found it hard to breathe. "I love you, Master," she said.

I just lay there, and I thought that I felt … good about life.

AN EVENING WITH WILLIE

"Surrender and sleep!" I ordered.

Brenda immediately slumped to her left against Dee's shoulder, while Dee closed her eyes and let her right cheek settle against the top of Brenda's head. Willie, sitting to Brenda's right, collapsed across her lap and nestled the side of her face on Dee's thigh. It made quite a picture. Maxine, wagging her tail, walked to the couch and started licking Willie's face. She didn't move.

I decided that no instruction was necessary for this hypnosis session, so I just left them for a few minutes and walked down the hall to my office, where I put the watch back into its mahogany box. I didn't really like that box, all things considered. It reminded me of something I'd just as soon forget. Still, it's better to remember, sometimes; like a fatter "before" picture on the refrigerator to remind yourself what might happen if you indulged in that extra piece of cheesecake. I shut the box's lid and walked back to the living room, where my three lovelies remained in their hypnotic heap. I clapped my hands. "Wake up!"

They immediately came to life again, and Brenda and Willie came to me, hugging me. "Do you want us?" Brenda asked eagerly. "We could all do it! We could take turns!"

I laughed. "No, thanks anyway," I told them. I walked to the couch and bent over to kiss Dee. She, of course, had orders not to walk around, and she alone had remained sitting on the couch. "Dee, I want you to share your bed with Brenda tonight, please." I turned to Brenda, who gave me a little, knowing nod. "Brenda, why don't you two call it a night. Dee looks tired."

"Okay, Freddy." She got Dee's wheelchair, and she and Willie helped her into it and took her away toward the second bedroom. 

I called after them: "Willie, I'm going to do some work in my office. I'll be with you in awhile."

"Okay, Frederick," she said, smiling over her shoulder.

I was grading final papers for the Junior-level class. The course was almost over. Man, I'd be glad to see it done. I pulled up the first paper on the computer and groaned. I recognized it … it had been plagiarized from an on-line source that was at least two years old. Why didn't these kids learn? I gave the guy an "Incomplete" and wrote him an email to see me after class, preferably with another paper in hand.

There was a knock at the door. I hollered for her to come in, and Willie entered, eyes cast down, meek and humble. She was incredibly attractive. She was wearing a short nightgown and she obviously wore no panties underneath. Brenda had taken her to the hair removal clinic that day, and I could hardly wait to see the results. I just had to get through these damn papers!

"What is it, Willie?"

She was holding her ornate box containing the tarot deck. "Could I please just sit here for a moment and read my cards?" she asked. "It will only take a moment, and since you don't believe in them, it shouldn't be too much of a distraction. Please?"

I couldn't help giving her a sour look. She saw it and looked down at her feet. She was obviously very uncomfortable asking for this. I sighed. "Okay, go ahead. Be quick about it, please. I'm going to be at this for another hour, and I'm anxious to see the results of your visit to the 'clinic' today."

She blushed furiously, then walked up to the desk, took the cards from their box, and set the deck in front of me. "Just touch the deck, please."

I regarded her curiously for a long moment, then reached out and cut the deck of cards, and then cut it again. That didn't seem to phase her at all, and she scooped up the cards and quickly laid out five of them in a sort of sideways crescent. She bent forward and peered at them, then scraped them aside and laid out another design: a plus sign, or cross, using the next five cards in the deck. Again, she had to lean forward and squint at the cards myopically; and again, she hesitated only a second before scraping them aside.

Next, she began to lay the cards out seemingly at random; one here, one there on the desktop; but when she'd laid out twelve of them, they'd formed a circle. She bent forward and peered at them for almost a full minute. Her breath caught for a moment, but then she sighed and began picking them all up. She replaced the deck in its box and finally looked up at me.

"Thank you, Frederick. I appreciate your patience. I will wait for you in the bedroom."

"Aren't you going to tell me what you thought you saw?" I asked, and immediately wished I'd phrased the question differently. 

She winced. "It doesn't really matter, does it?" she asked defensively, and then hung her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. You are my Master, and I will gladly tell you everything I know. But if you don't mind, I'd like to wait until the time is right. It won't be long. Please?"

I felt my shoulders sag. I felt tired, and placating, and overbearing, and very, very horny. "Come here, Willie." At once, she stood before the desk and adopted a position of meek servitude, her hands at the sides, her eyes cast down at her feet. "No," I told her. "Come around here to me." She walked around the desk and stood before me. "Sit down," I told her.

She looked at me and blinked, then looked around for a place to sit. I patted my lap. "Here," I told her, and she smiled and blushed. She positioned her tight little ass on my lap, put her hands in her own, and leaned demurely against me. She felt very good: small and slim and firm and feminine. She'd obviously bathed recently, because she smelled of the floral soap that Brenda liked, but she also smelled like … Willie; that subtle but unmistakable odor that her body seemed to exude. My cock hardened under her pert little ass. 

"Put your arms around my neck," I ordered, and she immediately complied. I put my hand on her thigh. "Now, spread your legs for me," I said. She made a little noise and hesitated only a moment before spreading her knees apart for me. I ran my hand up her thigh and pressed my palm into her hairless mound. She gasped sharply and shivered violently.

So much for the papers.

I picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Our lovemaking was exquisite. When I sucked on her rock-hard nipples, she grasped my head and held me to herself, shuddering violently. When I nibbled and licked and slurped her hairless pussy, she drenched me with her tasty juices and came so hard she filled the night with her screams. And when I came, deep, deep inside her slim young body, it felt like my body was exploding.

"Frederick!" she whispered harshly. I awoke with a jerk and looked up, surprised to find her standing next to the bed, leaning over me. She wore a short silk robe, one of Brenda's, and her left breast was peeking out its front fold. I tried to clear my sleepy mind, and I reached for her. She shied away a step.

"No, Frederick, please!" she insisted. "I need to talk to you. I need to tell you something." She was speaking very lowly.

"Why are you whispering?" I asked, muddled.

"Shhh! Please, Frederick. We must be quiet. I must show you this!" She acted suddenly indecisive. "At least, I think I should. We MUST talk! Please?"

I sat up in bed and patted the space next to me. Reluctantly, she sat, her hands on her lap, her eyes averted. The light was dim, but I could see her clearly enough. She was upset, nervous, meek. "What is it, Willie?" I whispered.

She was trying to get her thoughts in order. "You are my Master," she said levelly, quietly. "I should have no secrets from you. I love you. I would do anything for you." I said nothing, and at length, she continued. "If I DON'T tell you, nothing will happen. And that would be good. Well, not good, but not bad, either. But if I DO tell you, then something terrible could happen. But that's the future, and it could be altered. If …."

"Willie," I interrupted, "you aren't making any sense at all. What are you talking about? What's the matter? Tell me!"

She looked into my eyes for a moment, then stood, holding out a hand to me. With the other, she picked up my bathrobe, which she'd obviously gotten from the closet while I slept. "You are my Master," she repeated as I stood and allowed her to help me on with the robe. "I will tell you. I should have no secrets from you."

Maxine was suddenly at our side, but Willie leaned down and told her to stay. The dog lay on the rug next to our bed and moped. Willie tugged on my hand, and I let her lead me out the bedroom door and down the dark hall. There was a light on in the library, but the door was closed. She tiptoed up to it, turning twice to put a silent finger to her lips as a signal to me, and then she cracked the door a couple inches. Curious, I peeked in.

Brenda, completely nude, her back to me, was busy at the computer. From time to time, she would stop and stare at the screen, and I could tell from her posture that she wasn't happy. She used the computer mouse, and I could see text being highlighted and deleted, and then she started typing again. Willie tugged me back into the hall and silently closed the door. I turned to her and started to speak a question, but she put her palm against my lips, stood on tiptoe, and whispered softly, directly into my ear.

"She is under the influence of a man: a man you regard as your enemy, though he really is not. You hate this man, for he took her body before you yourself could taste its pleasures. You have never forgiven him for this. You despise him."

I shot a glaring look at the closed door, and my mind thought a single, terrible word: TRAITOR! I had thought it might be Brenda; in fact, there was no else it could have been. But I loved her and I refused to believe it. It was the problem of the mahogany box, you see. It had been sent by Menlo as a wedding gift, along with a little congratulatory card and note. We were married by a justice of the peace downstate, and the only other person we had invited, the only other person who knew of our marriage, had been Brenda's mother (who I really like, by the way). There had been no announcement, no outside celebration, no publicity of any kind; yet Menlo had sent the box. I had never really liked it, as I've mentioned before, but I keep it visible as a reminder that power can corrupt. The watch IS power; but I will never, NEVER allow myself to become what that asshole is. And I haven't … have I?

Willie saw the look in my eyes and quickly leaned up to whisper in my ear again. "She has no control over what she's doing now! You must not blame her! If you want to see what it is she's doing, you must follow my instructions exactly. It's the only way!"

I pulled back and looked at her. She was shaking and still very upset. I gave her a little nod, and she put her lips back to my ear.

"Sneak up behind her. Grab her arms, so she cannot erase what has already been written. She will fight you. Don't worry about the computer. The little plastic thingy won't break it. You must be prepared for her resistance, for she will become very agitated. The only way you can overcome his power is to show her this." She reached into the pocket of her robe and brought out the watch, which she kept balled in her fist. She turned her head away from it, and I suddenly realized her plight. She treated it as if it was Medusa's head. If she looked at it, she would be lost to its hypnotic power; and retrieving it from its box in my study must have been a real adventure. She pressed it into my hand, and then lowered it to the pocket of my bathrobe. I let it slide in, and she relaxed a little.

"Hypnotize her with the watch," she whispered. "When she is completely in your power again, HIS control over her will be broken … for now. Then you can read … and begin to understand. But please, PLEASE don't tell her about what you found her doing …."

Tell her? You'd better believe I was going to tell her! I was going to get to the bottom of this, and I was going to STOP it! 

As if hearing my thoughts, Willie's eyes suddenly went wide and she grabbed at the front of my robe. "NO!" she whispered harshly. "Don't … please! If you …." A tear sprang to the corner of her left eye. "OH! What have I done?" And she turned and ran, barefoot and silent, back toward the bedroom. I looked after her for a moment. I could wax eloquent for awhile about the history of melodrama in literature, and about why it has been delegated in our society to exist only in the realm of Harlequin novels and daytime TV. This was a little too thick for me. Whatever it was that was eating her, it probably didn't rate all the histrionics.

I turned back to the door, eased it slowly open, and I tiptoed into the room. Brenda was still bent over the keyboard, and she didn't notice me until I was inches from her. Then, something alerted her to my presence and she spun toward me, her eyes going wide, the back of her hand to her mouth. Another classic pose in melodramatics. The air was thick with the stuff. 

"Freddy!" She spun back to the computer, snatched at the mouse, and began to position it toward the File Exit prompt. She moved so fast that I almost wasn't ready, though I'd been briefed on her actions. I reached forward and grabbed her from behind by both arms and pulled her back away from the table with as much force as I could muster. 

"NO!" she shrieked, as the desk chair rolled back away from the machine. The mouse reached the end of its cord, snapped out of her hand, and sprang back to strike the monitor a resounding blow; then it fell and bounced a couple times on the keyboard and slid off onto the floor. Brenda struggled against me, and I almost cursed the exercise program she had religiously followed ever since we'd met. She was STRONG! She bucked violently, struggling to rise over and over again, only to be brought back down by my gripping hands. She turned to look over her shoulder at me. 




The Addicted Natural Ch. 15



"Freddy, I just have to …" She tried to get up again, and I pulled her back. "I just have to do something to the computer …." Another attempt. "LET ME GO!" she screamed, and pushed back, catching me off guard. I stumbled, and she was up, racing toward the computer. I sprang up, grabbed her around the waist, and physically threw her several feet, where she landed heavily on the couch. She was getting up again when I held up the watch.

"Look at the watch, Brenda," I ordered in as calm a voice as I could muster. She froze, her eyes locked on the little timepiece. She shook her head, then amazingly closed her eyes and took a step toward the computer. "Look at the watch, Brenda!" I said firmly, menacingly. Her eyes came open again, and she stopped, staring. Once more, she shook her head slowly left and right. "Watch the watch, my love," I intoned. "Relax. Just relax."

"Freddy," she said slowly, "I just need to … I just want to … do something first. Please?"

"Just relax. So relaxed. Nothing else matters, Brenda. Just the watch. Relax and look at the watch. Relax."

She swayed. She tried to close her eyes again, but they blinked back open before she could quite get them shut. "Please, Freddy! Please let me … do … um … something. Something I have to do …."

"Nothing is more important than relaxing for me, Brenda. And watching the watch. Just the watch. Nothing else is important at all. Nothing else. Just the watch. Just my voice."

"Please, Freddy …."

"The heaviness is coming now. The wonderful heaviness. So nice. So heavy."

Her arms fell to her sides. "Something …. I have to do …."

"So sleepy. So heavy. So nice. Nothing but my voice. Nothing but the watch. So sleepy. Submit and obey."

"Something … I … have … to …."

"Submit and obey."

"Something … some … some … mit … and obey. Submit and obey. Submit and obey."

I let her drone on and on like that. With each iteration, she seemed to sag a little more, her eyes drooping. Finally, I let her go all the way. "Surrender and sleep," I ordered, and her knees splayed apart, her legs twisting, and she toppled back onto the couch. She lay there for a brief moment, and then her body slipped off onto the floor, where she lay in a sleeping heap. I looked at her for a long minute and then turned my attention back to the computer. The mouse hadn't done any damage, other than entering several extra characters at the end of the uncompleted text. On impulse, I clicked the print icon and ran off a hardcopy before I read it:

Dear Menlo the Great,

Why do you do this to me? I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I found myself in the hallway outside the library, and I didn't know how I got there, or WHY I was there. I only knew that I HAD to go in and do something on the computer. And when I came in here, I realized WHY! I had to write to you! I didn't want to! I wanted to leave! But then I knew that THAT was how I got in the hall outside. I'd left. But when I leave this room, I FORGET! And I know now that if I leave without writing to you, I will just come right back in again; never remembering why; always forgetting; always forgetting.

How many times have I done this? I don't know. I don't remember. I never will. What have you done to me? I hate you, I hate you!

I know that doesn't matter to you. All you care about is me debasing myself in these letters to you. You want to know things about me that I would never tell ANYONE. About what I do in the bedroom with Freddy … and with Dee … and now with Willie. Ah, you didn't know about HER, did you? I haven't written you about her yet, have I? Have I? I don't remember. I wish I could remember. But I can't. And I won't. I know that as soon as I send this to you, I'll forget again; it will just be … gone! How many times? How often have I forgotten?

If Freddy only knew! He'd fix you! You'd be sorry!

Oh, that's so stupid. I sound like a teenager. I've tried to stop writing this, but I can't. I've even erased the whole thing! But I find myself just starting over again. I've done it twice. I guess I'll just get it over with. I'll just write it and send it … and then I'll forget again. Again and again and again. I hate you.

The biggest news in the past month (and there's so MUCH to tell you!) is about our new friend, Willie. She's an albino! But she's also the most beautiful girl I think I've ever seen. Dee and I met her while we were camping near a new lake that Freddy wanted to fish in. But Willie had a husband (yes … HAD. I'll get to that), and he came charging into camp, and he was so angry that he HIT Freddy! We were all so shocked and angrlkku'09864chnjhf

The email address was simply a ten-digit number at one of the nation's largest servers. I checked her sent-file, but if she'd sent previous messages (and she obviously had) they'd all been deleted. I highlighted the entire text of this new message and deleted it. Then I typed a message of my own to The Great Menlo, telling him in no uncertain terms what I planned to do to him if I ever caught sight of his miserable ass again. I also vowed to find some way to end his psychological hold over my wife, if it was the last thing I ever did. I pressed the "send" button almost without thinking. Only then did I remember Willie's strange behavior, and wondered, despite my best judgment, if there might be something to this fortune-telling mumbo jumbo. Sighing, I found and deleted my message from Brenda's "sent" file. Then I rose and turned the computer off.

"Brenda, wake up." I held her gently by her shoulders, and she opened her eyes and looked up at me.

"Oh. Freddy." She looked around. "What are you doing in here?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

She blinked and looked down. "I … I don't know. I … must have come in here for something. I'm still naked. Was I walking in my sleep?"

"I don't know." I helped her up and hugged her to me. She rather deftly untied my robe and slipped her nude body against my own. "Let's make love, Freddy."

I held her. "I … I can't. Willie's all upset about something. I need to get back to her." I thought a moment. "How about Dee? Did you find out what she's worried about?"

She hesitated a moment. "No. I sense … I mean, I think that she's feeling guilty about something. She won't tell me what it is. I'll be able to figure it out eventually. Give me time."

"You'd better get back to her," I said gently. I had the hardcopy of the email in my pocket. For some reason, I longed to show it to her, talk to her about it. I talked with Brenda about everything. We had no secrets, and she might know how best to handle the situation. But for some reason, I remained silent, and I just hugged her marvelous body to mine.

"I love you, Freddy."

"I love you, too."

I walked her back to Dee's room and then returned to the master bedroom. As soon as I entered, Willie was on her feet and clinging to me, bending back and looking questioningly into my eyes.

"Did you tell her?" she demanded pleadingly. "Did you?" She searched my face. "You DID!" she accused. She let go of me and stomped around the room, holding her head. "Oh, what have I done? I've KILLED him!"

I couldn't take much more of this. "I didn't tell anybody anything!" I told her.

She spun around. "You DIDN'T?" She looked earnestly at me again, then tried to run past me. "My cards! I need to read my cards again!"

I reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her off the ground and holding her out in front of me like a misbehaving child. "Stop this! If you don't stop acting like bad character in a soap opera, I'm going to throttle you! Now, I want some answers, and I want them now!" I set her down, dazed, and reached into my pocket. I held the email message balled in my fist, inches in front of her face. "Tell me how you knew about this!"

"I read about it in the ca …." Her features set in a mask of defiance and she turned away. "You don't believe! You don't care!"

I walked to her and held her slim body, her back to me. "What I BELIEVE has no bearing on this discussion. And what I CARE about is the truth." I turned her toward me. "Now, I want you to tell me! I won't contradict you, and I won't berate or degrade you. I won't make fun of you because of your beliefs." I paused and looked her in the eye. "I love you, Willie. And I respect you. Now, no more mystery, and no more melodrama! Tell me what's going on here! What do you mean 'I've killed him?'"

She looked up at me, silent and tearful for a long minute, then disengaged herself from my arms and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at her dangling feet. "Everybody wants to know the future. That's all they care about. The present is what's important. What's happening NOW, and WHY it's happening … THAT'S what's important. The future is all twisty and uncertain. It changes. Sometimes, I read the future, and then the next time I read it, it's all different." I wanted to contradict, berate, degrade, etc, etc, but I wisely kept silent. She glanced up at me, and I put on my best "listening with intent interest" face. She sighed and looked back at her feet.

"I read about Brenda and the man you hate … I read about them in the cards a couple nights ago when Brenda and I were here alone. Then tonight, I read about the future. I saw you grab her, and hypnotize her, and I read about your … enemy on the computer. Only, he's not really your enemy. He's … not a nice man, and he's done some nasty things. But he's no threat to you, Frederick! He's just … there. Like a bird … or a worm. No threat. But then … in the cards … in the future … I saw you tell Brenda. Brenda saw your jealousy, saw your hate. And she … told Dee. And Dee … killed him."

"Aw, Willie," I said sadly, unable to keep the emotion out of my voice, "Dee couldn't kill a fly."

She looked up at me again. "Dee killed my husband, Frederick."

I took a deep breath and counted to ten. "Nobody killed your husband! I didn't! Dee didn't! A tree fell on him! I'm sorry it happened, but …."

"I'm not sorry. I hated him! But you don't know! You weren't there! You didn't see!"

"Dee was in our tent with ME!" I said, exasperated.

"Yes, and she was in my tent, too," she said calmly.

I took another breath. "You're telling me that Dee has some sort of supernatural power?"

She sighed. "I should first tell you of my experience with these things. My Auntie … her … field of expertise was with children. You see, when a young child is … gifted … in some form of psychic ability, he or she tends to be very lonely, sad, confused. We are different, and we FEEL that difference very acutely. Some of us MUST be slaves, for without a Master, our powers turn inward and drive us insane. Others are wildly independent. Auntie helped us, comforted us, taught us how to use our gifts; but also how to shield our abilities from others. She helped us cope. I lived with her all my life, but others … many, many others … visited us on the island. Their parents contacted Auntie, and they brought them to her so she could 'refine their powers.' Those that could pay paid very handsomely. And Auntie used the extra money to bring those who could not pay. She taught the children and overtly judged the parents who brought them. If the parents intended to use their offspring's powers for gain, Auntie … 'changed' them. By the time they left the island, they had only their child's best interests at heart.

"So you see, Frederick, I grew up being exposed to many, many special young people. They were all different; unique. And yet, they could all usually be placed into a few general categories. There were the 'seers,' like me. Each could glimpse the past; the present; even perhaps, the future. Each had her (or his) own medium: the crystal, the bones, the tarot. There were other types, too.

"Dee's powers are really rather common; it's just that they are rarely seen in this combination. I'm guessing that you've noticed her most obvious talent. She knows what you want even before you ask for it; probably before you even know you want it yourself!" I was about to make another contradictory remark, but it froze on my lips. "You HAVE noticed it!" she said exultantly. "But what you HAVEN'T noticed is what she's done to Brenda … what she's done to me! It's … it's … wonderful! 

"It happened to me on that first day we met … was it only three weeks ago? It seems like a lifetime! Brenda had lured me to your campsite, and we were talking and laughing. It had been MONTHS since I'd laughed. I didn't know I still knew how! And then, just like that; instantly; I felt her inside of me. At first, I thought it was Brenda; but then I felt …." She looked at me appraisingly, and went on. "… I felt the baby. It was the most amazing feeling! I was part of her. She was part of me. And I could feel the fullness, the heaviness, the … wonderful bloating feeling that was another life moving inside of me. It was very, very intimate. But I'd experienced something like this before. Three or four of the kids who visited the island were 'mind sharers,' and I'd eventually learned how to push them out, or how to keep them from getting in at all. They meant no harm; in fact, it's really rather fun; but there is no privacy when you share your mind, and one has to be in the mood to want it.

"But then you came to the camp, and she left me. I looked at her questioningly, and she winked at me, but that was all. Then, after Rudolph came, after he hit me, after he hit YOU, he was about to hit Dee, too; and I think she did something to him. In fact, I KNOW she did. Because for the next week, he didn't hit me; not even once. He seemed afraid of me. Sometimes, he'd hold his head and just rock back and forth. Sometimes he'd yell for no apparent reason: 'Leave me alone!'… and I was GLAD. I was happy that he was tormented! Once, he left and didn't come back for almost a day, and it was wonderful, even though I was dreadfully hungry. 

"Still, I saw no way out of my awful life with him, and I did something Auntie told me NEVER to do: I questioned the cards about my own end. I was not sad to find that it was coming very soon. I foresaw the tree … the very tree I'd been under while talking to Brenda and Dee! It would strike and kill me! You can't imagine how I felt when I sensed the presence inside me again at that moment. Dee had returned. She'd done it once already, even though Brenda has since told me that she was more than a hundred miles distant at the time. She'd found me, and she'd merged with me, and now she knew about the tree; about what was going to happen to me.

"Later, on the stormy night in the campground, with the wind howling and the lightning flashing and the deadly tree swaying above my head, I felt very much at peace. My nightmare life was about to end, and I was glad it was over. I knew that there were just seconds left, but Dee came back again and entered me. At first, I was overwhelmed by an incredible feeling. I didn't know what it was, though I know it now. It was an orgasm! She was cumming! And I was cumming, too! The orgasm made her stronger; more powerful, somehow. I was very curious, but resentful, too. These were my last seconds on earth, and I wanted to spend them alone. I pushed her out! Immediately, I felt her trying to get back inside me, and I knew what she wanted; she wanted to make me move; move out of the way of the tree. She wanted to save me! But all I wanted was to put and end to my tortured life. I pushed her away one more time, and I was mildly surprised when she did not try to intervene again. 

"Suddenly, Rudolph howled with rage! He got up, and he grabbed me around the waist, and he threw me across the tent onto the other bed … HIS bed! And then he sat down on mine and just looked at me. He'd taken my place! He looked … upset and disturbed and angry and very, very frightened. His eyes were wild. The tree exploded above our heads, and I think that for a split second, he knew what was happening. And then it struck …."

She took a deep breath. "How was I supposed to feel about a woman who liked me so much that she would kill for me? But, of course, the more I really got to know her, the more I really loved her! Dee is so … sweet. The problem is that she doesn't really know what … what she IS. She's never really been taught what her abilities are, or how to control them." She looked at me uncertainly for a moment, sighed, and decided to go on. 

"I'm trying to teach her now, but her abilities are much greater than I'd first guessed. For example, last night, while you were in here making love to Brenda, Dee urged me to wheel her quietly to your doorway so that she could watch. I did, but then (it was so amazing!) I was suddenly joined with Brenda. Dee had taken me with her, somehow! I could feel your cock inside me, and it felt … different. Not as … full, but very, very deep. And then, you were on top of me, and my hands were pinned to the bed next to my head, and I felt so … so helpless. And then the orgasm began to build. Mine usually just hits me all at once, but inside Brenda, it built up and up and up, and then it just washed over me like a wave, and it went on forever! Oh, Frederick, it was WONDERFUL!

She paused to let her breathing slow. 

"A few days ago, when you were sitting with Dee in the hospital, Brenda took me into your office. I realize we're not supposed to go in there without your permission, but she sensed that I needed to know more about Dee. She took down a book from a shelf, and we sat on the couch and she read it to me. It was Dee's diary." She studied my eyes for a long moment. "Do you know …? I mean, after what you've heard me tell you, do you know why Dee was going to kill herself? Make no mistake about it, Frederick: she was going to do it! She almost did. Do you know why now?"

"Um … she was distraught about her wealth. She felt trapped by her money."

Willie smiled patiently at me and shook her head. "She had lost her Master, Frederick. She could not live without a Master. And because of the scars on her back, she felt ugly and incapable of attracting another." 

I could only gawk. "WHAT Master?"

That patient smile again. "Her father, of course."

"She HATED her father!"

"Oh, really now! How many slaves do you think there are in the world today? More than you could count, I bet! How many of them do you think hate their masters? The vast majority, I'm sure! I hated mine. Dee was so ready to abandon hers that she attached herself to the first one that showed any interest at all; but he abandoned her! She HAD to have a Master. All three of us have our special gifts, but all three of us must have a Master! Brenda didn't save Dee, Frederick: YOU did!" 

I blinked, my head swimming. 

"And now, she will do ANYTHING to protect you and make you happy. If she knows that you hate someone, especially if she thinks that your happiness is threatened by that person, she may very well do to HIM what she did to my husband. THAT is what I saw in my cards. She can drive him mad, Frederick. He has made himself a part of Brenda; part of her mind. Dee can track him down using that link. Distance is no matter. He could be anywhere in the world, and Dee could still enter his mind. She will do anything to protect the Master she loves."

Something she'd said resonated in my brain. "All three of you must have a Master…" I repeated. "You're not suggesting that Brenda …."




The Addicted Natural Ch. 15



It was her turn to gawk at me. "But surely you know …." She studied me closely. "You gave her the mark …."

I suddenly bristled. "I've never 'marked' Brenda!" I retorted. "I've never lifted a finger against her in anger. I've NEVER struck her! Nor will I ever. I love her; and I love Dee; and I love YOU! And I'd never …." I stopped at her expression.

"Not that kind of mark!" she said, smiling. She gazed at me for another moment. "Frederick, Brenda is an empath. An extremely adept empath."

I searched my mind. I'd heard the term somewhere. "You mean, like, if I break my arm, she takes the pain away and bears it herself?"

She gave a little laugh. "No. Empaths deal in the emotional, not the physical. If you are deeply troubled by a strong emotion, Brenda senses it and shares it. But emotions tend to cloud judgment. Most people can't find a solution to their emotional problem. Brenda possesses the unique ability to see the various solutions to that problem and choose the right path. 

"But the empath's strength is also her curse. She must attach herself to those who most need her. That is why, when she saw ME in that campground restroom, she felt compelled to coax me back to her campsite and try to get me to open up to her. I had had dealings with empaths before, and even though I knew exactly what she was and what she was doing, I felt myself unable to resist her charm, her comfort. It's extremely difficult to resist an empath. And, as I said, she seeks out those who are most in need of her abilities. That is why she attached herself to Dee. And, I'm sure, that is why she attached herself to YOU."

I jumped a little and glared at her.

"Oh," she said. "Poor Frederick. You thought YOU had found HER!"

And now, dear reader, it's time for my LAST literary device: a review and clarification; which, thankfully, will be very short. I suppose you've all experienced a moment in a restaurant when you try to attract the attention of the waiter and he simply ignores you, always looking the other way; never quite "seeing" you. In the hit Broadway musical "Chicago," there's a number sung by a guy that calls himself "Mister Cellophane;" in which he bemoans the fact that people "look right through" him. That was me; and not just in restaurants, either. Earlier in this saga, I told you that I'd had half a dozen sexual encounters before I'd met Brenda. Actually, there had been only four. Three had been overseas, while I was in the military; all of whom had been prostitutes. And the two who had asked for "dates," i.e., given me "freebies," afterwards, had probably had ulterior motives for doing so: getting to the States and starting a new life, most likely. The one sexual "conquest" I'd had in recent years before I'd met my lovely wife had involved a girl who was so drunk that she didn't even remember me the next morning. Women didn't notice me. They barely even saw me. To put it succinctly, life before Brenda had been crap. But my life had changed since I'd "acquired" my beautiful slave-spouse. People DID notice HER. And since she deferred to me in almost all incidences, they had to notice ME by default. I had become … real.

And now, this white-haired self-proclaimed psychic was suggesting that I had just been a mercy fuck! I was obviously not amused. I closed my eyes and counted to ten again. She must have sensed my reaction.

"Please, you mustn't doubt the depth of her love for you. She NEEDS you. She loves you completely. You are her Master. You are as vital to her as the air she breathes!" She reached out and put her hand on my arm, and her eyes were infinitely tender. But then a question entered them. "But the mark …."

"What mark?"

"The heptagram," she said.

"The hepta-what?"

"Heptagram. It's a symbol: a square merged with a triangle."

My eyes widened with sudden recognition.

"A seven pointed star," she said. "The patch of pubic hair you had her leave just above her pussy. The sign of the empath."

I had a lot to think about. None of this could be true. It just didn't happen. Not for real. The girls talked all the time. Was it possible this was some sort of mass-hysteria? I looked at the lovely girl-slave sitting on the edge of the bed, watching me with hope. Would I tell her I believed her, just to make her happy?

"You've done well telling me the … truth, Willie. Thank you. I always want you to be open and honest with me. I'm going to reward you now." I took the watch out of my pocket and held it close to her, just above her eye-level. 

"Oh!" she said in a whisper. She looked up intently at it while it spun lazily on its chain. Slowly, she cocked her head to the left; her mouth relaxed and opened, a small drop of saliva forming at the left corner of her slightly smiling lips. Slowly, without my uttering a word, her eyes began to droop.

She sighed contentedly.



The Addicted Natural Ch. 16







The Addicted Natural Ch. 16



I first noticed it with Jennifer about a year ago. She's really into these soapy romance novels, and I've seen no reason to discourage her. I happened to come upon her one day sitting in our glass porch among all the flowers. She was sitting, reading, and she didn't know I was there. She is an exceptionally beautiful woman, and I just stood for awhile, watching her as she read, the pages slowly turning, her lips moving slightly as she sat there. And then, slowly, disturbingly, I began to realize that the pages were turning, but SHE wasn't turning them. They were turning themselves! One at a time! Just as she was finished with each one! Impossible!

Now, sir; I've been involved with just about every type of on-stage prestidigitation in the book. I KNOW a staged trick when I see one, and THIS was not! Finally, I confronted her, and she was greatly upset. She'd always had the power, she told me, but she was afraid to tell me about it, because she knew that I didn't believe in such things. She couldn't move anything very large, she told me, nor could she move anything very far. Indeed, I made her experiment with this ability, and she was right. She could move a spoon about an inch along our kitchen table, but she couldn't move it if there was a tablecloth involved. Too much friction, I suppose. 

Finally, she told me that Suzy had "abilities," too. And after she told me about them, I realized that I'd seen them in action many times. Suzy has a gift with animals. She can sit on our bench in the back yard, and inevitably, within several minutes, birds begin to flit around her and land near her. Squirrels, rabbits, all kinds of animals, come and sit at her feet. Dogs never growl at Suzy. Insects never bite her. Now, finally, I saw this "talent" as something out of the ordinary. 

I confronted her about it. She could "hear" their thoughts, she informed me. Visions of Doctor Doolittle danced in my head. But the reality about animals (if she is telling the truth about it) is much different than fantasy. Animals rarely have a tangible thought beyond "I'm hungry" and "It would be nice if someone scratched the itch behind my left ear." Animals want. Animals need. Animals don't "think." But animals also "like." And all the animals like Suzy.

And this brings me, at last, to Wanda. I first encountered Wanda as I was driving across the Homestead Bridge in Pittsburgh and saw her about to fling herself into the icy waters of the Monongahela far below. I stopped my car, grabbed her, and drug her back to my vehicle, kicking and screaming. Once I'd calmed her down, I was shocked to recognize all the traits of the Natural residing in her lovely person. In just a few minutes, I'd calmed her down even more … WAY down, and she was deeply, totally, and completely in my power. I drove her to my home here in New York State. 

She had evidently been distraught over the death of her father. And this was very odd, because she had hated him. He had been sexually abusing her since she was ten, and he'd been a drunkard and a cur. Still, she seemed to believe that life without her father (her Master?) would be intolerable. So … I gave her myself as an alternative Master, and she was almost exponentially happy. She seemed to fit right into our "family," and now, after a few hypnotic alterations, I could finally take one girl to bed at night, while the other two would "entertain" themselves … sexually as well as emotionally. A perfect world. 

But Wanda had a "gift" as well. Her ability seemed to be in the form of visions that came to her while she slept. Dreams. And while they all were (as dreams usually are) strange, vague, and open to interpretation, they were uncannily accurate. She once foresaw a heavy rainstorm, during which our dock, down at the lake, was heavily damaged. I had a construction company come out and make needed repairs, and when a storm DID strike shortly thereafter, our neighbors all sustained significant damage, but our dock withstood the gale. There were other incidents as well, but you see my point. Her "abilities" appear genuine.

And so, a few days ago, she came to me crying and tremendously upset. She'd had a dream. A very vivid dream. And in it, I was killed. She saw a man dressed in the robes of a person of letters, an academician. She actually described you quite well, right down to your hairline. You were standing on the shore of a lake, and behind you were three beautiful, naked women. One had hair of shining black (obviously Brenda); one with large breasts, pregnant, and with hair of flaming red (Dee?); and a third was small, slender, with hair of purest white (I assume she means a blonde. I don't know about a third girl in your household). I was standing on the other side of the lake, and none of your group noticed I was there. 

Suddenly, the girl with the white hair noticed me, and pointed. You saw me for the first time, and you raged at me. You pointed me out to Brenda, who in turn, brought my existence to the attention of the pregnant redhead. Then, in her dream, Wanda saw all three women change, drawing themselves up, getting bigger, and they turned into dragons; one red, one black, and one white. They all turned their hatred (your hatred!) toward me, and the red dragon spit fire that engulfed me. When the fire had subsided, I had gone mad. I ranted and raved, and finally, I flung myself into the lake and drowned myself to calm the terrible voices that had filled my head. Wanda was beside herself with grief and foreboding. 

Poppycock, you say. Claptrap. Superstitious humbug. And yet, I must admit, she has been right before. Should I ignore such a warning?

I must admit, my first instinct was to rally my own psychic army and confront you. If it's war you want, I will certainly protect myself! I sat by the lake and held a muster of my troops in my imagination. They stood, beautiful and proud, at my beck and call. I held a mental inspection of my forces. One was ready to move heaven and earth for me … just so long as it didn't weigh any more than a spoon, and could be moved along a smooth surface. Yet another stood ready to summon the forces of the animal kingdom, and she could easily send a couple dozen birds your way with malicious intent … just so long as they weren't distracted by the sight of handful of corn. And my third was a tremendous source of military intelligence … well, just so long as you chose to attack during her afternoon nap.

Maybe I'd better rethink this strategy. Come to think of it, perhaps begging and groveling is in order here. 

Professor, I have wronged you. I took advantage of your beautiful Brenda when she was helpless, and for that, I deeply apologize. I have intruded on your privacy by having her write me without your knowledge. I am sorry. Though I have given you reason to think otherwise, I AM NOT YOUR ENEMY. I mean you no disrespect. I mean you no harm. I will forever withdraw from your affairs. I will never again contact you or any of your women. I sincerely beg your pardon, sir.

Please. Please don't bring my existence to the attention of your Red Dragon. 

In Brenda's hypnotic "Favorite Room," there are two rugs. The bed rests on one. The other is in the center of the floor. I believe you have probably already found the trap door under the rug in the room's center. If so, you know that she can be permanently changed when she is in that lower room.

What you have probably not found is the trap door under the bed. Hypnotize her, and then have her get out of the bed. There is a secret button on the footboard. She won't be able to see it until you tell her it's there. When she presses it, the bed, rug and all, will slide aside revealing another trap door. When she goes down into THAT room, you will be able to override the instructions that make her contact me each month. 

You will never hear from me again.

I remain, sir, your most humble servant.

Gregory Menlo

SHOWING HER WHO'S REALLY THE BOSS

"Wake up, Brenda," I told her softly.

Her eyes fluttered open, closed again, and she struggled to stay awake. "Oh!" she muttered groggily. She opened her beautiful eyes wide for a long moment as she tried desperately to remain alert, but her body sagged again. "Oh, golly Freddy! You took me so DEEP!"

I didn't rush her. Usually, she'd do her little post hypnotic stretching maneuver when I awakened her from trance, but she was right, I had taken her especially deep this time. Deeper than I'd ever taken her before. She suddenly forced herself into alertness, however, and her eyes shifted quickly left and right, though she was looking at nothing at all.

"You changed me," she said. I tried to ascertain if this was an accusation or simply a statement of fact. She was staring across the room, her eyes unfocused. Now, she finally looked directly at me, regarding me wonderingly. "You changed me," she said again.

"Um …." I hadn't planned on this particular line of conversation. I thought quickly, and finally decided to let my heart lead me in these uncharted waters. I deeply loved this woman. I should have no secrets from her.

"Yes," I said simply. "Yes, I did." She continued to look up at me with almost an expression of pleased awe, like a housewife who works tirelessly, thanklessly around the house for months and months, and is suddenly given a particularly romantic gift for no reason whatever. I don't know what I had expected, but it wasn't that particular look. It suddenly unnerved me. "Um … I want to tell you what I did, Brenda."

"No!" she urged quickly. She put her fingertips to my lips to silence me. "Oh please, Freddy! Please don't!"

I stared into her eyes questioningly for a long moment, but she smiled, put her head against my chest, and hugged me. I held her tightly as she shivered in my arms, and I wondered where this was going to lead.

We said nothing, and the only sound for a long, long time was that of rain in the trees outside our bedroom window. A small noise came from deep within the house, and we both knew what it was, both intimately familiar now with the sounds Willie made when she became lost in feelings of sexual stimulation. In the bedroom at the other end of the hall, she was doing something new and erotic and wonderful with Dee. What could it be, I wondered; and my cock stiffened, just as it did every time I thought of Willie. But no, I had to believe that my physical response was being brought on by my lovely wife, so small and fragile and sexy and desirable in my arms.

The letter from Menlo lay in my desk drawer in the study, where I had put it after receiving it only a half dozen hours before. I had decided to put its information to work immediately … tonight, and I'd sent Willie and Dee to bed right after dinner with orders to study another of their reading lessons. (From the sound of things, however, the lesson was being put off until morning.) Menlo's instructions had been accurate, of course, and very easily followed. The curse was broken. I felt oddly at peace, even knowing that he had retained so much power for so long. Brenda's response upon awakening, however, concerned me.

"Don't you want to know?" I whispered into the top of her head. "Aren't you curious?"

She shivered again. "Yes, of course," she said softly. "But please, Freddy … Please don't tell me." I drew back slightly and tried to look at her, but she just pressed her face more tightly into my chest and refused to meet my eyes. "I am your slave," she continued calmly. "I should have no secrets from you, but you are entitled to keep them from me. You can make me do ANYTHING, Freddy. You can … and you … you SHOULD! You should change me to your liking. You should change the way I think. You should change the things I want … the things I crave. You should change who I AM to please yourself. You should make me … DO something. You should make me …."

Finally, she pushed herself back in my arms and looked into my eyes. "Make me, Freddy! Please … Oh, please make me! Make me do something NOW!" She buried her face into my chest again. "Please, Master. Please make me!"

Ah, so that's what this was all about. How long had it been? Too long, obviously. Brenda needed this from time to time; needed to be taken hard, almost violently. Needed to be reminded of the Master/slave relationship in raw, physical action. I had, at first, thought it to be some sort of subconscious rape fantasy that had to be played out once or twice a year to satisfy a craving in the darkest reaches of her psyche. But now I considered that it might be more than that.

I grasped her by the shoulders and forced her back away from me a step. "Raise your arms," I ordered sternly. She didn't hesitate. Keeping her eyes lowered submissively, she raised her arms toward the ceiling. I put my hands on her hips and slowly, ever so slowly, pulled her nightgown upward. It was her favorite, a deep blue, long silk number that clung to her curves deliciously. I had to shift my hands a few times as I slid the garment upward, and I was thus was able to slide the slippery fabric suggestively over her breasts a few times before I finally, finally pulled it over her upraised arms and off of her now nude body.

"On the bed, Brenda," I ordered. "On your hands and knees!" She quickly leaped on the king sized bed and positioned herself at its edge as I had ordered. Quietly, I walked to the closet and came back carrying the blue gym bag. She made a little noise, and her eyes widened. I set it down just in front of her so that she could watch as I rummaged around in it, making a show of it, eventually producing the regular pair of handcuffs. She made the noise again, and then seemed to hold her breath as I attached them to her wrists, positioning her hands together to allow me to do so. I rooted around through the bag again and slowly extracted a bottle of liquid lubricant, and she gasped loudly, knowing now what my intentions were. I set the bag on the floor, then gave her hands a quick tug forward, forcing her onto her elbows, her ass raised sharply upward.

Trailing my fingertips down her back, I began idly playing with her upturned bottom. She wriggled it and moaned. I did this for several long minutes, before I finally slid my fingers lower and stuck a finger into her sopping pussy. Another moan. I easily added another finger, so that my middle and fourth fingers were now deep inside her, and I began a series of deep, slippery, probing strokes into her cunt, then all the way out, before slipping them inside for another easy assault.

"Oooohh, Freddy!" she moaned.

"I'm not going to need the lubricant, am I, Brenda?" I asked harshly. "You're soaking wet, aren't you? You're ALWAYS soaking wet, aren't you?" I began smearing her slimy deposit onto her puckered asshole after bringing my fingers out of her after every stroke.

"I … I can't help it, Freddy," she mewed weakly.

"You're really a bit of a whore, aren't you, Brenda?"

"OH! Oh! I can't help it, Freddy," she groaned weakly. "I'm sorry, Freddy. I can't … OH!"

Just to be on the comfortable side, I poured a little of the lubricant directly onto her asshole, then set the bottle aside and began pressing the thumb of the same hand I was using on her cunt into her tight little anus. She groaned again loudly. "Relax your ass muscles, Brenda," I ordered.

"I … I'm trying, Freddy! I … Oh Golly! Ahhhh! I'm trying, Freddy!"

I shifted the position of my stroking fingers so that they were scraping against her clit every time I slid them into her. She shuddered violently, then began pushing her butt upwards toward my invading thumb. I could feel her sphincter relax its grip on the tip of my thumb, and with the aid of all of the lubricating fluids, I pushed the digit fully, easily all the way inside her. "Aaaahhhh!" she cried. I left my fingers as far as I could reach inside of her cunt, and my thumb far inside her ass.

Slowly, I began rubbing thumb and fingers together, separated only by the layers of thin membrane between her colon and cunt. Immediately, she pushed upward onto her bound hands, arching back toward my invading hand, moving her ass in a jerking circular motion. "Aaahhh! Golly, Freddy! Ooohh!"

"Be Still!" I commanded. She stopped flailing and slowly lowered herself back onto her elbows, panting heavily, shaking. "I want you to try NOT to cum," I told her seriously. "I know you're ready, but do not cum!" We both knew where this was leading.

"I … I'll try, Freddy."

I started rubbing my fingers and thumb together again, assaulting that innermost part of her, while I reached under her with my other hand and rubbed her clit hard. She stiffened, shuddered, hesitated, and was finally catapulted into a soaring orgasm. She was on her bound hands again, pushing back against MY hands, arching her back, shaking her head from side to side, her hair flying. "Aaahhh! Aaahhh! Aaahhh! Aaahhh!" Her sphincter clutched my thumb hard. The walls of her cunt contracted to match the rhythm of her cries. Finally, after maybe thirty seconds of this, I stopped my violent rubbing and she slowly sagged back onto her elbows. She shivered and gulped air as if she would never catch her breath.

"I … I'm sorry, Freddy," she said weakly. "I tried. I couldn't help it. I tried."

I stood beside the bed, beside her. Keeping my thumb and fingers buried in her, I reached with my free hand and pushed down my pajama bottoms, which was all I was wearing. Then I climbed into bed and positioned myself behind her upraised ass. She was dripping steadily from her pussy, and I scooped more of her fluids from below her and deposited it around my thumb, which I now began pumping in and out of her ass.

"You have no control, Brenda," I told her harshly. "You can try as hard as you want, and I can still make you cum any time I please, isn't that so?"

Her ass was moving again under the ministrations of the plowing thumb. I was now pulling it all the way out of her, and as I did so, her rear hole stayed open, gaping, welcoming, before I shoved it back into her.

"Aaahhh! Yes, Master! I can't help it! You can make me, Master!"

She was very, very slippery back there now. Very, very open for me. I pulled my thumb out for the last time, positioned my hard, aching cock, and pushed easily into her ass.

"Unhh! Unhh! Unhh!" she bellowed, and her butt hole gripped me as she came again. I waited until the spasms passed, then began slamming into her roughly, violently. She had been up on her hands again, and this assault pushed her forward onto her face, her arms trapped underneath her, her wrists extended down between her legs. I was amazed and surprised to find the fingers of her cuffed, clutching hands grasping my balls. And that was as far as my control was going to extend for this session. I buried myself far into her and came and came and came deep in her bowels.

I slumped heavily atop her for a long minute, then grasped her around the waist and pulled us both onto our side while I stayed buried inside of her. I held her while she panted and shivered for many long minutes, then I reached up and grasped a handful of her lustrous hair and roughly positioned her head so that I was breathing into her ear. She shuddered.

"Is there any doubt in your mind who is in charge here?" I hissed.

"No, Master," she whispered softly.

"Who controls you?"

"You control me, Master."

"I can make you DO anything. I can make you WANT anything. I can make you THINK anything."

"Yes, Master. You control me, Master."

I held her for many more minutes. My cock finally slipped out of her, but she made no move, either toward me or away. She simply allowed herself to be held, awaiting her Master's next command. Okay, I thought, I'd had just about enough of the play-acting! I wanted to share this with her, somehow. I wanted to talk to her, and ask her opinion, and seek her guidance ….




The Addicted Natural Ch. 16



And yet, above all else, I realized that I would have to make this sacrifice. I was certainly not a born leader, and yet I was firmly in the roll of leader in this play I was living.

"Brenda?"

"Yes, Freddy?" Her voice sounded small, meek, little-girlish.

"I am going to tell you what I did to you when you were hypnotized. I am going to tell you because I WANT to tell you."

"Yes, Freddy."

I sighed. Oh, the hell with it! I would play the role. I would be what they expected me to be.

"I changed you because I wanted to protect you. What I did to you was for your own good. You will never know what I did, but I want you to know this: I will do whatever I deem necessary for your protection. If I must, I will change you and control you and bend your thoughts. Whatever it takes to keep you safe and happy. Do you understand?"

She reached up with her cuffed hands and grasped my arm. "OH, Freddy!" she said softly. I could sense she was crying quietly, but I spoke no further; just held her. Finally, somehow, I knew she had stopped her tears.

"Yes, Master, I understand," she whispered.

PAST – PRESENT - FUTURE

We call it "Indian Summer." It was the second week in October, and we were having a warm spell after the first really cold weather of autumn. The sun was brilliant, the sky cloudless, the birds singing. Last week's frost was just a memory, and the temperature was in the 80's.

The girls had decided to dress in bikinis, which looked absolutely ludicrous on Dee, who only had a couple weeks to go before delivery. I had played Rhett Butler and carried her half way down the hill toward the lake to sit in the shade of the big oak, while Maxine bounded frantically all around me and almost tripped me twice. Willie had pulled the cushions off the swing, and I had gently lowered Dee onto them. Then the two of them stretched out, Maxine at their side, and Willie began reading a third grade primer, her head resting on Dee's shoulder. 

Dee was immensely pregnant. Brenda had made it a daily ritual to rub lotion into her stomach and breasts in an effort to keep the stretch marks at a minimum. Even so, a single mark had appeared, starting at her navel and extending almost all the way to her cunt. Her bellybutton "innie" had become an "outie."

I walked back up the hill and sat on the porch swing, watching them, and I suddenly thought that I'd developed a craving for a glass of lemonade. That's when Brenda, clad in her skimpiest swimwear, brought me that very thing, handed it to me, and stretched out next to me, her muscular legs facing away from me along the swing's seat, her back resting against my shoulder. Naturally, I slid my arm around her.

"Dee told me you'd want a glass," she explained. I sighed. The lemonade tasted great. We sat in silence for a long time.

"The architect called," she said. "He says the plans are ready, and he'd like to see you." She looked back over her shoulder and regarded me curiously. "Why all the secrecy?"

"You'll find out soon enough," I told her. I'd put off the addition to the house, and the plans now called for small indoor swimming pool, Jacuzzi and lap lane (Willie had commented more than once about how she missed her "long swims") connected to the other side of the new rooms. I wanted to see the designs before telling the girls. It was going to cost a small fortune, but then, I guess I had one now. I'd argued with myself on several occasions, but in the end, I reckoned that if Dee was ever going to enjoy her money, I would have to spend it on her behalf. Well, OUR behalf. Well …. Oh, who was I kidding?

I decided to change the subject. "I don't think Dee's going to make it to her delivery date," I said idly.

"She's not," Brenda replied flatly. "The baby's coming one week from today. Tuesday, October 18th, in the early afternoon."

I looked down at her. "Ah. Willie and her cards again."

When I didn't say any more, she finally looked up at me. "You still don't believe, do you?"

"No." We'd had this discussion before.

"You should really try to keep an open mind about all this," she chided.

I sighed. She was right, of course. There are countless examples in fiction in which the scientific mind has been represented as a "closed" mind. And in fact, there had just been too many strange events in the past few months to discount the presence of … SOMETHING; but whatever it was had to be bound by scientific roots. I am a realist. I always have been. I always will be. 

"You'll have to give me a little while," I told her flatly. "I'm not saying I'm GOING to believe in all that stuff …. I just have to study it a little more first, that's all." She didn't say anything to that, and we watched Willie as she read her book to Dee. "You're probably going to tell me that she can't read her cards as well, now that I've demanded she start reading books," I said.

Brenda shifted slightly and hesitated before answering. "I don't think she really 'reads' the cards at all, Freddy," she said. "I mean, she knows how … she knows what they represent, what certain combinations are supposed to mean, stuff like that. But I really think that she actually has visions when she looks at the cards … especially when she arranges them in a circle. I think it's sort of like a medium looking into a crystal ball or something. She confided in me a couple days ago that her visions aren't as sharp now … not as clear. I think that the more she reads books, the less sharp her second vision will become. Eventually, I think it will be just like her REAL vision. She'll still be able to see, but not clearly; not distinctly. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," I said in a controlled voice. "Yes, that makes sense." I wasn't giving an inch. Not yet, anyway.

She was silent for a moment before stunning me with some news. "Freddy, I've found Willie's people."

"Her people?"

"Willie told me that her aunt taught children … children from all over the world."

"Children with 'psychic' abilities," I said. "Yes." I tried not to sound sarcastic.

"Well, I started asking myself how they found her. How could individuals, such as the parents of gifted children, find her? How did they know about her? How did they contact her?"

I looked at her blankly. I'd never considered this. I did so now. "The internet?"

"Do you remember her telling us about her aunt's other 'slaves' on the island? There was a couple from Barbados … Johnathan and Ann?"

"Yes …."

"Well, as it turns out, they weren't just her slaves; they were her webmasters."

I shook my head. "Wait a minute. Willie acted as if she'd never even seen a microwave oven before. Are you telling me her 'Auntie' was a psychic on the World Wide Web?"

"When I first started figuring this out, I asked her about the conditions on her island," Brenda told me. "She said that Ann was a very good cook, but that she never used any of the true modern conveniences in her kitchen. And she told me that her aunt never allowed a television in her household … but that there was a radio. And she told me that there was a computer in Jonathan and Ann's house, the servant's quarters, but that she was never allowed to use it, just as she was never allowed read to books." I was stunned at this revelation.

"And now, after several hours of searching, I've found their web site," Brenda continued. "It's a nice looking site. Very professional. And Freddy … I think you'd better hold on to your hat … her aunt is alive!"

"What?!"

"Not so loud, Darling," she chided softly. I looked down the hill at the girls, but they obviously hadn't heard me. Brenda took a breath and went on. "The web site's main page explains that 'Auntie Griselda,' has been 'very ill' for the last ten months due to an 'accident,' but she is now ready to begin her 'training sessions' again. There's an email address … and a telephone number." She was quiet then, holding my hand, which I'd laid against her right breast. 

I was utterly stunned. My mind was in turmoil. I glanced down the slope at the exotic, white-haired young woman. I felt a tingle in my loins that I'd come to believe would be there for the rest of my life, every time I looked at her. But it was more than the sexual attraction. I was really in love with the girl.

"I'll have to call her," I said dumbly.

"Yes," Brenda said softly.

"We'll have to tell Willie, of course," I intoned.

"Yes."

I paused a long, long moment, and I felt my weaknesses overwhelming me. 

"Brenda, I can't lose her. I … we … we can't! I won't give her up!"

And Brenda hugged my arm against her chest. "Oh, Freddy! You're such a silly goose sometimes!" She snuck a peek at me over her shoulder, and she was smiling at me … that sexy, infuriating little smile she has. She was quiet for a minute. She turned back around and snuggled back against me. "Do you trust me, Freddy?"

I sighed. "Yes, of course I do," I replied honestly.

"You know that sometimes … well, sometimes I'm just … right about things. Emotional things, I mean. It's just a feeling, I guess … intuition, maybe. You don't have to believe it's something beyond the ordinary. It's something that just … IS." I didn't say anything, and she went on. "So when I tell you this, I'm just going to ask that you trust me, okay?"

I took a breath. "Okay."

"Willie is one of us now. She loves you completely. Totally. And she loves me, too. And Dee, obviously." We both looked down the hill toward them. "In all of the places in all of the world … THIS is one she loves the most. She will NEVER leave us. Never. And you must never question that. Her dedication to you is absolute. And your dedication as a Master must be equally strong. As long as you are here to guide us, we will always be here to follow. Now and forever."

She had rarely given such a serious speech, and I was moved. I was also convinced, and I relaxed again. She seemed to sense it, and relaxed against me, as well.

"I'll call … Auntie Griselda this evening … though I know what she's going to say."

She perked up at that. "What?"

"She's going to say the same thing all psychics say when you phone them," I explained. "She's going to say: 'I knew you were going to call!'"

She groaned at that, and then we were quiet for many long minutes, comfortable, happy, satisfied. Once again, I thought about how my life never seemed to settle down. Just when I thought some sort of equilibrium was starting to develop, something came along to spice things up a bit. Now, even if Brenda was completely correct about her wanting to stay with us forever, I would feel obligated, at the very least, to travel with Willie to her tropical island for a reunion with the "auntie" she had loved so much all her life, and who was now almost literally back from the grave. And if I DID give in and start believing in this psychic shit, then that made the upcoming trip even more exotic. Was "Auntie" really a succubus? Was I doomed to fall under her thrall at our first meeting? Would Brenda and Dee (and the baby!) make the trip with us? (Well, of course they would!) 

Equilibrium was just as far away from my future as it always had been. Adventure continued to threaten our daily lives.

Down the hill, Willie (who now sported a pair of thick glasses I'd bought her to read with) paused, held up the book, and pointed to a word. We couldn't hear them, but we saw Dee glance down and respond, giving her the word she couldn't comprehend. Willie nodded and continued reading.

"I walked in on them yesterday," Brenda said quietly. "They were in Dee's room, and I wanted to ask Dee if I could get her anything at the store while I was out." She paused for a long moment.

"Walked in on them?"

"Willie has … well … she's sort of found her … her position in the family." Another pause.

"Ah," I said, understanding. "And you're not too happy about it."

"Oh, no … it's really not that …."

"You're top banana," I guessed. "And you don't want to be."

She sighed. "I'm certainly the number one wife in the harem," she admitted. "I wish we could all just be … equal. But that's really not possible, is it? I mean, Dee's place is obviously the lowest. She's ALWAYS going to be the most subservient. And now, Willie's finally figured that out … figured out that Dee needs to be ordered about, I mean … and that she needs to be humiliated sometimes."

"What were they doing?" I asked. "Yesterday, I mean."

She shrugged, and then oddly shivered a little. "They were making love."

"Tell me," I ordered.

Pause. "Well, they were naked, of course, and Dee was lying on her back on the bed, her head on her pillow … and Willie was on her knees, with her whole body pressed against the headboard, her face toward the wall. She'd spread her legs far apart, and put a knee on either side of Dee's face, and she was … she was grinding her … her pussy into Dee's mouth. Dee was holding onto Willie's butt, and she just laid there, licking and licking. I couldn't even see her face. And then …." She shivered again. "And then … Willie realized I was there, and she turned around and looked at me. We locked eyes, and I just stood there, looking … looking …."

"Yes, go on."

"She turned back away, and she looked down between her knees, and she said something to Dee. I couldn't hear what it was. But it was a command. An order. And suddenly … suddenly … I WAS Willie. I mean … I could feel … feel … EVERYTHING! My body was small, and slender, and … and firm. And my breasts were … small and … and … my nipples! Oh, Freddy, my nipples were LONG and hard, and they were rubbing, rubbing against the hard wood of the headboard. And it was driving me CRAZY! And Dee wasn't just licking … she was sucking; sucking on my clit. And my clit was so LONG and hard, and it didn't feel like MY clit at all! And I thought: Dee has done this! Dee has put me into Willie's body! And usually, I'm just sort of along for the ride, you know? I mean, when Dee has done something to me before, I can just sort of feel what she feels … like sharing, you know? But this time … this time, I WAS Willie."

She shivered again. "And then … and then the orgasm just hit me. And I mean it hit me hard! It didn't build up and up and up, like mine does. There was no warning! It knocked the breath out of me! And Dee stopped sucking on me and started licking me … licking me like crazy! And I felt my pussy clench and couple of times, and then I felt the fluids inside me just gush out! I couldn't control it! I squirted! And I ran my fingers in Dee's hair, and I was coming and coming! And then … and then … and then I was sitting on the floor by the door, and I couldn't catch my breath for a minute, and I put my hand between my legs because I KNEW that I'd left a big puddle on the floor, but there wasn't any, although my panties were really wet … the way I get … you know … the way I get sometimes. But there wasn't a puddle, and I couldn't understand where it had gone … my juices, I mean. But they'd gone all over Dee, of course! Because it had been Willie all along … but … oh golly, Freddy! It was amazing!"

She was breathing hard and I could sense the emotion in her scantily clad body. I let her calm down. I knew she wanted me to comment, but I didn't trust myself. This … this hysterical fantasy was running rampant among the three of them. Yet, I argued with myself, it didn't seem to be doing any real harm (except for giving me a raging hard-on while I was trying to maintain a modicum of decorum). Let them entertain themselves with their delusions! And they were just delusions … weren't they?

"What did you do then?"

"We cleaned Dee up using warm washcloths," she said. "And I took off my clothes, and then we just lay down on either side of her, and we touched her and held her and sucked on her big, fat nipples, and we stroked her, and finally we made her cum."

She turned her head and looked into my eyes. She suddenly looked guilty. "There's something I need to tell you, Freddy."

Oh oh. "What?"

Her eyes shifted. She was trying to work up the courage for a major confession. "Well, you know how horny Dee has been lately …."

"Yes."

"And you know how sensitive her breasts are? And how much she likes it when someone sucks on her nipples? I mean, a few times, I've made her cum just by nibbling and sucking on her tits, you know? And so we suck on them … a lot. And Willie and I were just trying to please her … because we love her so much, you know?"

"What is it, Brenda? What's happened?"

She stole another look at me. "Her milk has come in early, Freddy."

I blinked. "What?"

"She's lactating."

"Um … Is that a problem?"

"Well, no. I've read about it on the internet and in a couple books I've bought. It's not a problem, but we shouldn't let it stop. For the baby's sake, I mean. But …."

"But what?"

She looked away again. "Well, when we take her into the delivery room next week, the doctors and the nurses … they're going to notice, of course. And they'll just naturally assume …."

"That I did it!" I groaned.

She laid her hand on my knee. "Poor Freddy." She was silent for a long moment while I stewed. "But you ought to try it!" She turned and looked at me again. "It's … it's … sweet, and it tastes … good! And she really likes it, because it turns her on; but that embarrasses her, of course. And that just turns her on even more!"

I mumbled a grumble, and she laughed and just snuggled back against me. I sighed a few times, but finally we just fell silent and let the warmth of the lazy afternoon lull us. For five full minutes we said nothing at all; just looked down the hill at Willie (who looked like a million bucks in her dark blue, skimpy halter-top bikini) and Dee (who looked like … well, like a very pretty, VERY pregnant girl in HER dark green, skimpy halter-top bikini).

Finally, I broke the silence. "Brenda, this isn't … normal."

She turned and looked up at me. "This?"

I made a gesture that I meant to take in everything. "This. Us."

"Us? You mean … WE aren't normal?"

"Well … yes."

She seemed lost in thought for a few seconds. "Let me get this straight," she said in her best scientific-sexy voice. "I mean … for the record, here …." She paused again. "I fell in love with you the first time I laid eyes on you, but you didn't ask me out for two years!"

"Well, I …."

"Don't interrupt!" she snapped playfully. "And when you finally DID ask me out, you turned me into your love-crazed hypnotic sex slave the very first night!"

"Well, I mean …."

"Hush, darling! I'm on a roll!" She slapped my knee gently. "So you fed me and bed me and eventually wed me. And the very first real girl friend I found after getting married, I decided to try and convince you to sleep with her and turn HER into your love-crazed hypnotic sex slave, too. And you put up a valiant fight, and then you practically fell all over yourself quickly doing exactly that."

"Uh …." 

"But AH! What do you know! Even though neither of us had ever had a single homosexual thought in our collective pretty little heads, we suddenly found ourselves in deep and overwhelming lust with EACH OTHER! We found it simply impossible to keep our young hands off of one another … or off of you, of course!"

"Well, but …."

She held up warning finger, and continued. "Until … I come up with the idea that my friend would be much happier in life if she was carrying YOUR baby! And, of course, you put up another gallant fight, and you resisted with all of your strength … for a minute or two, and then you both made like a couple of bunnies for a few months, and suddenly our family was in a family way!"




The Addicted Natural Ch. 16



"But …."

"But WAIT! There's MORE!" she said, mimicking a TV commercial. "Because my friend and I (drum roll, please!) found ANOTHER friend! And after ANOTHER gallant fight, you turned HER into your love-crazed hypnotic sex slave, as well! And what do you know! SHE's bisexual, TOO!"

"Well … um …."

She suddenly leaned back and kissed me on the lips. "And we couldn't be happier," she concluded. She turned again and settled herself back against me. "Now, how could you possibly say that we're not normal?"

I smirked, but she was facing the other way and didn't see me, so I just remained silent for a long time. She might have thought she'd overdone the sarcasm a bit, because after awhile she took my hand and started playing with it idly. Finally, she raised it to her lips and kissed my palm. "Oh, Freddy, I love you so much," she whispered.

I'd been thinking about something for a long while. I finally determined that this was the time. "Brenda?"

"Yes?"

"A couple months ago, did you take Willie into my office without permission?"

She suddenly looked down the hill at the girls. "Why, the little snitch!" she said accusingly.

I was silent for a moment. "I'm going to punish you, Brenda." 

It was her turn to pause. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked quietly.

"Anything I want." She said it along with me and laughed. One of our little private jokes.

But then she was quiet again. And this time when she spoke, it was in a timorous whisper. "What are you going to do to me?"

"Well, first of all, I'm going to turn the bunch of bananas over."

"Huh?"

"Just as soon as Dee is feeling up to it … a few weeks after the baby's born, we're going to start having our 'Naked Dee Days' again."

Brenda nodded. "She's really missed that. She'll like playing the role of the naked, helpless, total-submissive again."

"Yes," I continued. "Once a week, just like we used to. But now, once a month, on a special day, YOU will play that role. You won't be top banana anymore. And just for that one day, you'll be firmly on the BOTTOM of the heap. Just like Dee. Naked, helpless, obedient, subservient, submissive. For the whole day … the whole night. You'll do exactly as you're told. By ALL of us."

Her breath caught. She turned and looked at me. Her eyes twinkled. "Is THAT my punishment?" she asked, a cute little smile curling the corners of her lips.

"No, that's just the way it's going to be in the future."

She was silent for many long seconds. "How about Willie? I she going to get to play our little game, too?"

"Sure," I responded. "But let's give her a chance to get used to it. I'll let her ask me first. When she does, I'll assign HER a day of the month, too."

Brenda's chest heaved slightly as she considered this. Finally, she spoke again. "And what's my punishment?" 

"I'm going to give you a command," I told her sternly. "And when you hear it, you will not argue. You will not question. You will not complain. You will not try to talk me out of it. You will not comment."

She twisted her slender body and looked, puzzled, into my eyes. Then she turned once again and settled back into me, picking up my hand and playing with it, running her fingers along mine.

"You will not argue," I repeated. "That's your punishment. Do you understand?"

"Yes Freddy."

I let her worry for another minute. "Have you taken your birth control pill today?"

"Yes …."

"That will be your last one for a long time," I told her firmly.

She twisted again and looked up at me. "Freddy …."

"Ah ah!" I said warningly, holding up a forefinger for silence.

She opened her mouth, and then shut it again. Then she sat up and spun around so that we were sitting side by side. Her hands were in her lap, her head down. She sat that way for a long minute and finally looked back up at me questioningly.

"I'm going to make you pregnant, Brenda," I told her flatly. "Even if it happens right away, there would be nine months between children. Enough time to quell any suspicious doubts among our kids later in life."

She was thoughtful and quiet for a long minute. She stared down the hill at the other girls. "I could never look as good as Dee does," she said morosely. "I'll be fat and ugly, and I'll waddle like a duck!"

I couldn't help barking a laugh. "You're going to make a beautiful mommy," I told her. "And, oh Brenda, you're going to love it! When we're making love, it's always going to be in the back of your mind: 'This could be the time! It could be happening right now!' But you can never really be sure. And when we're finished, and we're lying next to each other, catching our breath; you can't help but wonder …."

Unconsciously, she put her right palm against her bare midriff. "Pregnant," she murmured. And she was quiet again, lost in thought for many long seconds.

At last, she uttered a single, whispered exclamation:

"Golly!"

FIRST EIGHTEEN SECONDS OF A TELEPHONE CONVERSATION – 

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 11TH, 8:20 PM

"Hello?"

"Um … Is this … um … Auntie Griselda?"

"Yes. Who is this, please?"

"My name is Frederick Fielding. I'm calling from the United States."

"Yes? What can I do for you Mr. Fielding?"

"Well, I'm calling on behalf of Willie. You see, I'm sort of a special friend of hers, and until just today, I was under the impression that you were …. That is, we thought you had been …."

"Ah, yes, of course. I've been expecting your call, Professor."

IT IS MY PLEASURE TO ANNOUNCE …

… the birth of my daughter, Elizabeth Ann Fielding, seven pounds - three ounces. Born Tuesday, October 18th at 2:05 pm. Mother and daughter are doing fine.

The time of birth may raise questions among those of you who are of a scientific and conservative mind. I've given it some thought myself, and I've developed a hypothesis. Dee has always been exceedingly suggestible. Do you think it might be possible that the onset of labor could be psychosomatic?

THE END