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No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 01

By: ElRoylk



She looked up from the table as he was getting up to leave. She had missed the last thing he had said, lost in a thought. Too much wine.

"I'm sorry," she said, stopping him. "What did you ask?"

"Just wondered if you'd had enough, or if you wanted anything else?"

She was pretty full and there was still a lot left on her plate. "No, thanks. This is fantastic, but I can't eat another bite."

He smiled at her and took his own plate away, leaving hers. 

He considered his prospects with her. Marcie Adams. 29. Brunette. Very long neck. In great shape. Intelligent. Excellent sense of humor. He inventoried all of the attributes he could think of as he went to the kitchen and straightened up a little. Accountant. Professional. Well-read. Enjoyed good food and wine. Unattached. Divorced. No kids. A little lost. Still a lot naïve. Not jaded.

What was the attraction? He shoved the question back into its box just as he shoved his plate into the dishwasher. No sense dwelling in the future. She was here. She obviously was interested in him. Surf the chaos and enjoy the results.

She sipped her wine. It was very nice wine. It was really nice to be able to sit at a table, enjoy a conversation with a nice guy and sip really nice wine. She had just started thinking about wine. Wouldn't it be cool to have my own cellar?. She looked around at the art, the nicely furnished rooms, books on the shelves, a real fireplace with wood crackling. It was warm. It was home. She felt more relaxed than she had in...she didn't know how long.

She returned to the thought that had distracted her earlier. What did she know about him? Not much, considering what she'd spilled about herself over the last three dates. He was obviously successful, had had a great life so far. Why her? She knew she wasn't a movie star, didn't make a lot of money. She worked hard on her looks, and harder on her work. He was far more worldly than her. 

He was a great listener. At lunch that first date, he started of innocuously enough until by the end she hadn't even realized how much she'd shared about herself.

"So, how'd you decide to become an accountant?" They were walking to a small restaurant close to the office. She was nervous to be going to an official lunch with a real client. This wasn't her place. She hardly ever took lunch out of the office.

"I graduated college with a Business Degree (with a minor in English)," she giggled a little and then mentally slapped herself. "Applied to a ton of firms in all sorts of positions. I didn't really know what I was going to do with it, I just knew following the money was safer than most other jobs I'd seen people in. And then Samuelson popped up and I thought I'd give it a try."

They approached the place - a "localvore" boutique with a well-heeled chef, more notable for its high priced, pre fixe dinners than its lunches. She hadn't the money or reason to go there for dinner and it never occurred to her to go there for lunch.

She wasn't sure what the protocol was - was she supposed to pick up the tab and get reimbursed? Was this a social thing and they should split it? She couldn't afford to split it; he had invited her. What was the expectation?

He opened the door for her; she didn't share his relaxed confidence.

"And you graduated from the UNC?" He kept up his side of the conversation even as he got the attention of the maitron d'. 

"No. No, I went to a small school in Ohio. I was born in Cleveland." Here she hesitated, waiting for a joke or some reflection on her birthplace. She was a little surprised at hearing neither. "'Cleveland, city of lights, city of magic?'"

He looked at her a little quizzically. "I'd never thought of Cleveland that way. Cleveland, Ohio?"

She smiled at his confusion. Okay, so he isn't all-powerful and all-knowing. That's good to know. "Randy Newman? About the Cayahoga river burning?"

He smiled, understanding there was an inside joke there, but not knowing it.

"Burn On," she continued. "Sail Away. Great album. I'm surprised you don't know it." 

They were ushered to their table.

He had been a gentlemen for the past several weeks. He had come into the firm to meet with Samuelson. She'd seem him before, but he wasn't her account. She hadn't been paying attention walking out of the coffee room and ran into him. Hard. It was a miracle her coffee didn't splash all over the both of them when she practically crashed to the floor. She had blushed and he was apologizing to her. It could have gone very badly. Other clients were not nearly as sweet as he'd been.

She couldn't think of what to do she was frozen with embarrassment. He had immediately changed the awkwardness of the situation into a joke. She laughed so hard she had had to set her folders on the table. She couldn't even remember what he'd said, but the tension left her. He'd asked her to lunch and she said yes.

"Okay, so you have this thing for 1970's music and you grew up in Cleveland, Ohio, the home of the Rock and Roll Museum." He grinned at her as he waited for her to sit.

Hmmm, so he's not so stupid after all. She smiled. "Yeah, my father was a steelworker. Got a great job after his time in the service, never went to college. My mom died when I was 8 and he raised me and my sister. Anyway, he felt strongly about us getting a college education, so it was study hard and pass those entrance exams."

The server arrived to take their order, stopping her from going any further. She should have taken the initiative and found out more about him, but her attempt didn't go very far. "And you? How did you find yourself at Samuelson's today?"

He handed his menu to the server and took a sip of water, looking at her directly.

"I don't believe in accidents," he answered. "The course of my life, that brought me here to this moment, to be here with you, was neither accidental, nor pre-determined. It is the result of a set of tiny, tiny events as small as a heartbeat and as large as a train-wreck, with a small coffee spill in between." His eyes twinkled and he smiled when he said the words, softening whatever heaviness they might have otherwise carried.

"Train-wreck?" It stuck in her mind.

"Last week a train, loaded with product from my company de-railed in the Midwest. Thankfully no one was seriously injured. Of course, mine wasn't the only product being hauled on that train, but unfortunately the cars my stuff was in were the ones that fell off the track and were destroyed. My primary account manager is off this week and we needed to get this figured out for insurance, taxes, end-of-quarter reporting, blah, blah, blah." He didn't want to bore the conversation so soon.

Unfortunately, (she immediately realized) she found it anything but boring. It was exactly why she loved accounting - it boiled real-world events down to a set of numbers. Each line representing an entire story.

"So, college..." he continued. "That must have been a recent thing, then?"

The flattery wasn't lost on her. She smiled at his indirect compliment, once again relaxing her about the very thing troubling her most these days - she was getting old, already divorced, and no prospects. She knew she shouldn't focus on it; she'd spent months in therapy trying to "let go," but her clock was ticking. It was biological. She knew it and yet it sometimes overwhelmed her.

"I wish," she said sarcastically. "No, that was ancient history. My step-mother was not very supportive of the whole college thing. She kept ridiculing Nan, that's my older sister, and me for wasting our time on it. 'Just another reason for people to suck the money out of you.' was her standard line. It was a bone of contention between them, and frankly she almost had me convinced. So, anyway, yeah. College. Marriage. Divorce. Job. Pretty standard narrative."

"Whoops. Hold it there, cowgirl. College, marriage, divorce, job? You aren't old enough to have done all those things."

The conversation was interrupted by their meals arriving, again giving her time to slow things down. Why did she reveal all of that? Who did she think this guy was? It was just supposed to be a casual lunch to apologize for some bruises she would no doubt get from her bumping into him! Slow down, 'cowgirl.' She smiled a little.

"Also ancient history."!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But enough about me," she tried to turn the conversation around. "What kinds of products were lost last week?" He took a bite just as she asked. He motioned for her to wait as he chewed his food. Manners. Nice.

"Industrial parts, mostly. One of my operating companies is a small high-tech components firm. That shipment had some fairly expensive pieces in it. Lost a good percentage of my quarterly profits." He shrugged and took a sip of iced tea. "It's business. Okay, so wicked step-mother, sister. Tell me about that divorce."

Full court press. Shit. She squirmed a little at how personal he was getting so quickly, and yet he said it with such diplomacy and tact she almost answered just as matter-of-factly. What the fuck. What difference does it make? 

"High school sweethearts. Met him at a dance at 16. He was my life, you know the drill. Went to the same college to be together. Step-mother warned me. 'I told you so.'" She smiled ruefully at the memory. "Married straight after school. One thing my dad demanded: 'Get your degree young woman. You can always get married.' And then, a year or so into it he decided to fool around with another woman. That was it. No kids. Practically no property or other assets. Simple procedure. Done. Nothing to see. Move along." She giggled to underscore the joke. It was how she was feeling about her life in general - a car accident with nothing worth the passersby's time.

She heard him in the kitchen and felt the need to go in and help, still troubled by how little she knew about him.

She said yes when he called her up for a dinner date for the following Friday. A hip place she'd been meaning to try but wanted a good excuse. He treated. They chatted for hours, long after dessert, nursing an aperitif. He brought her home, gave her a gentle kiss goodnight and hoped she'd find time to see him again.

The second date, just last week was only a little more serious - he had tickets to a play. It was a silly comedy in a small playhouse. A late dinner afterwards and again, a pleasant drive back to her place where they necked, briefly, before he graciously walked her to her door. She had considered inviting him in, but was glad he didn't suggest it. 

It was at that dinner that they had gotten into a miniature fight. A debate. An argument. Not a fight. She hadn't had a fight with him yet...going on three weeks. 

*******

"Don't you think its weird how life suddenly gives you a lucky break?" She thought of all the times her life had changed - her ex bringing his lover to a poker game, finding her mother just in time to save her life, her sister's lucky lotto numbers that one summer... They were sitting at the restaurant looking over the specials.

"Ahhh," he smiled tightly at her. "I don't believe in accidents...or luck for that matter."

"But you surely don't believe it's all pre-determined, right? It's not like it's all written down in a book somewhere and we're just playing out a script, right?" The thought disturbed her.

"No. Not predetermined at all. I know I probably sound a little weird, so if gets to you, please stop me." He waited for her to stop him. "Okay...let's see. Religions all have their canons regarding how life is to be led, right? The Christians are focused on an after-life – that heaven awaits those who are righteous in this life. The Hindus are focused on the next-life – that "getting off the wheel" is the only true objective so that you can free your life-force back into the universal life-force. The Muslim's also believe in an after-life; the Jews, not so much – righteousness is measured in your life-time. And on and on. 

"Some Eastern religions suggest it's all predetermined so take your misery with a grain of salt, there's nothing you can do about it; Western beliefs struggle with the dialectic of "free will" and "God's will." I do not subscribe to an organized religious belief and I don't believe in "God" in the Abrahamic sense; nor do I share the Hindu's notion of "getting off the wheel.

"I have had several epiphanies in my life already. While some would say it is good fortune to have even one, again, I don't chalk them up to luck at all. Nor do I claim to have a secret for generating religious experiences. What I have done is learned to 'surf the chaos.'" He looked at her to see if she was beginning to think him a complete crackpot or worse, geek. 

She could only sit there and shake her head, not completely sure where this was heading. She was so in awe of him...or rather in awe that she would even be sitting with him at this restaurant; that they were on an actual date, a second date no less. It was all overwhelming. That he had just claimed to have several religious experiences...she knew a guy once who'd claimed to have had a religious experience – he was in an institution within a month. She shifted a little uncomfortably at the same time trying to reconcile his obvious charm and charisma with his kooky outlook.

He misinterpreted her reaction and stopped. "Way too heavy for this late at night. I'm afraid I'm not terribly good at small talk," he said, scanning the menu. "I guess I've been so tied up in my work, I don't get out enough..."

"Art," she practically blurted out. "I love art. Especially contemporary art. Did you see the latest show at Gallery Three?" What an idiot! What am I saying?

"is that the one with the sculptures out of recycled food containers? I saw the review last Sunday but haven't been. Did you like it?"

She let out a breath, relieved. "Sort of. Some of the pieces were...interesting. Shit, I hate that word...Ummm..self-consistent?" She shrugged, looking at him, as if lost. "What am I saying? Umm..it was trash, right? So the pieces that really expressed the idea of consumption were good...like the one of the guy eating. That one was pretty good." Cripes. Gotta change the subject. Science?

She waited.

"Maybe I'll take an afternoon and check it out – it's only a few blocks from my office. You have a favorite artist?"

She considered the question. "Not really. My sister studied Art and I was always fascinated by the creative process. I was never any good."

The conversation stalled momentarily as they studied the menu.

"Food," he said eventually. "I love food...and good wine, although I really don't know much about wine. But food. Can't get enough of it." He grinned at her.

She looked at him wondering how much he really ate given how good a shape he was in. "I like food," she agreed. "I've never understood the way they eat at my office."

The conversation took off as they discussed the menu, local eateries they'd been to (him) or wanted to (her).

****

She realized, as she took the last sip of wine walking into the kitchen, when he broke that tension in the coffee room it hadn't ever come back.

"Thanks," he smiled, rinsing her plate and putting it next to his. "The after-dinner liqueurs are in that cupboard over there. Pick something out if you're interested. We can wait a little for dessert since you seem stuffed."

She looked over the array of bottles - Cassis, Raspberry, Cranberry, Pear, Blueberry and various brandies and grappas. Several imported, some from a regional distillery she had visited last year. Maybe later.

"I particularly like the pear," he said, startling her a little. He had silently come up behind her, or maybe she had lost track of the time again, lost in her daydream. "I'm sorry. I startled you." He reached his hands up to her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. He kept it up a little longer, moving his thumbs into her muscles and letting his fingers push into the front of her collarbone. 

"Ummmm," she let out a soft moan, the warmth of his gestures spreading down her spine. "Don't stop." She said it with as much irony as she could, hoping he wouldn't stop, but at the same time hoping he didn't...what? Tear off her clothes and fuck her on the floor? His fingers continued briefly and he did stop, pulling her back. What was she thinking? She definitely didn't need any more alcohol.

"Let's sit in the living room a bit," he suggested, taking the pear liqueur with him along with a couple of glasses.

As they passed the table, she grabbed her glass and the wine bottle, joining him on the couch.

"So, Monty." She settled into the couch the feeling of his fingers on her shoulders echoed through her. "Tell me more about your business. How'd you get into it?" It was pretty lame, but she figured he was likely to talk about his work and that would get things going.

"Well, it's pretty boring," he began. "B-school, job as a mid-level manager, discovered a technology opportunity, they didn't agree, I left, worked my ass off...

...Hardly. It was a nice ass as much as she'd seen of it. She wondered if she'd see more of it tonight...

...and the rest, as they say..." He spread his hands to indicate the well furnished living room.

"Monty," she was feeling relaxed and that dinner disagreement was fresh in her mind. "Somethin you mentioned at dinner the other night stuck with me. I know I didn't really let you finish, but it's because I was a little confused. I think it's because I just don't understand it...your...philosophy?"

He was a little surprised at her bringing up the topic; he'd felt it was a big faux pas after the fact and suspected he was getting way too weird with her way too early...but something made him keep coming back to the topic.

She sat back and took a sip of wine, putting her feet on his lap. Too much?

"The Chinese, Indians and likely a lot of other cultures we don't know much about have long since landed on the idea that the flow of events in our lives has less to do with our decisions than it has to do with something inherent in the universe." His hand drifted down to her calf, his thumb pressing into her muscles.

"God?" His touch felt fantastic.

"I don't use that term in the way most Western religions have proposed it. Let's just say a universal 'life force' if you'd prefer. It's more complicated than that, as far as I'm concerned - a combination of chaos theory and Indian mysticism."

She had taken one course in college that touched briefly on chaos theory, something about Mandelbrot sets and irrational numbers, strange attractors and other esoterica she hadn't fully comprehended then and only barely remembered now. She had almost no knowledge of Indian mysticism. She waited.

"Too heavy?"

She shook her head 'no' whether he meant his massage or the topic didn't seem to matter. She looked at him and relaxed into his fingers.

"Okay. Well, combine the strange attractor stuff from chaos theory - the notion that true coincidences are really really rare - along with the most recent theories about the creation of the universe..." He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Nope. Not up on the latest cosmological theories." She loved saying that word, cosmological.

"Crazy stuff, really." He rubbed his whole hand on her calf and adjusted his posture to get more comfortable. "Too much to go into this late, but there are a lot of inconsistencies with Einstein's general relativity, the Theory of Everything, Space-Time math and notions of strings and manifolds. In a nutshell, it's likely an infinite number of futures branch out at any moment."

He turned again, getting into the heart of the matter for him. "Think about it," he pushed into her calf muscle, manipulating a small knot there, "at any moment your entire future could change in an infinite number of ways. An infinite number of negative outcomes, an infinite number of neutral outcomes, and infinite number of positive outcomes - that is, negative or positive from your perspective - a kind of Einsteinian relativism with respect to your own personal narrative. Definitely outside the realm of physics at this point and much closer to the notion of Relativism in the philosophical realm - hence the relation to Indian and Chinese religious beliefs."


No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 01



He'd pretty much exhausted her understanding of the topics even if she followed the general idea. His hand felt wonderful, though and she hoped he continued the massage on her other leg. She shifted slightly hoping he'd get the hint.

"Okay. I think I get it. But I can't say I'm not confused. At this second, you're right hand could just as likely stop massaging me as your left hand could begin massaging my other leg?" 

He grinned at her and moved his left hand to her other leg. She smiled back.

"Seriously," she continued, "I'm a little confused about where we play into the scheme of things. If the universe just grinds along with or without us, it seems we have no impact on the course of events."

"Quantum mechanics and the theories around it suggest Newtonian metaphors regarding a "clockwork universe" no longer apply." He stopped for a moment and started laughing at her expression of complete confusion. "Sorry," he laughed the word out, "that really didn't sound like English did it.

"Okay, let me put it to you plainly - when you make popcorn, you can't predict which kernel will pop next. In fact, the physicists after Newton had hoped they could find all of the variables that would let them create a prediction of the next kernel popping. All the way up to Einstein there was a core belief the universe just rolled merrily along depending on a set of 'gears.' The thought was we only had to figure out the arrangement, size and position of the gears and we could "roll" the universe forward or backward. We could 'predict the future' based on a complete understanding of the 'current state'.

"I use 'quote marks' around those words because they are fundamental to the mechanical metaphor of the universe grounded in Newton's cosmological view." He smiled, handing back her own word. "But the problem with that metaphor is it breaks down at the atomic scale as Heisenberg, Planck, Schrödinger, among others, liked to point out. 

"In fact, they and dozens of others since them have fairly well proved, you can't establish a 'starting point' at all since the nature of quantum mechanics is probabilistic, you can't know both the speed and position of an electron, etc. etc. Shoot. I'm boring you." He had looked back to see her eyes had closed.

She popped her eyes open. "No! No, not at all. I was just imagining clockwork universes, dead cats and electron shells." She smiled again. It was clear he got it. She wasn't an idiot. 

He felt emotion flood through him that she was actually interested and smart enough to keep up; he let it flow through his fingers into her calves. 

"But I'm uncomfortable with the idea the universe has no place for my decisions. You make it sound like none of the choices I've made have made a difference." She sat up a little, pulling her legs back. The pull-back wasn't lost on him.

"So that's been one of the great debates, right? The tension between "free-will" and inevitability, between "God's" omniscience and humanity's right to choose "correctly." From what I've figured out, it doesn't have to come down to that tension. Einstein's famous concern: 'God doesn't play dice with the universe' was all about his deep-seated faith in a universe that wasn't based on probabilities. It was a key fault of his Newtonian upbringing. Current physicists are not hampered by that belief system, and I think they're much closer to a Truth."

"But, okay, so," she pulled her legs away completely, in spite of how good it was feeling, and reached forward to fill her wine glass, "three weeks ago I bumped into you at the office, literally..." she smiled and took a sip, "and you're saying that was fated to happen? That nothing we could have done would have changed that?"

"No, that again implies a pre-ordained "written-in-the-big-book" kind of universe. I'm saying that at the moment just prior to our bumping into each other there were an infinite number of alternatives some of which led to bumping into each other, some of which had us in completely different places - not even in the same room for example - and some of which had near misses. It wasn't our choice to bump into each other - it was a roll of several quintillion quantum dice."

Something he said a moment earlier echoed back through her memory. She couldn't put her finger on it. Oh yeah! "You 'figured it out?' What do you mean you figured it out? When did you figure it out?"

He sighed and poured the two cordial glasses with pear brandy, even though she hadn't finished her wine. "It sounds egotistical doesn't it. It's not like that. I should have chosen my words more carefully. During my Junior year abroad, I had a small epiphany. I was in Morocco, probably smoked a bit too much hash, when the world around me crystallized into a completely different pattern from the one I had been familiar with. But for a subsequent encounter with an Indian Hindu, a guru named Sundar, I would have chalked it up to a drug-dazed adolescent hallucination. Fortunately, with this guy's help I was able to explain the new patterns using a completely different framework. There are some things that don't translate well, framework to framework, but are more easily demonstrated. Still, I hope you can see that simply by viewing the world a different way we can choose different paths and accept different futures."

He welcomed her to sit next to him and they cuddled. He played with her ear, running his finger up her jaw, over her ear lobe and across the top of her scalp. It was just this side of tickling her, but not annoying. Relaxing. She could feel her scalp tingling, the skin seeming to release. Her jaw fell away each time he pressed on it, and she lay back on his chest, letting him pet her.

"It feels like you could do with a massage," he proposed, abruptly changing the subject.

"Hmmm...maybe. Do you know of any good masseuses nearby?" She teased him, reaching for the wine.

"Masseuses, no. Masseur – absolutely. Hang here for a minute, I'll see if Montrose is around." He pushed her gently off of him, settling her aside, and eased himself up.

She poured a little wine in her glass and stared at the fire. A massage. Really? She was going to let him give her a massage? His fingers had felt amazing on her neck. She ran her own hand up to retrace his steps. 

"Marcie?" He called her from another room. "Would you like to see if this would be comfortable for you?"

She found him standing just down a hall, next to an open door, his hands full of linens. As she approached, she peeked into the room. It was a little larger than a walk-in closet - a massage table, obviously recently cleared of the bundles in his hand - a low side table with candles, not yet lit, bottles and incense burners, also not yet lit, and various other objects and small furnishings. It was an odd thing to see, but obviously he had invested some in the equipment. Perhaps that meant he knew what he was doing. It had been over a year since she'd had a massage. The memory of his fingers tingled down her spine.

"If you'd like, I'd love to give you a massage." His eyes sparkled in a warm and inviting way. He meant it, she realized. 

"Uhhh, sure. I guess. But, where do I, I mean, what should I...?"

"I'm going to change into something more suitable," he interrupted her, hoping to set her at ease a little. "You can change in here - take the robe on top. You'll find some towels on the side table there. Feel free to be as clothed as makes you comfortable. It's about relaxing." He turned to leave. "Oh yeah, there's a bathroom just next door if you need to go." He pointed to a doorway just up the hall and walked back towards the stairs.

She watched him leave and set her wine down on the side table, along with the robe. Looking at the open door she debated whether to close it and decided he'd see her soon enough. It was a curious way to get her to sleep with him, but it sounded delicious. She peeled off her shirt, folding it onto a chair in the corner. Off with her shoes, stockings and pants, leaving her in her bra and panties. Off with the bra, but the panties stayed...for now.

She tiptoed to the bathroom, looking over her shoulder the entire time and peed. Looking at her flat belly and neatly trimmed bush she felt good about herself. She'd worked out fairly consistently, her job kept her from spending too much time out, and she didn't make enough money to afford eating expensively. She flushed and rinsed her hands. Lost in her thoughts she didn't bother to check the hall as she re-entered the massage room, her small breasts jutting out proudly. What the hell. I might as well flaunt it a little.

She looked down at the shelf on the side table and saw the towels. She left the robe and took two of the towels. Lying face down on the table, she put one over her butt, the other she draped, as best she could, over her naked back. The room wasn't cold, but without her clothes and lying down, she appreciated the small bit of insulation the towels provided. She laid her head on her folded arms and waited for him to arrive.

A soft knock at the door broke her reverie. 

"Marcie? Are you ready?" He walked in wearing a linen kaftan. She watched as he set a few bottles and things down on the side table. "Is there anything in particular that is bothering you, I should focus on, or should be particularly careful with?"

She thought about her shoulders and how much she needed them worked on, and her mind flashed to how much she wanted him inside her and she pulled the thought back almost immediately, breathing in sharply. "My shoulders are really really tight," she looked up at him, rising up on her elbows. 

Standing behind her, with the towel draped over her, she knew he couldn't see her breasts entirely, but it gave her a small thrill he was looking. Confidence. Confidence.

"No problem," he continued, picking up a stick of incense. "I like this aroma. Does it appeal to you?" He moved it closer to her so she could sniff it. A combination of cinnamon and other herbs. Not too cloying with a hint of something musky. 

"That's nice," she agreed. "I guess you should be careful of my calves. I just remembered they were cramping up today and might be a little tender."

"Okay. Careful on the calves." He lit the incense and picked up a small bottle. "I like to use some aromatic oils when I massage. They are all vegetable based, completely hypoallergenic and they aren't very greasy. But if you'd prefer I don't..."

"No. No. Whatever you like to do. Oil sounds nice." She watched him, still on her elbows. The kaftan hid his body completely, but she got the hint he was semi-erect. When he turned briefly, she thought she could see the head of his penis pushing on the fabric. She blushed at the intimacy of it and then giggled a little at her own silliness.

He didn't notice, or pretended not to, preparing the mood. He lit several candles, the incense stick and turned off the light. The room was bathed in a flickering glow and she dropped her head to the table getting lost in the mood. She could feel herself loosening up, her juices starting to flow. God I'm easy.

"Hold on. Sorry. I'd like to get your head positioned a little more comfortably. Can you rise up again?"

She lifted up to let him remove the filler for the hole where her face went and she noted he stole a glance again at her breasts. Her nipples were still against the sheet, but the little thrill pulsed through her knowing he couldn't help himself. She placed her face into the opening and let herself relax.

He started with the top of her head, lightly pushing on the very center of her skull. 

"This acupuncture point is where all of the Qi comes together," he commented, pushing slightly against her hair. 

She had dark thick black hair - straight with a deep brown tint. Not the bluish black he often associated with Asian women, but a warmer black. She had it cut short, just below her ears exposing that lovely neck. Her neck. It was the first thing he noticed when she bumped into him.

He began to work his way down the side of her head towards her mandibular joint. Pressing the muscles of her skull at her temples he paused, rotating his thumbs into the muscles there.

"We keep a lot of tension in this part of the body," he continued his anatomy lesson as his hands rubbed her.

She lost track of the time, listening to his voice drone about the various muscle groups, the air beginning to thicken with the smell of incense and her body relaxing from wine and gentle handwork he was administering.

As his hands reached her shoulders she let out a long sigh, relaxing into his deep strokes. She was carried away by the sound of his voice, until she must have dozed off.

She surfaced when he had moved all the way to her feet. Her heart skipped a little at the loss of consciousness, but she realized none of the towels had moved, so he had either worked carefully around them or he had skipped all the way down to her toes.

As he worked her feet, she felt as if his thumbs were massaging her inner organs - slightly cramping then releasing, over and over again. It was a new sensation, not completely uncomfortable, but unfamiliar.

He kept up the pace and she wondered where his strength came from. Eventually he stopped, lightly rubbing her heels and soles, sending shivers up the inside of her thighs.

His hands pressed into the base of her back, where her spine met her waist.

"Marcie," he said softly, "I want you to press down with me, just slightly."

When she had complied, he continued. "Now. I'm going to let up slightly with my hands and I want you to turn your pelvis to let your back come up slightly. Press your pubic bone into the table."

She knew what he meant and she began to rotate her waist as his hands came up.

"Together now." And he began to press down on her back. In rhythm she pressed with him, rotating her pelvis first up and then down. 

It didn't take more than three rotations for the stimulation to move to her clit, slowly and softly pressing into the table and then pulling away. She didn't know if he was aware of its effect on her, but then again, she wouldn't put it past him. It didn't matter. It felt good and she began to push a little harder on each downward rotation.

"Good," he encouraged her. "I'm going to let go and get something. Please continue."

She opened her eyes and saw his feet moving away, his hands gently releasing her. She kept up her rhythm, feeling the loss of the pressure. The stimulation from her movements alone was not as satisfying and she pressed harder on each downward spin. She realized she must be a sight pleasuring herself. She still didn't care. In spite of a little fatigue, she didn't want the feeling to stop.

She felt the breeze of his return before she heard him.

"Okay. Let me do something else here to relax your lower back. I have a foam bolster I want to slip under you. I'll help you lift up a little so I can get it through."

He placed his hands on the front of her left hip and lifted. She pulled herself up, creating a small triangular tunnel at her waist, through which he fed the cylindrical pillow. He positioned it just above her thighs, across her pubis causing her buns to open a little. She could feel cool air on the inside of her thighs where she was beginning to sweat. She was getting wet. Very wet. She was sure he could smell the musk from her juices. It turned her on even more.

"I'm going to remove these, if that's okay?" He waited a moment before slipping his fingers into the waist band of her panties at her hips.

"Okay," she murmured, excited by the prospect of what he had in store for her. She couldn't see anything other than his feet, but she imagined his erection tenting out the kaftan.

He peeled away her underwear, revealing her lips covered in moisture, slipped them down her legs and off her feet.

He trailed his fingers up the back of her thighs, retracing the journey they had taken earlier when he was massaging the deeper muscles. Now, however, she felt exposed. Exposed and very wet. She wanted to cover herself up at the same time she silently begged...wished...he would open her and give her relief. She watched his feet turn slightly, and even though his right hand rested on her naked cheeks, she had a feeling his other hand was getting more oil.

He spread her cheeks slightly with his right hand and she felt the oil dribble down onto her crack, dripping down between her legs. He caught the drip with his forefinger and pressed it slightly into her swelling lips. 

She gasped a little and pushed down again toward the table.

"Not now," he directed. "Just relax and let me remove the tension I can feel here." He tapped her lips with his sticky finger lightly. Just enough to let her know her moisture wasn't the only lubrication he was playing with.

She felt his left hand come back to the small of her back, cool with oil. He moved it in small circles, rotating closer to her spread cheeks with each cycle. She knew what he was going to do and she wanted to stop him, but like a train wreck she couldn't pull her eyes away from, her conscious self stood back watching as his thumb plied her puckered hole with oil. 

Before she could react he plunged his thumb in, the oil removing any friction or barrier to his penetration. Her ex had forced her back there and the memories were unpleasant, but this felt very different. She tried to push him out, but the slipperiness of the oil gave her rectum no grip. 

"Try to relax your sphincter," he said softly. "That was the hard part. I won't go any further or do anything more to your rectum than this. I want to give you a deep massage and I apologize for surprising you." He gently moved his thumb in and out, lubricating her further and removing any chance of her pushing him out. It felt as if she might poop each time his thumb came close to exiting. If she wasn't so turned on she would have been grossed out, but his rhythm never changed, just as he had led her along all night.

His other hand pushed between her legs, separating them to expose her lips further. She knew he couldn't see her trimmed bush as it was facing away from him, but she hoped he appreciated how nicely coiffed her lips were. A funny thought given he didn't know how much hair would be there if she didn't take the time each week to keep herself trimmed. The hair on her head was an honest reflection of the thicket she had between her legs. It had always bothered her, and now she was glad she had taken the time to shave.

He used his forefinger and ring finger to separate her lips, letting the cool air evaporate the gathering drops from inside her.

She moaned. "Ohhhh....yes...Monty...mmmm....please." She couldn't help herself. She tried to push towards his fingers, but his thumb kept her rooted to the table.

"Shhh...patience. Relax, Marcie. Let me help you." He pushed his thumb in to keep her still and gently started teasing her outer lips with his fingers, rubbing her spendings along with the oil. Each time he went around, her lips made a small squishing sound. It was as if he was doing it on purpose, relishing the sound of her body being so turned on.

He inserted two fingers into her and pushed gently up, up, up inside until she didn't know how he kept his wrists from breaking. She was pushed up onto the bolster, her butt up in the air, her legs separated with his hands holding her, squishing in and out of her most intimate parts. She grabbed the sheet with her fingers clawing to keep the intensity down. 

He stopped, realizing what he had done was anything other than relaxing her. He gently pushed her down and let her catch her breath.

"I'm going to do that again, Marcie, but if it's too intense, please let me know."

"Yes. Please. That was so great." She could barely get the words out before he began to massage her again, this time three fingers in her vagina and his thumb keeping pressure in her anus. "Oh, oh, oh, ohhhh!" She didn't try and stop him, she wanted it to go on and on. Her legs and arms felt like lead with a bright light emitting from her core, rolling her eyes back in her head.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 01



His thumb pushed inside her rectum, he pushed his other hand completely into her. The two pressed against a spot she had never felt before and in spite of the violation she began to feel her orgasm blossom.

She let out a long guttural moan, crescendoing into small shouts. All of the tension of the past three months was fountaining into her brain as the sweetness of her orgasm began to peak: her mother's recent illness, her friend's break-up, the tensions at work...all flowed as images threatening to overcome her own coming together until they flowed out as a bright orange flower. 

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod..." she could only moan through her breathing. With each moan she involuntarily tried to push his invading thumb out her hole, but he held her firmly, leveraging her own muscles to stimulate her further. She pulsed, he transferred the movement to her clit and g-spot. Pulse. Push. Pulse. Push. "Shitshitshit..." she moaned, trying to calm down.

She imagined she was quite a site: her ass pushed firmly in the air, his fingers and thumb penetrating her, moaning as she rocked against him.

She could hear the juice squeezing from around his hand even as her orgasm peaked. He slowed down, careful to avoid her clit, letting her come down easy. As the spasms passed, he kept his hands still, waiting for her breathing to return to something like normal.

When she had quieted, he gently removed his hands and gestured for her to stay still.

"Thank you," she murmured what seemed like hours later but was probably less than a minute. She lifted her head to look at him cleaning his hands. He had a full erection, much to her excitement, and she wondered what she could do to repay him for one of the best orgasms of her life.

She looked up at his face to see a self-satisfied smile.

"We've only done your back," he said assuredly, and she practically fainted at the thought the night wasn't over.

She lay on the table catching her breath, luxuriating in the glow of her orgasm. Her mind reeled at the thought of him working on her front. 

"Hold on a sec, Monty. I don't think I could take another climax like that."

She pulled up onto her elbows, letting the air cool her skin. She looked over at him. She had to see him. She imagined what he looked like, and realized she had been imagining him naked since the first day she bumped into him.

He wasn't a big man – about average height and weight, but he was well built. Broad shouldered and stocky. When they had collided in the coffee room she had been moving quickly, her arms filled with files, juggling a coffee cup, not paying attention and WHAM, he had just appeared. The force of the impact had almost knocked her on her butt and it hadn't phased him a bit. In fact, it was a miracle she hadn't spilled her coffee on him. As she thought back to it again, she realized he had actually grabbed her cup even as she was struggling to keep her balance.

He had been very gracious about it, even if had been completely her fault. With Samuelson there, she was particularly upset. Samuelson only worked with top customers, and though she'd seem him come and go over the past several months, she hadn't heard any office gossip about him. The lack of information made the accident an even greater concern. 

As he had helped her recover, she took the opportunity to size him up. Something clicked when his hand held her wrist, he cracked that joke and she decided right in that moment she had to get to know him better.

He was the one who suggested they have lunch. He felt bad for having almost sent her to the hospital was the way he had put it. She didn't protest.

Lunch went by swiftly. He exuded a confidence without the usual bravado she had seen in the firm's more well-to-do individual clients. Old money, she decided. She'd seen it in school – parents of her friends – an easy casualness in expensive clothing. Still, he made her laugh and in spite of his confidence had a self-deprecation that made him...accessible.

"Did you want me to do your front?" His question brought her back. She had to see him, to hold him, to give back to him a small fraction of what he had just given her. She knew she couldn't match him in almost any way, but she felt confident her sexual abilities could at least offer him a small bit of thanks for the amazing orgasm she'd just had.

"I'd like to see you," she said quietly, lifting her hips and sliding the bolster out. 

He took it from her as she sat up, rolling her feet off the edge of the table. She was completely naked in front of him, her nipples hard and pink, her pubic hair matted from sweat and cum. She made it clear from her expression that she wanted him to join her in her nakedness; that it wasn't quite fair to be the only one nude.

He set down the bolster and finished drying his hands on a towel. Looking down at her, her eyes were level with his chest, he crossed his arms, reached down and lifted the hem of the kaftan. 

She watched it slide up past his knees until it stopped just before he exposed himself. She looked up and saw he was repositioning his grip on the material and by the time she looked back down he had uncovered his balls and erection. Her eyes lingered on his rod, pulsing and stiff, angled away from his thatch of hair. She wanted to hold him, put it in her mouth and make him cum. She resisted, waiting to see him completely strip.

As the material slid up further, she stared at the six-pack of muscles crossing his stomach, until he finally lifted it off in one smooth motion. Except for his pubes and underarms, he was almost completely hairless. His pecs were as well defined as the rest of him. She could almost feel the raw power of his muscles – just from the small gesture of letting the kaftan drop to the floor. The sinews in his legs, the bands of muscles in his arms and shoulders. No wonder he could keep up the pace massaging her! 

She leaned forward a little, letting her fingers lightly cup his balls. His sac was a little wrinkled even as it was tight, his cock quivered as she fondled him.

She pulled on him slightly, hinting he should come closer to her. He complied, letting her put her hand on his left ass cheek. She squeezed it gently, feeling the muscles in his glutes, and then let her hand slide down to the crease at his thigh. She slid it up and down, feeling the smooth skin and tiny hairs. She moved her fingers into the crease of his cheeks, pulling them apart a little. She hoped the cool air on his asshole would give him some ideas of where she might go. 

She didn't expect to go there, but at this point all was fair game. She felt his cock twitch and she smiled a little, squeezing his balls gently with her right hand.

"I have to warn you," he said gently...

...oh no, he's going to tell me he has AIDS, or that he's gay, or ...

..."I haven't ejaculated in quite awhile, and if I don't tonight, I don't want you to think it has anything to do with you."

She brought her left hand together with her right, letting her fingers trace the veins on the underside of his shaft. She cupped her palm on top of his purple head, surprised at how dry it was. She would have expected some semen to leak out.

She raised an eyebrow and looked up at him. He put his hands gently on her head and stroked her ears, his face excited but his eyes strangely calm.

"How long has it been since your last orgasm?" She smiled, pretending he was in confession.

"It's not that," he stroked her hair, "it's that I don't come when I climax. I would love it if you kept that up; it feels great."

She continued stroking him, cradling his balls, feeling the crinkly skin there move under her fingers. Her left hand gently squeezed his cock just below the head and she could feel him pulse, the steady beat of his heart and the intermittent spasm as his excitement overcame his control.

What was he talking about? If she hadn't just had practically the best sex in her entire life a few minutes ago, she'd think he was seriously bent. 

She bent forward and lightly kissed the top of his swollen head, letting her tongue poke at his hole. There was a very faint taste of salt, more like sweat then sperm, and another faint smell – an aromatic spice like cinnamon. She pushed her lips over the glans and held him there, letting her tongue brush across the sensitive skin.

The effect on him was exactly as she expected. His prick swelled in her right hand and he let out a small moan. His hands rested on her shoulders, gently squeezing her in rhythm to her tongue hitting 12 o'clock. Around his head went her tongue, squeeze went his hands. Around. Squeeze.

She kept it up a few more cycles, knowing she was pushing into irritating territory, but it felt good: his smooth tight skin against her tongue. She wanted to eat him, take him in completely. She wanted to suck the cum out of him, taste him.

She pushed down onto his shaft as far as she could without gagging. Dinner was still only a few minutes in the past and she wanted dessert – him – not lose the great meal he had prepared. His head pushed at the top of her throat and she stopped, letting her tongue push up against the underside of his shaft. 

His cock wasn't huge in any dimension, but it was rock hard. With the additional stimulation she had been giving him, it had swelled a little further, stretching the skin all along its length. Although she was tempted to push it down her throat (she had learned a couple of tricks in college, but hadn't felt the desire even with her ex to revisit them), his cock was poking up at such an angle that she couldn't get her face in between it and his stomach. She didn't want to pull down on it – it felt like she'd break it, and that would certainly ruin the mood.

His moaning and heavy breathing boosted her confidence. She stroked what remained exposed of his shaft with the tips of her fingers, scratching her nails lightly down to his sac and back up. As her fingers met her lips, she moved them in unison with her mouth back up his cock until she let it pop out of her lips. The plop of air mixed with his exclamation.

She didn't hesitate and slipped her mouth back down. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and she knew he must be close. Hasn't come in 'awhile' eh? We'll see about that. She cradled his balls as she bottomed out with her mouth, swirling her tongue as many ways as she could manage.

The squeezing of his hands became more intense, his balls curled up in his sac and she could feel his head swelling. It's coming, her pride swelling with his member, I'll get him to 'ejaculate' or else.

As the thought entered her head, she felt him twitching, from the top of his thighs up into his cock and then into his abdomen. He spasmed, rigid in place, and she prepared herself for the flood of jism that she could feel erupting from his core.

And then it was over. He was panting and moaning, and his hands were busy stroking her face, her shoulders and down to her breasts, but not a single drop of come left his still stiff prick. She continued to wash his shaft with her tongue, loving the feeling of it in her mouth, but her confusion was mounting. After a few heartbeats she slowly pulled off him, leaving her hands on his scrotum to maintain the intimacy she had hoped to pull from him and had failed.

"That was fantastic, Marcie," he sighed, apparently sincere.

"Seriously?" She looked up at him wondering if he was just patronizing her.

"I told you. I don't ejaculate when I orgasm. Well...it's more complicated than that. It's kind of back to that spiritual thing..." He stroked her face, quiet.

"Anyway, I really enjoyed that. Immensely." He stroked her jaw, running his thumb on her lips. She could smell herself on him and it made her twitch a little, thinking about what he had done to her just minutes before. Her "gift' seemed to pale in comparison. "It's been way too long."

It's not way too long, but it sure is way too hard. His erection hadn't shrunk a bit and she began to think he might be on Viagra. "Are you...are you taking something?" She asked tentatively.

He let out a small laugh and sat on the table next to her, putting one arm around her shoulders and letting his other hand drift across her nipples. He toyed with them for a heartbeat, focusing on her breasts before assuring her that he wasn't 'on anything.'

"Are you familiar with Tantric practices?" He asked as he continued to stimulate her nipples. 

She was unfamiliar with the term, but more importantly, she was distracted by his fingers. Each time he touched her, she felt pulses of electricity flowing out across her breasts. She'd never felt anything like it – again a feeling of slight discomfort combined with an intense sexual stimulation. She could feel herself getting moist again.

"No," she breathed heavily. "It sounds Indian."

He kissed the side of her neck softly, moving his hands across her breasts and down to her open slit. She moaned as he pushed lightly on her clit, feeling it swell at his touch even as her building moisture made her self-conscious. He opened her legs slightly, his tongue playing with her ears.

She reached down to hold onto his erection. Still solid. She gripped it lightly, running her thumb up the underside. Weird. Doesn't ejaculate. Really?

His rhythm stopped for a heartbeat and she stopped. A phone rang in the house. She hadn't heard it at first, but now it was clear it had distracted him.

"Do you have to get that?" She continued to stroke him, feeling the softness of the skin over the rigidity of the shaft. So hard.

"Yes. I'm sorry." He disengaged from her, his fingers trailing across her nipples as he slipped off the table.

She watched him as he walked away, his muscles rippling, his ass as tight as she imagined it. When he turned the corner she giggled a little at the sight of his cock jutting out, not having sagged even a little.

She couldn't hear the conversation, just his voice. It sounded like business. As she sat there, naked, sweaty and oiled up, her asshole felt squishy and she needed to pee. She walked into the hallway toward the bathroom and heard him more clearly.

"I'm in the middle of something right now. No, I'm not sure when I'll be free. Can't this wait until the weekend? Really. Tonight...." 

She found the open door and sat on the toilet, his conversation lost to her. As she eliminated the wonderful wine she'd had not but an hour before was it only an hour, she yawned. Deeply. Shit, I've got to get home. If he comes back and touches me, I'll know I'll want to stay, but I can't. I shouldn't. Too fast.

She finished up and noticed again how oily her ass was. It was a new sensation and she rolled the feeling over in her mind – she had let him finger fuck her ass. That's new. Returning to the massage room, she could tell his conversation was ending. 

She picked up her underwear and steeled her resolve. Got to go. He'll call me. I'm sure of it. Besides, it sounds like he has to take care of business. By the time he returned, his cock still hard, her eyes darted back to his face, she was practically dressed.

"You don't have to go," he lifted the kaftan to put it on.

"No. I do. Please, could you keep it off until I leave? I can't get enough of your body." She hoped he enjoyed her taking the initiative. She enjoyed taking the initiative. Fuck him if he doesn't. Definitely getting tired.

He smiled and poked his erection at her, slapping her thigh with it. She swatted at it and he embraced her, planting his lips onto hers. It was the first deep kiss he'd given her since they'd met - a long deep, penetrating kiss that took her breath away. She could feel herself melting in his arms, her pussy moistening again. Must. Stop. Must get home. She lifted her hands to push on his chest, feeling his nipples hard against her palms. God this great. Should go. Should stay.

He broke the embrace, backing away slightly so her hands dropped. She felt for his cock and gave it a squeeze.

"Really. I do. It's a work night, and I have to get into the office early. I can't tell you how wonderful this night has been. I'm a little dazed from it, actually. You'll call me, yeah?" She swore silently to herself for being so pushy, looked around the room for anything she'd missed, realized she didn't have her purse and looked up at him.

"Tomorrow night too soon? You shouldn't go too long without getting your front massaged." He looked at her like she was stripped bare and he was the one dressed. She loved that look. 

"Come on," she said, pulling on his cock. "Help me find my things."

He did call her. The next day, thanking her for a wonderful evening. And he kept calling her. First a play, then a dinner, and another, until weeks passed and she seemed to be spending her every free hour with him. It was a dream. It was a little crazy.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 02



In spite of the fantastic sex, his lack of ejaculating confused her. Try as she might, he never let a drop of semen out of his penis.

Still, she was relaxed like she'd never been before. If a guy with a dry penis was her only worry, what was to worry? Work seemed effortless. They all commented on her "glow."

"Who's the guy?" they kept asking. She didn't want to reveal him yet. It was a wonderful secret.

She wasn't sure what the company policy was about fraternizing with clients, and even if there wasn't a policy, she felt it would look sketchy.

They were planning to get together for dinner again that night. She thought about his erection and had been fantasizing about feeling him penetrate her. She wished the day would go faster.

They had planned to meet at the restaurant. Another trendy place she'd read about and was tickled she could try. She had been mentally adding up the costs of the dates so far and decided to stop when the numbers exceeded her monthly salary. She arrived before him, and checked in with the maitron d'.

"Dr. Green, party of two?"

As she followed behind the hostess, she looked around the place, taking in the details. White table cloths with crystal glasses, muted colors with great art on the wall. Most of the tables were filled with couples or parties of four. She wondered how many of them knew Monty. It was a random thought, and she wondered why it had even occurred to her. As she took her seat, she accepted the menu and the wine list, not really paying attention.

She continued to ponder the question, working it over in her mind like a mental throat lozenge...a thought lozenge. She giggled at the play on words. And then it hit her: with the exception of a guru from years ago, he hadn't mentioned anyone in his life. No siblings, no parents, no friends, teachers. Even his coworkers were only identified by their job roles; she couldn't think of a specific person he'd referenced in the weeks since their lunch together.

He approached the table, his tie undone, his shirt unbuttoned. He looked like a model out of GQ, a slight shadow to his face. His eyes lit up when he saw her and he kissed her, deeply.

"Ummmm. That was nice. Hard day?"

He took a seat and settled in. "Not too bad. A little trouble at the lab, but nothing a few months won't overcome." He looked at the wine list. "Wine to start or a cocktail?"

"I've been thinking about your cock and tail all day, as a matter of fact. It's hard not to." She licked her lips to emphasize the point.

"Hmmmm...how was your day? A few too many audits?"

He selected a wine and looked at her.

"Monty," she decided to pursue the question. "I had the strangest thought when I arrived a little bit ago. I realized that I don't know very much about you at all. Except for Sundar, you've never mentioned a soul in your life. Do you have any siblings? Are your parents still alive? Tell me about your friends....."

He smiled and reached for her hands. "Two sisters, both younger -- very sweet kids...well not such kids anymore I suppose. Parents both passed away, way too young, so technically we're orphans..."

"I'm sorry."

"Not at all, it was years ago. Died in a train wreck, actually. In this day and age of flying, they died in a freak accident."

"Do you get along with your sisters? I've never seen any pictures of them at your house and you've never mentioned them."

He gave her a small squeeze and sat back, unfolding his napkin. "Carol is living in Montana of all places -- raising sheep. She has a great life, a little rustic for my tastes, but I've been out there several times. Jennifer is working at an ad agency in Los Angeles. We get together when she flies out this way. I see her when I can when I'm down there. One has foresworn materialism, the other is pursuing it madly.

"I really haven't mentioned anyone? That's weird." He looked over her shoulder at something across the restaurant, or maybe it was a memory. "Hey, I have an idea. I should throw a party at the house. I haven't had a party in awhile; it would be a great excuse for you to meet everyone. I've been neglecting them since we've been dating -- no...don't take it the wrong way, I've much preferred spending my time with you than with them, but you're right, you should meet a few of my friends. I think you'd like them."

The thought of meeting his friends delighted and frightened her. Would she measure up? A party, though. That raised a specter. She breathed in and out carefully. A party. With his friends. It's okay. You can do it. It won't be a problem. 

They discussed the odd details of their day; the upcoming events in their calendar, his travel schedule...the flotsam and jetsam of a new relationship, interspersed with sexual innuendo and tension. She would have been just as happy if they left before the meal arrived and rushed back to his place to strip each other naked and fuck like bunnies, but she embraced the anticipation knowing the time would come soon enough. She decided to enjoy the fabulous food and wine.

As usual, he took a comment she had made and got philosophical about it. She had related an event at the office, in which a co-worker had been taken to the hospital. They had thought it was a heart attack, but when the EMS arrived, it turned out he had just choked on a sandwich. She brought it up because her office was usually so boring and here was something out of the ordinary to shake up the day a little.

"Was he alright?" He asked, pausing before his next bite.

"I think so. I didn't really see it. But Jane, (Samuelson's admin) filled us in. Everyone felt kind of bad that they hadn't realized he was choking. Luckily, the ambulance made it there in a couple of minutes."

She watched a kind of smirk creep across his lips, and she knew what was coming. Before she could stop him, he reiterated his belief about luck, or the very rarity of it.

He had missed the point, and his geekiness about the subject of fortune, good or bad, started to irritate her. If he didn't turn me on so much, and he weren't such a fucking gentleman, I'd be so out of here. "Look," she said, waving her fork at him. "You seem rather cold and calculating about it. I don't care if you believe we're not in control or simply affected by random bits shifting at the quantum level, the guy almost died.

"I'm not implying anything," her anger was building as she considered an absurd situation to prove a point, "but let's say we had a kid, and one day the kid gets hit by a car. According to your belief, it was one of several infinite futures that happened to be "unlucky" for us, from our 'relativistic narrative' as you put it. But that doesn't remove the very real pain of our loss. That doesn't mean we just go about our business and chalk it up to a quantum that went bad (for us)." Her rage started to get the better of her.

He was impressed at the same time he was a little hurt by her reaction. "Hey! It's not like that. I completely agree with you, and I'd be totally shaken if our child were killed by a car - you're right, of course! But my rage and pain and sadness would not be directed to a 'God' that had let me down, or to 'bad luck' any more than I would have obsessed on what you or I 'should have done' to change the past. My belief system simply says 'what has happened has happened' and I need to take care of myself (and you in this hypothetical case of having a child together)." He took a drink of water and hunched his shoulders.

"There's something else here I haven't bothered to explain, even though I seem to end up lecturing you every time we're together." He hoped she could calm down a little, giving her a sheepish smile.

"It's not just about infinite futures and quantum shenanigans. It fundamentally is about what you believe."

She stopped mid bite and raised her eyebrows.

"Seriously," he continued. "It isn't simply that I believe in infinite futures, it is that because I believe in infinite futures I am a different person.

"Belief systems change us. That shouldn't be a big surprise, right? Well, when I discovered this 'new pattern' I've referred to before, when my guru Sundar showed me the way it fit into a completely different framework, that shift in thinking fundamentally changed me. It actually changed my brain structure. That's what I'm trying to say. Merely by believing in this new thing, I was a physically changed person." He stopped for a breath. "And get this: a belief in infinite futures is an integral part of the framework -- it's like the infinite reflections between two mirrors. By pursuing a belief system that changed me in a way that was more preferred -- I could slant the odds of the probabilistic futures to be more in line with my preferred beliefs."

She paused for a moment to take in what he had said, letting her heart rate calm along with her breathing. She realized she was reacting irrationally and it bothered her. Why does this reasoning cause me to be so angry? She pondered what he had just said.

"It sounds like praying."

He smiled, reaching for her hands to strike an armistice. "Praying, or throwing the I Ching, or meditating, or Tantric exercises." He let his smile broaden at the implications of the last words.

At the mention of Tantric exercises she couldn't help but think of his erection. She blushed and smiled involuntarily before she could catch herself. She giggled, breaking the tension. "I could use some exercise..." She suggested they get out of there as quickly as possible.

It had been their first official fight, and the make-up sex made up for it in spades. He practically attacked her the moment they arrived at his house and they didn't stop making love until well into the morning.

* - * - *

She awoke early, the sun shining through the skylights onto his bed, her head and body a swirl of feelings. One feeling overwhelmed all the others: she had to pee. Quietly getting off the bed, she walked across the deep pile carpet to the bathroom. The slight burning when she wiped herself brought her back to their marathon love making the night before. She hadn't had such intensity since she was in college; her memories made her blush.

When they arrived at the house, he practically stripped her before he had closed the front door, running his hands down her breasts, ripping her panties from her and sweeping her onto the couch. He buried his face between her legs and within moments, it seemed to her in retrospect, she had screamed out in ecstasy. The thought embarrassed her a little. She hadn't screamed during sex since...ever.

And then, in the den, still buzzing, he did something, she'd never felt anything like it. His fingers brought her to the brink but wouldn't let her cross it. Again. And again. Until she begged him to fuck her. She'd never done that before.

As she splashed a little water on her face, she thought back to the images from the book he'd shown her -- the naked bodies in different positions, the discussion of his days in Sundar's ashram. The story of the young unshaved women; how they fucked and how he learned not to come. And then he fucked her, and fucked her, and fucked her again. Each time pulling an orgasm from her depths with an intensity she'd never felt before and each time his cock, still stiff entering her as deeply as she could open herself to it, her legs spread wide on the bean bag, her come spilling onto the leather. All in front of those incredible glass windows, the trees and stars an arm's reach away. She felt herself getting moist and in spite of the soreness wanted to feel him inside her again.

She wasn't sure what time it was, whether to go back to bed and try to sleep, or wake him. She wanted to feel him against her body, to watch him get hard again. Slipping back under the covers, she drifted her hand down his chest, his abs and finally to his crotch.

She cupped his flaccid member into her fingers, remarking mentally with a giggle she'd hardly ever felt it like this. She had to have it in her: in her mouth and in her cunt. She didn't like the word most of the time, but she remembered begging him to fuck her and the deliciously wicked feeling she had of spreading herself open to him, her arms over her head. It was her cunt right now and she wanted him to fill it. Ducking her head under the covers, she slid down his body to wrap her lips around his cock. Once again, the only taste was the remnants of her musk; not even that faint scent of cinnamon she remembered from their first time in the massage room.

"Mmmmm," he said sleepily. "You can do that anytime." He pressed his hands through the covers onto her head, encouraging her. "In fact, if you promise to do that every morning as a wake up call, I could get rid of my alarm clock."

She purred around his cock, cuddling his balls with her fingers, hoping today, maybe, she could coax some jism from him. She knew it was impossible. After all he had told her last night there was no way she would break his 25 year record, but the challenge inspired her.

She worked the head deep into her mouth, opening her throat to let him fuck her there. She remembered how much she used to like taking a guy's cock into her throat, until her ex fucked it all up. Nice.

In moments his legs stiffened and she recognized the vibrations through his body signaling his orgasm. She was surprised he had "come" so fast. She knew he could go hours, at least that's what he'd reported. Last night he lasted long enough to give her several orgasms before he climaxed.

She pulled off him and slithered up out of the covers, rubbing her breasts along his abs until their nipples touched. Straddling one leg over him, she slowly slipped the head of his penis just inside her lips. Slowly, gently, she enveloped him in her cunt lips, letting the moisture lubricate her. The irritation wasn't as bad as she had expected, but it distracted her momentarily. Still, she wanted to feel him deep inside her; she continued to move down his body, her canal slippery enough to let his shaft slide in. When she had bottomed out, the tip of his cock as deep as she could push it, she lifted up, letting him play with her breasts. He lightly stroked them, pulling slightly on her nipples, pulling a moan from her.

"Mmmm, Monty. I wasn't sure I could do it again after so many times last night. Ohhh! Yeah, baby, that feels so great." She lay back down on his chest, pushing her nipples against his and found his mouth. His hands went to the back of her head as his legs curled around hers. He held her tightly against him; his tongue forcing its way deep into her. She was pinned between his stiff cock and his tongue, his hands holding her head and her legs immobilized. She moaned again into his mouth and felt the familiar glow growing at the base of her spine. He didn't do anything except hold her, and within a few heartbeats she was coming all over him, her juices practically flooding out of her.

He withdrew his tongue and brushed his hands down to her ass, resting them there. They lay for a few minutes enjoying the morning.

"You promised me a tour today," she reminded him, kissing his smiling lips.

"I would enjoy that immensely. Before or after my award winning pancakes?"

She didn't doubt he had won some kind of award for them; every time she figured he was exaggerating, he substantiated his claim. She didn't bother to ask. "After. I'm famished."

She followed him into the bathroom to wash her face while he peed. She loved watching guys pee—to see that stream erupt out of their cocks, the same cock she had just shoved inside her. His body was incredible; his build mesmerized her. How could I be so lucky?

"Robes or naked?" he asked, washing his hands and face.

"I don't know, Monty. Are you expecting anyone?" If she had a choice, she'd stay naked her entire life, but she didn't want to say it.

"It feels a little chilly. How about robes, but let's not tie them." He dried off, turned to her and hugged her to him, feeling her breasts and mons against him.

She could feel his penis pulse a little and she giggled, rubbing her hands on his tight ass cheeks. I could just quit and live like this for the rest of my life. She stopped herself, troubled by the thought for some reason, and broke the embrace.

"Seriously, I'm so hungry I could eat your cock...again." She slapped at it and grabbed a robe off a hook.

* - * - *

"The design is mostly my architect's," he said, after breakfast. They had thrown on running suits of his; it left her body shapeless, but she wasn't about to go outside in a robe, or worse: with nothing on at all. The fact that the thought of walking through his neighborhood naked even crossed her mind troubled her.

He started the tour from the street, suggesting they get a feel "for the context of the house."

He lived in one of the better neighborhoods, in the top 10, but surprisingly, not the top neighborhood. She knew he could afford being in the best, so it was curious he had chosen this one. Not to say there was anything wrong with it. Mencosa Heights was an older urban development, mostly homes from the early 1920s, some post-war smaller homes, and a few recent McMansions where nouveau riche had come in with a bulldozer and way more money than taste.

The streets were lined with elms and maples, in full bloom, their leaves just starting to unfurl in the late spring weather. It was crisp and sunny and she felt more alive than she had in years. The pancakes had been excellent and she reflected on the prior evening. She couldn't remember having a date with so much deep philosophy mixed with such raw sex. Her head and body were still glowing.

They turned a corner and approached the house from the east, the sun behind them still. All of the houses on the north side of the street perched on a deep ravine, although a pedestrian walking by wouldn't have a clue. The style of most of the houses was from the 20s -- a kind of derivative English cottage, or Tutor half-timbered: woodsy with steep roofs and tiny paned windows.

Until they came to his. Set far back from the street, it appeared to be a single story box -- harkening back to the 1950s or 60s -- mostly glass, flat roofed and from the street much smaller than its neighbors. She shook her head slightly, puzzled by its apparent small size. Given how many rooms she had been in, and how spacious it was, she couldn't figure it how so little of it showed to the street.

"I absolutely hate overstatement." He continued with some irony. "And in my current situation, I really don't want to call too much attention to myself."

Both comments were ironic, she thought, smiling at him. Of all the houses on the ridge, his certainly stood out: its single story, all glass front, huge setback. But she could see how the drivers-by might completely miss it -- its small size and large set back made it difficult to see.

They walked in the front door; she had only come at night, and hadn't seen how the reflecting pool in front of the living room shimmered with sunlight.

"Like all the others, the house sits at the top of this canyon. Because of its situation, the prior owners let it go for a steal -- they felt it was practically unimprovable." He stopped in the entry and pointed out to the street behind them. "The original house was much like the others, shoved as far forward as the setbacks would allow, but even so it left very little room for a back yard. It really was horrible."

As they entered the living room she noted their clothes strewn on the floor, a map of their progress into the room and onto the couch last night. Walking to the back of the living room they looked out over the canyon. The closest house was easily ½ a mile away, barely visible over the crown of the trees. It was a beautiful vista. She imagined a creek running through it.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 02



"Is there a creek down there?" She scanned the view from left to right.

"Yep. A lot of wildlife too -- deer, raccoon; we'll get down there in a little bit. So, as you see, the house is actually built on the edge of the ravine -- the architect was quite inventive." He opened the sliding doors and invited her to come out onto an extensive deck. As she approached the railing, the second story of the house peeked out from below her feet: the façade curving in impossible directions.

"Whoa. I had no idea. Is that the den over there?" Off to the right, she saw the curved glass wrapping from the wall onto the roof and the pipestack of the fireplace curving up the facade. The memory of their conversation in front of the fireplace and the intensity of her orgasms came flooding back.

"Yeah. That's the den off to the right there, directly below us is the theater."

He led her back inside, taking a left towards the dining area. All along the back of the house the view was unobstructed through floor to ceiling glass. He explained a little about the kitchen and the struggles the architect had getting everything working as he wanted.

"Before we take the inside tour, it might be fun to get a feel for the back of the place." They exited the kitchen onto a landing for a switchback stairway. She looked along the side of the house and saw it bulge out, like half a globe. As they descended the stairs, he described the basic concept for the house.

"I really didn't understand any of this much before the architect explained it to me. I just kept saying what I wanted, and like magic he'd draw up something that absolutely made sense to me. It's a mystery how those types of minds work. Anyway, what I learned is that I really wanted to keep my public life separate from my private life, and the services for the house well isolated from both...without introducing too much inefficiency."

The bottom of the stair exited onto a small shelf of rock leading to a gently sloping path down into the trees.

"It's almost impossible to see the place from this vantage point. There's a small clearing down here where it will be easier to get a better feel for it."

She looked up at the house and understood what he meant. All she could see beside the stair itself was a white stucco wall curving up and away.

She followed him down the path, feeling the morning air begin to heat up. Although it was cooler on this side of the house, she could feel a little bead of sweat running down her ribs from the walk through the neighborhood. As they descended the path she could smell the water in the air. Not too far along, the path opened up to a grassy area, furnished with picnic tables, a bird bath and a sundial.

"Architects are egotists, after all," he said, turning to look at the house.

She was stopped in her tracks. Nothing she had seen from any of the other vantage points had given away the image of the building as she saw it from here. A huge soap bubble...no an aggregation of soap bubbles; a faceted jewel of glass bubbling from the rocky face of the ravine. "It's...it's...incredible, Monty. Incredible."

She shielded the sun from her eyes to get a better look. She saw the living room deck off to the right, and the kitchen windows. She could see how the den's skylights were actually just another type of window flowing down and around the solid wall of the fireplace. Similarly, she saw the bedroom windows and skylights and other spaces he hadn't mentioned.

"What's that?" She pointed to a darkened glass area next to the bedroom.

"Oh...you didn't notice that this morning? That's the shower off the master bedroom. It's really a lot of fun," his smile heavy with meaning. "It's like you're showering in the forest. We'll take a spin a little later."

She felt a shiver of anticipation and smiled back at him hesitantly. Even though she didn't have anything pressing to do today, she didn't want to spend too long a time the next day. It seemed too soon for that.

"Yeah, some of my friends are less than complementary about it. 'Fly's Eye' is how one of 'em refers to it. He's not too far off, I suppose, but I think it's pretty cool."

She took a seat at a table and stared at it. She'd never seen anything like it; it was like a contemporary sculpture -- the way it extended from the cliff wall expressing itself as man-made, and it was clearly masculine in spite of its curves. An amazingly well crafted piece.

"I imagine it looks fantastic at night. Lucky there's a bunch of trees here, your life is a stage at night I bet." The familiar feeling started in her abdomen. Anyone could see you from out here. Anyone could have seen us last night.

"Nope. Luck has nothing to do with it." He smiled again. "All by design. Except for this clearing, which is only accessible from that path, there is no view of the back of the house closer than those houses across the canyon. They're welcome to spy on me, of course, but it would take binoculars or a telescope, and then, only the upper half of the living room is visible above the tree line."

He joined her on the bench, slipping his hands under her top, peeling it up.

"Monty!" She wasn't sure she was ready to have sex again and being exposed outside was tempting fate.

He didn't stop, rubbing his fingers against her nipples and removing the top completely over her head. "Strip for me." He looked like a ravenous wolf.

"What's up?" She was suddenly turned on even as she looked around to see who might see them.

"Strip. For. Me." He smiled pushing her up off the bench. "I want to see your incredibly sexy body, stark naked in this clearing, in the sun, so I can ravish you."

She saw the head of his penis pushing up on the running suit and couldn't believe it. She stood up and turned to face him. "Like this?" She slowly peeled her suit bottoms down, remembering the other times she had stripped for boys. She felt the jolt of electricity in her groin. She didn't bother to tease him, but just slid them down, letting her breasts hang free.

He slipped off his pants while she bent over, letting his prick bounce up, and stripped off his top. "Isn't this so much better?"

A breeze carried the remnants of the morning chill across her breasts raising goosebumps and her nipples. She still didn't understand how being naked in front of boys was enough to get them so aroused. Going on 10 years and she still couldn't quite believe it. His cock had swollen to above half-mast, wiggling slightly as he leaned back against the edge of the table.

"I've been meaning to do this for weeks." He squinted into the sun, laying his head back, and exposing himself to the elements.

She licked her lips and considered what to do next: she'd had more sex in the past 12 hours than the past several years. It was like being a teenager again. Her pussy was too sore and what was the point of blowing him if he wasn't going to come? The thought made her laugh softly - she'd never thought she'd had too much sex to not want to do it again. But that seemed to be the situation. Better to just lie in the grass and warm in the sun.

She spread out her running suit to keep from getting too wet and lay down. The sun felt fantastic, working into her skin. She hadn't done this in...she couldn't remember the last time she'd laid naked outside. She turned to look at him.

"Spread your legs?" He said it as a question but she understood it as a directive.

"It's too cold, Monty. And the lawn is still wet. Come down here with me." She patted the space next to her.

He smiled at her but didn't move. "'salright," he mumbled. "Let's just enjoy the moment."

The sound of songbirds filled the canyon. Insects flitted around her, landing on her breasts and legs. It was peaceful and she considered the possibility of living like this. She looked up at the sky and saw a flock of gulls circling. Why do they come inland so far? She'd never understood that.

She didn't hear him get up, but she jerked when his lips pressed against her strip of pubic hair. His fingers worked their way between her legs and his tongue slid down into her slit. She didn't object to the idea of spreading her legs under these circumstances, even if the grass was cold against her thighs and her cunt was a little sore.

It was as if he knew she was irritated he moved so gently, lightly teasing her clit. It was delightful, at first, and then she wanted him to push harder, to stroke her and bring her off. She pushed against his fingers, rising up, tensing her butt, but each time he pulled away slightly, making her work harder. "Monty! Please, do you like teasing me?"

He looked down on her face, his eyes penetrating her, searching for something, or maybe lost inside her with his fingers, she couldn't tell. "Relax," he said softly. And he did that thing again, and she moaned again, and he did it again, and she moaned louder, this time concerned someone would hear. "Again," he said softly and pushed against her, and she did, opening her throat to let out the pleasure he was building in her. "Oh god, Monty! Oh god! God! Shit! Yes!" And she came, again, and relaxed back onto the ground. She reached up to grab his neck and pulled him down to kiss her. She was so grateful and so happy. She couldn't believe her...fortune...shit now he's got me doing it!

They lay in the sun for another half hour and then he sat up, grabbed his clothes and threw them on. She followed suit.

"Let me show you the rest."

As they walked back to the stairway, he explained how the architect got around the problems that had stumped the original owner. "We drilled into the bedrock down here." They were standing at the base of the stair, next to a service door. "30 feet into the hillside is basalt bedrock. He had these 3 foot deep steel girders slammed in there, extending out 20 feet. In an earthquake this whole hill could shake and the house will just bounce a little."

She saw the beams and thought about how expensive that must have been, following him through the service door. It led into a small hallway with an elevator at the far end.

"I use it every once in awhile to keep it oiled," he smiled ruefully. "Frankly, I didn't want to put it in at all, but my architect suggested if I didn't have some kind of handicap access the resale would be in the toilet. Whatever."

He pressed the first button and the elevator started with a small jerk and a hum.

"What d'ya think?" He turned to her, circling her waist with his arm and bending in for a kiss. She pressed her lips to his, smelling her cum on his face. She returned the embrace, rubbing her hands down his back to the curve of this butt. Damn I like that butt.

The elevator stopped, opening the rear doors onto a black void; the light from the elevator spilled out revealing a patch of concrete floor, Moments later lights flickered on revealing a small vestibule. He gestured for her to follow him. At first she thought the room was all concrete, the walls and floor were a soft warm grey, but on closer inspection she saw that it was carved directly from the rock. The floor was smooth and finished, but the walls were rough-hewn their surfaces uneven and jagged. Across from the elevator was a grey steel door fitted cleanly into the rock face. Off to its left was a similar door; off to the right, the wall stopped short, leaving a dark opening. She presumed there was another room or hallway leading off in that direction.

She walked the short distance across to the steel door, and looked through the opening. As she passed it, lights flickered on revealing a long passageway to another steel door all the way at the end. She estimated the hall stretched the length of the house. None of the lights were visible, recessed into the walls along the top of the corridor.

The rocky room, its warmth and the delicate lighting all imbued in her a strange feeling of security. It was as if being buried deep in the cliff walls protected her from prying eyes, as if for once she felt completely protected. She wanted to walk down the hall and experience being in the middle of it.

"This," he said pointing to the room and interrupting her thoughts, "This is one of the great innovations of the place. Behind this door," he pointed to the steel door opposite the elevator, "are all of the brains for the place. The brains and the heating. Here, feel the wall over there." He pointed to a spot alongside the door near the opening to the passageway.

She ran her hands on the rough surface and was surprised to feel how warm it was. The rock scratched her palms slightly, but when she pressed against it, it felt as if she were feeling a living thing. She slowly progressed down the passageway trailing her fingers on the wall. When she got about mid-way she looked back and saw he had followed her, silent and respectful of her mood.

She closed her eyes and was struck by a vivid image: she imagined herself chained to the walls, naked and exposed, her mouth gagged, Monty tormenting her body. The shock of the vision--her legs spread wide, shackled to the wall, her cunny spread open, her nipples clipped, chains forcing her small breasts to pull to the sides and her eyes wide with fear -- almost made her faint What am I thinking?

He rushed up to her, catching her as she started to slide down the wall, her knees weakening. "Are you okay?" Concern flooding his eyes and lips.

"I...I...I don't know what just happened. I...don't..." At the same time, she felt horror at what he had been doing to her and a wicked, deeply wicked desire to be that woman...to be in that position. She felt a small glow beginning between her legs. She shook her head to clear the image, shivering slightly in spite of the warmth.

"Here, take my arm. Let's get you upstairs. You wanted to see that shower, right?" He looked her up and down and then behind her at the wall, staring intently as if he could see right through it.

She was as preoccupied by the vision and by her reactions to it as she was by his curious behavior -- it was as if he had seen her vision. What was he staring at? Walking up the stairs back at the elevator, she tried to recapture the...hallucination...but it was fading as if she had awoken from a dream. By the time they reached the next landing, she had recovered, and had realized what he had suggested in the hallway below.

"Monty...I really should be getting home. I need to do a few things and it's getting kind of late."

He looked puzzled. "You had me a little scared back there. Why don't you take a shower and get cleaned up before you go. In fact, I'll make you a deal. Take a look at the shower (I'm pretty proud of it) and if isn't the coolest shower you've ever seen, you can go, but if you are impressed, I'd like you to join me in it."

She had been planning to shower at her own place. It was high time for her to shave -- she had noticed the stubble getting a little longer than she liked and her mons was starting to itch where she'd shaved last week. It could wait until tomorrow, but Saturday was her usual shaving day.

On the stair landing he invited her through another steel door, opening up at the end of the hall near the bedroom. When they turned the corner into the room, she remembered how they had entered it the night before: he had impaled her on his cock in the den and walked her down the stairs before gently lowering her onto the bed.

He was ahead of her, opening the door to the bathroom. She didn't remember seeing the shower when she'd peed earlier and that seemed odd. She remembered the double sink in the front, the toilet separated in its own alcove with a view out onto the ravine. Where was the shower?

She followed him in. She recalled how large the bathroom was -- practically the size of her kitchen. Who needs a bathroom this big? He had already disappeared around a corner next to the toilet. She trailed behind him looking out the wall of glass to the small clearing, and when she turned into the doorway she stopped in her tracks. He hadn't prepared her for what she was seeing: a Disneyland theme park was the best analogy she could come up with.

The outside wall, the one that continued from the main bathroom, was floor to ceiling glass. Similar to the den, the glass continued into the ceiling, becoming a skylight. She glanced out the window wall and remembered his comment about the shower when they had been lying on the grass. If she hadn't seen it from the outside, she would have thought they were exposed to anyone sitting down there. In spite of her seeing the exterior only minutes before, and knowing the windows completely obscured the room, from inside it was an act of faith believing no one could see her.

She turned back to look at the room again. It was as if they had entered a tropical grotto. He was off to the left, against the wall separating the main bathroom from the "shower," fiddling with a control panel. She heard hissing but couldn't see what was causing it.

Aside from the wall of glass and the wall he was standing at, the remainder of the room was a jumble of granite boulders tumbling from the ceiling down to a spot below the floor level she was standing on. In essence it was a tropical grotto -- the "pool" itself was empty, but opposite the window wall, the rocks created a small cave over which flowed a waterfall, crashing into the pool below. As she watched the falling water, the room filled with a warm fog, jets of steam puffing out from the rocks.

A movement in the corner of her eye caused her to turn and look at him again. He had stripped off his top and was beginning to strip of his pants. She couldn't break away from looking at his muscles rippling, the tightness of his butt and the incredible tone to his thighs. She felt a tingle again, and silently swore that his body alone would have been enough to keep her here. The "shower" is anything but.

"Come on, get naked and join me." He leaned one leg over the side and touched down onto the floor of the pool, pulling shampoos and other cleaning paraphernalia from a small alcove.

She vacillated for several heartbeats until she couldn't resist the urge. Peeling off the sweatsuit, she joined him in the pool, walking towards the waterfall. It was unreal, no...it's fucking surreal. As the water cascaded over her head, she closed her eyes losing herself in the moment. The temperature was a little hotter than she usually liked it, and the intensity of the water falling on her head wasn't as comfortable as she would have expected.

"Monty?" She pulled back out and looked at him. "Do you usually shower under this?" Her head was soaked, and he looked at the beads of water streaming off her breasts and nipples.

"Is there a problem?" He walked over to stand under it, his hand floating across her belly.

"It's just that it's a little heavy and hotter than I expected."

He nodded and disappeared into the cave. Moments later the water changed from a glassy flow to a spray of rain drops completely obscuring the opening. When he emerged they ricocheted off him in all directions.

"Try this."

She couldn't believe it. She joined him in the spray, feeling the droplets ping against her skin from all directions.

In contrast to her earlier reservations, she wouldn't miss the opportunity to shower in this setup. Taking one of his shampoos she soaped her head, washing her body with the suds and turning every which way in the spray to rinse off. Looking down she saw streams spraying up. Pointing to it, she raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah. I know what you're thinking -- immediate satisfaction, right? Well, you can have it if you want. It only takes a small adjustment. But my fingers could be put to much better use and achieve much better results at the same time." He turned and embraced her, his hands coming around to squeeze her butt, pushing her against him.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 02



She could feel his penis, still soft, pushing against her mons, Mmmm, it would be great to fuck in this thing. But she was still sore and she wasn't sure she could get aroused after just doing it outside. His hands didn't let up, massaging her buns, opening them to let the water spray against her puckered hole, his fingers drifting down to her slit.

She nuzzled her lips into his neck, the arousal growing in her even as she knew her vagina would burn if he entered her. His hands moved around her hips, his thumbs grazing her belly just above her clit. She could feel his fingerprints getting caught in her stubble and she grew embarrassed.

"Monty, I don't think I could do it again, right now." She pulled away slightly, kissing his jaw and his lips. His thumbs continued to rub her stubbly skin, playing with it. "Please, Monty. Please stop."

He pulled back and looked at her. "You're embarrassed!" He smiled at seeing her blush. "You're embarrassed because you haven't shaved recently!" He kept his thumbs on her stubble, forcing the issue.

She was getting irritated at the teasing. "Seriously, Monty. Please. Yes. I am a little. I haven't shaved in a week and it's a little sensitive."

"Hmmm...." He stopped and looked around. "Have a seat on that rock over there." He nodded to a flat shelf, outside of the spray.

The room had grown much warmer from the steam and she wasn't nearly as cold as she would have expected. In fact, she thought she might be starting to sweat a little.

He joined her a minute later with a can of shaving cream and a razor. "Spread your legs, Marcie. Allow me to do the honors."

She couldn't believe what he was suggesting. She'd never had a man shave her before, and especially this guy. "Monty! No! I couldn't possibly." She kept her legs closed and pushed at his shoulders.

"Nonsense! It would give great pleasure to shave your quim, Ms.Adams. Just tell me if you want to keep the landing strip, take it all off, or perhaps start to grow some back into a new pattern." He knelt down onto the pool bottom, putting him at face level with her groin. Setting the equipment down, he gently pried her legs apart, overcoming the little resistance she put up.

She giggled and let him have his way with her. The image from before, in the "dungeon" rapidly appeared and disappeared, like the proverbial white rabbit, and she paused to consider it even as he was starting to apply the cream. Maybe I do like that he pushes me to places I usually don't go. The thought of where that might lead scared her a little and she took a quick breath.

"Too cold?" He looked up with concern, completely misunderstanding her expression.

"No. No. I was just remembering that...that thing downstairs that happened." She looked down and saw he had lathered her up, leaving the black strip of hair leading straight up from her slit. She couldn't believe this was happening. "Monty, you really don't have to do this...I mean...I love it and all, but I just feel...like...well..."

He looked at her sarcastically. "Like...umm...well...like this is unbecoming of someone of my station?"

She nodded, relieved he had said the words she couldn't quite bring herself to admit.

"You don't know me very well, Marcie, if you think I think I have achieved a station in life too high to get down on my knees and shave my girlfriend's beaver."

She laughed at his profanity and the expression on his face—so serious and studious as he approached the job—even as she was pleased at the term of endearment. "Just a little off the sides, if you don't mind Monty. I'd like to keep the same style for a little while yet." She went along with his whim with her quim. She put her hands behind her onto the shelf and leaned backward, spreading her legs wider to give him better access.

In a few quick strokes he had taken care of her front, and proceeded to the tricky folds of her vagina. Gently and carefully he pulled her labia tight with two fingers, pulling the razor across the stretched skin. In no time he had finished, splashing water to rinse her off. "Shall I take any off the back?" She couldn't quite decide if his look was sincere inquiry or an opening volley for more sex.

"Do you think I need it?" She didn't know how he would check.

"Turn around and put your knees on the shelf and I'll let you know."

She was prepared to tell him no, but decided what the hell, and did as he instructed. Again the scene from her imagination played through her head. Why is this any different from him tying me up and flogging me? He had her spread her legs as wide as she could and open her cheeks with her hands to let him inspect her.

He rubbed his fingers lightly from the back of her labia up to her asshole, repeating it along several different paths. She could feel stubble catch his fingers and agreed with him when he suggested he could remove it. The feeling of being so exposed turned her on, all the more because she was enabling it...submitting to it...she'd never felt this way before -- it was like a new flavor of ice cream she'd heard her friends talk about but she never thought she'd like.

"All done!" He splashed more water under her, paying more than the necessary attention to her exposed rear opening.

She giggled and turned to face him, taking his head in her hands. "Monty Green, I think I'm falling for you." She leaned forward and kissed him hard, pushing her tongue deep into his mouth. She felt his hands come up to brush her shoulders, down her arms and across her breasts to linger on her nipples. She pulled away and looked deeply into his blue-grey eyes. "I don't know what I did to deserve a guy like you."

He shrugged and tried to kiss her again, but she pushed him away. "I've got to go. Really. If I don't go, I'll stay the whole night, and I'm not ready to move in here yet."

She jumped down, took a quick rinse in the spray and made her way to the edge of the pool where warm towels were hanging.

After they'd dressed (she felt it really stupid to put her dirty clothes on, so, giggling, she put on just her dress, shoving her stockings and panties in her purse) and proceeded to the door, she considered what she'd blurted out in the shower. "I hope you didn't take that the wrong way," she said a little quietly, "what I said in the shower back there."

He wasn't certain what she was talking about, but he figured he knew. Still, he hadn't made it this far in business by assuming. Always best to have the other guy be explicit about whatever it was. "I'm not sure what you're talking about..."

Oh shit. Now I'm really in for it. "Nothing...I'm just wondering why you even consider dating a girl like me. I'm not even close to your pay grade, I don't have the smarts...I'm just wondering what I'm getting myself into..." This isn't the time or place for this Marcie! Shut up, right now!

He looked a little shocked and put his hands up to hold her upper arms. "I'm a little surprised you'd think that, Marcie. I've been completely honest with you, haven't I? I'm totally intrigued by you. You are smart. You've got a great sense of humor (at least you laugh at my jokes and that's got to mean a great sense of humor, right?). I couldn't ask more in terms of the sex. It's fantastic. I love your body and your mind. What more is there? (Is there something missing?)"

She knew he was being sincere, but she also knew he didn't really know her. What will happen when he finds out the truth about me? I don't want to get hurt.

He walked her to her car, kissing her deeply and suggesting they get together in the coming week. As she drove away he pulled out his cell phone and made a call.

"Jeremy? I need you to check on something. I just had a house guest and she had a peculiar 'episode' down in the basement -- can you get a team over here to verify the shielding is okay?"

If their inspection didn't turn up anything unusual he would chalk it up to random noise...or to a strange attractor. In any event, there was more to Ms. Marcie Adams than met the eye.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 03



As she drove away she pulled out her cell phone and made a call.

"Carole? How are you? I know...I know...I've been really busy these past few weeks. I was thinking, though...do you have time for dinner tonight? I wanted to catch up with you on some things. Yes? Great -- you choose the place, I'll see you there...around 6:30 work? Super. 6:30...The Grill...on 5th. See you then."

She was falling in love and she wasn't completely happy about it. It was time to get serious and figure out what was going on in this relationship.

* - * - *

"Hey Marcie! What is going on?" Carole swept into the restaurant her arms open ready for a hug. Marcie was always a little embarrassed at the hyperbolic display of friendship; she knew Carole really meant it, but it never failed to feel a little forced.

They found their seats, making small talk about the weather, the latest accessory purchase and other inconsequential facts of the week.

Carole got down to business, right after she placed her Martini order. "Okay, Marcie. Fess up. Where have you been hiding? I checked, and it's been almost six weeks since we had dinner at Margories...I still never got that phone number you promised. And last I checked, we spoke on the phone briefly last week. What is going on?"

She smiled coyly, taking a sip of water to hide her excitement. "Has it been that long?" She looked surprised. "I guess time flies when you're having fun..."

"Stop it! You've found someone! I can tell. I was worried, but I can see you've landed a big one." Carole clapped her hands softly and leaned forward. "Okay. Tell me all about it. I can't wait!"

"Now you stop it," Marcie laughed. "I have been dating a guy. I literally bumped into him at the office...No..." she held up a hand to stop her from interrupting, "not from the office, in the office. He almost sent me to the emergency room, but instead took me to lunch. It's been practically non-stop since then."

"Who is he?" Carole dropped her voice conspiratorially.

"You'd never heard of him. His name is Montrose Green...Monty. Weird name, I know. But he's very sweet, amazingly smart, and loves great food and wine."

Their drinks came, momentarily interrupting her narrative.

"Client of Samuelson's?"

"Yep."

"Then he's got to be loaded. Weren't you telling me the firm doesn't take clients who can't afford them?"

"Yeah..." Marcie looked a little distant for a moment before looking at her companion directly. "I can't believe how lucky I am..."

"Really? How lucky?" Carole raised her eyebrows.

"Pretty fucking lucky...the guy is loaded and he's fantastic in bed...and on the couch...and the bean bag...and the massage table..." She giggled and took a drink.

"Mmmmm...sounds nice. You deserve it, honey. After all the sad sacks you've been through. It's about time you landed a sweety. Loaded, huh?"

"Carole! Ladies don't discuss such things! But, since you insist...yes. Loaded. To. The. Gills."

"Okay, thanks for the executive summary, now give me the details.."

Marcie related the past several weeks -- the whirlwind of nights out, the eating, entertainment, and his incredible house. As she thought about it, she couldn't believe her good fortune...or as Monty would have her believe, the strange attractors that brought them together.

"He's not without his peculiarities," she began, raising another eyebrow from Carole.

"Okay, this sounds juicy...go on."

They both placed their orders, including another round.

"That's just it. He doesn't...umm...ejaculate?"

Carole jerked her head down slightly at the unexpected turn to the conversation. "You mean he's impotent...like, he does it with Viagra?"

"Oh, no. Not at all!" Marcie laughed. "He gets hard alright. Very very hard." She squirmed a little unconsciously at the memory of his cock inside her.

Carole was completely bewildered. "He doesn't have an orgasm?"

"Nope. I'm telling you it's really weird. It's the weirdest thing I've ever experienced. He is an amazing lover -- I am the most satisfied I've been this side of a cucumber..." they both smiled at the private joke "...but he just doesn't come. Period. No juice."

They both sat silently, staring into their drinks. Carole looked up to confirm she wasn't pulling her leg, and they both laughed.

"I think I'm falling for him."

"You're shitting me, right? You're falling in love with this guy? After a few weeks? A few nights out, some great rolls in the hay, and you're ready for wedding bells?"

She knew Carole was just horsing around, but the comments stung a little. Didn't she deserve some good fortune? Didn't she deserve a guy who could take care of her, who obviously was considerate, and who had is act together? Why shouldn't she?

"Does he know about your...uhm...problem?" Carole lowered her voice again, to make the message as gentle as possible.

In spite of its soft delivery, the question felt like a punch in the stomach. She wanted to reach across the table and hiss in her face: Hey! I'm so over that! But she knew, in spite of the past year's therapy, that she wasn't over it yet. She could tell from the feelings she had almost every time she'd been with him that her problem was lurking just below the surface, the potential to erupt at any moment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so blunt about it. I just don't want you to get hurt." Carole had spent many a night consoling her over a lost lover. They had been friends since college, since the beginning of Marcie's peculiarities and Carole had stuck with her no matter what. But she was getting a little short in the patience department, especially if Marcie wasn't going to be honest with this new guy as soon as possible. "What does Patti have to say about him?"

Marcie set her jaw, thrusting her chin forward slightly. "We've not discussed it recently, thank you."

"Okay. Okay. Don't get all huffy on me. I really am glad for you sweetheart. You really do deserve someone special like this guy." Carole leaned over and offered her an olive branch of a hug. 'Does he have a brother?" She smiled.

"Sorry. Two sisters. Although one of them might be gay. Should I get her phone number for you?"

The two friends continued to talk through dinner, Carole relating her latest gossip, Marcie mostly silent as was their dynamic. It wasn't until they ordered their coffees that the topic of Monty came back up again.

"I'm sorry I reacted so badly, Carole. It's just that this is feeling so good I really don't want to fuck it up."

"I understand. I completely understand. It was stupid of me to say anything. I know you'll figure it out and do whatever you need to do. So what's the trajectory?"

"I don't know. I'm just taking it one day at a time and each one is better than the last, so that works out fine. But we will have to have a chat soon. That's for sure." Suddenly, all of the self-doubt she almost always experienced around men came rushing towards her like a tsunami. Who am I kidding? What could he possibly see in me? Why is he even toying with me? What the fuck is really going on here? And in the short span of a few heartbeats, she suddenly saw her situation from a completely different perspective.

"What's up honey? You look like you just learned your step-mom died. By the way, how is Jane?"

Typical of Carole to make a sick joke. She knew if she said anything at this point, Carole would think she was completely bonkers. "She's...fine...thanks for asking...uhhhm...give me a second I need to think." She closed her eyes, thinking things through and trying to calm her breathing. Why the fuck has he been seeing me? He doesn't need to see me? He could get anyone. Why. Me? And then it hit her. What a fucking fool she'd been. She had to say something before she burst.

"Carole?" She waited until her friend looked her directly in the eyes. "I need to talk to you about this, but I have to trust you. Can I trust you to keep quiet for a few minutes until I get this out? I don't want you to think I'm completely nuts here, but something just occurred to me, and I'm starting to freak out a little." She waited until she was certain she would be quiet and listen.

"This whole thing with Monty? It's been way too good to be true. It just occurred to me. It could just as easily be a setup. What do I really know about him? He's a client at Samuelson's -- that much I'm pretty sure about. He's pretty fucking rich. That much I'm pretty sure about. He doesn't come -- I'm very sure about that. And he lives, or at least he claims to live, in a fucking fantastic house right out of a science-fiction film. The rest of the shit he's been telling me? It's all stories. They could be true, or they could be complete fabrications of a socio-path, or a very cunning con artist. I. Have. No. Idea.

"I haven't met anyone who knows him, other than a waiter at a restaurant or two we've been to. Come to think of it, I don't recall seeing any photographs on the wall or in his den of anyone with him. Not that that would mean anything. Someone with his resources could get those ginned up to support the stories...Nope," she sat back and looked like a deflated hot air balloon. "I don't know Jack-shit about this guy and he could be playing me like an old deck of cards.

"Come to think of it, a guy like him...we've been seeing each other a lot...and it occurs to me, he never gets a phone call. Three times tonight you and I have had messages on our phones. Not once in any of our dates has he been interrupted by a call. Something's definitely not fitting together here. I thought I was falling in love, and now I'm sure of it...blind as a bat..."

Carole winced and finally broke in. "I'm sorry, Marcie, but I have to interrupt. Are you serious? A few minutes ago you were so heading into love, and now you're suggesting he's some kind of master criminal? Don't you think this is another topic you should bring up with your therapist before you go off shooting your chances with what sounds like the greatest catch of the 21st century?"

She knew Carole was right. She didn't feel at all confident in her suspicions, but at the same time, what did she really know about the guy? As usual, in the space of a few heartbeats she had dumped a bucket of cold water on her own head; she was relishing the feeling for a moment. It was a good thing. Why should she be rushing so fast into a relationship with this guy? She didn't need him -- she had a great job, a bright future, a good head on a great body that would last a few more years. Maybe she should slow it down a little.

And yet, there was nothing specifically setting off alarms in her head -- an early warning system she'd learned to listen to over the past several years. It was just his weirdness that kept her from feeling completely comfortable. His insistence on disbelieving luck or coincidence may be just the thing a naïve young woman would love to hear. But why her? What could he possibly want from her. No phone calls? Really? That was enough to make her suspect him of something?

"You're right, Carole. Of course you're right. I'm...I'm just...I don't know...how could it be possible?. It's just too good to believe, right?. Fairy tales don't happen to me, and here it is, unfolding around me...it makes me suspicious."

"That's why you're in the job you're in, baby. Your bullshit detector is way more sensitive than mine'll ever be."

And then it hit her: If she really wanted to find out about this guy, she could do a little investigating on her own. It was a tricky thought -- investigating a client for personal reasons would get her fired, and likely lose the client for Samuelson, not to say lose him as her big fish -- but she could keep it light and frothy, and still likely find out enough to settle her concerns.

* - * - *

The next morning, she arrived at the office a little early, nervously anticipating what she could find out about the good Montrose Green. She settled in, looked at some email, returned a phone call, and by 8:45 decided to get started. First things first -- what was his account number with the company. Armed with that, she called Jamison over in Personal.

"Hey, Jimmy, how was the weekend?"

"Marcie. It was good -- got off to the lake with the boat finally. How 'bout yours?"

"'Sall good. Listen...I don't want to take much of your time, but a random number came up and I was wondering if you could get me a single-sheeter on this account?" It was a simple request -- nothing too deep, just a quick overview of an account that had been randomly flagged. Happened all the time.

"No problem -- send it over to me...I can get to it a little later this week."

"Yeah...I was wondering if you might be able to run it this morning? I've got an open slot today, and my schedule just collapses starting tonight. If I gave you the number over the phone, would that work?"

"Uh...yeah...sure. I don't have anything pressing -- shoot."

She read off the nine digit number, realizing Monty had been with the firm for several years. Odd she didn't remember seeing him before a few months ago.

"Got it. Hold on a sec....yep. It's coming up right now..." Jamison gave a low whistle. "Uhh...this is going to be a little bigger than...okay...here it comes...here you go Marcie, I'm sending it right now. You should be getting it in a minute. When you look at it, if you have any questions, don't call me, yeah? I never knew you were looking..."

She didn't know what he was referring to, but it raised the hairs on her arms at the tone he had taken. A moment later the report came into her mail system and she popped it open. 'Single sheeter' was a colloquial name for an abstract of the firm's accounts. For some of the older retirees, it really was close to a single sheet, but for the corporate accounts it could stretch to a small magazine. She looked at the size of the PDF and realized this was not a simple abstract.

Every abstract had a summary sheet that gave the reviewer a lay of the land. Her eyes dropped to his 'assessed worth' and she practically fell out of her chair. She had estimated 9 figures for sure, but she wasn't prepared for 11. $10 Billion dollars...with a B. A big B. Billion. She sat back from the screen and considered what it meant. On the one hand it meant he was telling the truth. He'd never denied being rich. On the other, it fanned the flame of her paranoia -- why would someone with that much money want to spend any time with her? And just as important, how did he avoid getting phone calls? Regardless of how this turned out, she wanted an answer to that mystery.

At Samuelson they used 'assessed worth' to help identify the broadest source of their clients' income. It wasn't the same as 'net worth,' nor was it the figure Forbes magazine came up with for their top-100 richest people. But it was a good figure for identifying relative worth among the Samuelson clients. And 11 digits was a big deal.

Her head was bursting with conflicting thoughts. Had he investigated her? People with that kind of money can afford to be discretely finding out about anyone they come in contact with. Had he checked her out before he bumped into her, or afterwards? She shook her head to clear that train of thought and went down another track: was he hoping to use her for something? To get at a deal Samuelson was running for him?

There was plenty in the report to help her learn more, and she knew fantasizing about his motives was stupid in comparison to just reading more facts about him. She put up her do not disturb signs and hunkered down to reading the 25-page 'single sheeter.'

By the time lunch had rolled around, she had mapped out an amazing network of connections with Monty sitting in the middle. She imagined him sitting there feeling the vibrations of his network like a spider ready to pounce when its prey struggled. According to the report, Monty had acquired over 15 businesses in a wide range of markets over the past three years. In addition, he sat on the board of 7 other businesses and had large stock holdings in 12 others. These were all in addition to the two private companies he owned outright.

She had opened a spreadsheet to start documenting all of his interests, looking up the companies' financials, identifying their corporate officers. She started noting their primary products and services and their recent sales activities.

She saw a total of 15 news reports about him, going back 10 years. He had a PR group...Jones, Wyatt and Miller out of NY -- they handled personal PR, she noted in an industry write up -- and they were doing a bang up job keeping his name out of the limelight.

She saw the standard charitable organizations for which he was a benefactor. He sat on this or that committee each responsible for directing 10s of millions of dollars of donations to needy causes.

Notably, he wasn't on any of the museum boards, but she did take note of his interests in several restaurants, both locally and across the country.

In between her fascination with this guy's holdings, she attempted to get some of her real work done. She thanked whatever gods there were that her schedule was light, so that by 5PM she had mapped out enough information to get a pretty clear idea of Monty's situation. Given how rich he really was, and given how important a client he was to Samuelson, she didn't dare print the material out. She password protected the sheet and filed it in a locked directory on her personal machine. It wasn't the highest form of security, but it was as good as she was going to get working there.

She left the office not any better informed about what lay ahead in her future, in spite of megabytes of data she'd culled through. As she was leaving the building, her cell phone indicated a text message.

Hey there! I just wanted to let you know I'm having a small party on Friday and I would love it if you could be there. Call me when you get a chance. -- Monty, and a link to a web invitation.

A cold shiver went down her spine, not only at the timing of the email, but at the prospect of attending a party at his house with all of his friends.

* - * - *

The enormity of what she had done slammed into her only after she had gotten home. "Oh my god," she shouted at the refrigerator. "I have fucked myself royally!" She slammed her hand on the counter and winced in pain. "What an idiot, what an idiot, shit, shit, shit!"

It was a bone-ass move by any analysis, and she knew it. It was a mistake even a freshman wouldn't have made. What was I thinking?

The likelihood of her being fired was huge if anyone found out. She had violated all sorts of professional ethics not to mention fucking up her relationship with Monty.

At the same time, she couldn't forget what she had learned about him. She'd found nothing warranting further investigation, nothing out of the ordinary for someone with that many connections and that much money. She lost herself in what kind of life he must lead, and what kind of life she could lead with him...assuming he didn't bring her up on criminal charges.

She poured herself a glass of wine and considered her next moves. Her daddy had always said "The best defense is a strong offense..." and maybe this was the time to consider that strategy. As the alcohol hit her brain she relaxed. Maybe it would be a good idea to talk frankly with him...to downplay her "audit" and just discuss their relationship a little more. It was going on six weeks since they first met.

She decided to act before she lost her nerve.

"Monty!" She was surprised to catch him on his cell, expecting to leave a message. Hey, he answered his phone! "How are you doing?" She thanked him for the wonderful weekend and confirmed she would love to attend his party. "Hey, I thought maybe I could return the favor."




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 03



"What do you have in mind?" He sounded a little distracted.

"Are you busy tomorrow night? I thought I would cook you a home-cooked meal. You've cooked for me so many times, and we've gone out so many times, but I've never cooked for you. I want you to come over and try a recipe I've just gotten from one of my favorite restaurants in the world."

"Hmmm," he paused. "It's really pretty weird, Marcie, but I just got a call, not two minutes before you, canceling a board meeting that had been scheduled weeks ago for tomorrow night, as it happens. I was wondering what I was going to do with all of that free time. Yes. Of course! I would love to come to dinner. Thanks for saving me."

* - * - *

All day Tuesday, after spending a sleepless night thinking about his portfolio, Carole's comments about being honest with him and whether he was watching her every move, she obsessed about what was in store for her. Waiting until the party on Friday to know whether he was fucking around with her would be too long; she wasn't sure how to tell him, but she knew she had to get it over with immediately. She couldn't stand the guilt or the fallout. Carole's voice kept whispering in her ear reminding her of even bigger issues, but she definitely wasn't going to broach that subject tonight, no matter what happened on Friday. She felt pretty confident she could get through the party without incident.

When he arrived, she greeted him with a hug and kiss. Even though she thought this might be the last time she saw him, just seeing him again excited her. Besides, she had a meal to cook. Best to wait until after dinner before broaching any controversial subjects.

"Tell me about the menu," he asked putting his coat on a hanger.

"The main course is the thing; the rest is just organic vegetables. It's a ravioli from a small restaurant off the beaten track in Italy. I was there a couple of years ago with some girlfriends and I fell in love with the dish. I've been badgering the chef to give me the recipe and he finally relented."

"I can't wait. What's it called?"

"It's 'Ravioli di zucchi' --ravioli stuffed with pumpkin in a gorgonzola sauce."

He paused for a moment. "What's the name of the restaurant?"

"Il Campo del Verano...it's a tiny place just north of Milan."

"Ummhmmm...." he looked around the room, noting the art on the walls, the simple furnishings. The hairs on his neck stood up a little and he felt goosebumps on his arms. "Just north of Milan. I think I know the place actually."

"No way. It's super tiny -- only about 10 tables. One of the women I was with suggested it, so we went. Really? You think you know it?" She was busying herself in the kitchen peeking at him through the pass-through every now and again. "Sorry -- there's a bottle of wine on the side table there. Could you open it and pour a glass for us?"

"Pretty sure I've been there. When were you there?"

"Three...no four years ago. June 12. I know because it was my girlfriend's birthday and we spent it there."

"June 12, four years ago." He opened the bottle and poured the wine. "Don't freak out, but I think I was there that night."

"What?! No. Fucking. Way." She started to freak out.

"Seriously. Don't get weird on me. I'm pretty sure I was there that night. I was supposed to have a business dinner with a prospect and they didn't show. I ended up eating alone. Pretty sure." He walked into the kitchen with her glass.

She stood there agape. There's no fucking way he was there. He's fucking with me. "No. Way. Hold on, we took a lot of pictures that night. If you were there, it's likely you're in them."

"You'd think I would remember a bunch of American women making a lot of fuss in that place, but I don't recall. Maybe I was there another night. I know I was in Italy in June four years ago, and I'm pretty sure the Milan show I was at was over after the first week..."

She had left already to get her photographs, returning with a box. "Let's see, Mr. World Traveler- there's-no-coincidences." She pulled out several three ring notebooks, each labeled by year. Flipping through the one from four years previous, she stopped at the set of pictures from Il Campo.

They both stared at the photograph. There, looking straight into the camera was Monty from across the room at an empty table.

She almost fainted. She put her hand to her mouth, the color draining from her face. "No. Fucking. Way." She closed the book and looked at him.

He shrugged, but otherwise seemed unperturbed by the photograph. "I don't remember that you were there. Sorry."

She wanted to hit him. "Sorry? You're sorry because you don't remember me being there? I don't remember you being there. That's not the point! We were both there! In a tiny restaurant in Italy. It's not like we bumped into each other at the grocery store up the street. Italy. Out of the way, tiny restaurant. Never heard of you. You never heard of me. Both of us. There. Doesn't that strike you as just a little bit odd?"

"It isn't any more odd than bumping into you in the coffee room. No accidents, no coincidences. It has no meaning one way or the other. We've probably crossed paths hundreds of times."

She wasn't satisfied by his nonchalance. "This is incredible and you're sitting there saying it happens all the time. I couldn't write this in a novel and have people believe it, but as far as you can tell, it's perfectly normal." Before she got annoyed she closed the book and got up to make dinner. "Do you recall the specialty of the house? Cause I'm going to try and make it and I'd appreciate you complimenting me on it whether it's what you remember or not."

She pondered the coincidence...yet another instance of their lives crossing. On the one hand it reduced her concerns about him setting her up...unless of course he started four years ago, but that was really a stupid thing to think. Really, she was making herself so important. On the other hand, it was impossible to believe they'd been closer together in that room that evening than they were at the moment.

She flew around the small kitchen, pulling pans down from there, ingredients out from here. He watched through the pass-through, offering to help and getting nothing but objections. In no time, it seemed to him, she had pasta plated with a wonderful sauce, a fresh bottle of wine opened and a crisp salad awaiting them at the table.

She studied him as they ate, listening to his quiet discussion of nothing-of-importances, his political views and passions about local environmental issues. Her ears perked up when he talked about one of the charities she knew he was a part of. At that turn in the conversation, she decided she couldn't keep her guilt bottled up any longer. If she didn't clear her conscience of her stupidity, she wouldn't be able to finish dinner. She tried to swallow the ball caught in her throat.

"Monty," she started quietly, expecting this might be the end of their relationship. "I have something of an important topic to bring up. I have to apologize to you. I...well..I have to confess something."

He put down his fork and wiped his mouth, paying her his full attention.

"I...well...first of all, I have had nothing but the best time with you for the past month. I can't tell you how wonderful it's been -- you have been an amazing lover, a true gentleman, and you have been nothing but honest with me. I am very grateful and I think I am falling in love with you." Whoops...what did I just say?

He looked a little surprised but smiled, making it even harder for her to say what she had on her mind.

"I wish that were my confession, but now, I'm afraid, I have to tell you that I think I really fucked up." She was beginning to shake from the raw emotion of having to tell him what she had done, the full realization of her stupidity crashing in on her. What had I been thinking?

"What did you do, Marcie? You can tell me. If there's anything I can do to help, you know I will."

She started to tear up a little, her voice threatening to warble from her emotion. "Well," she choked a little. "I...I just couldn't leave well enough alone, and after our fantastic day on Sunday, I came to a really stupid conclusion that you weren't just being nice to me...you were using me for some reason and I couldn't figure out why so I decided to audit you." It all came spilling out all at once along with tears and sobs. She closed her eyes and looked away from him, expecting the worst.

When he started laughing, she didn't know what to do. "Really? That's it? You audited me? Either you are the fastest auditor in the world, or the worst. What did you find out?" He was really laughing, truly amused at her discomfort.

She studied his eyes for any sense of anger, and while she thought she detected a flash of something, it flitted away before she could tell what it was. Instead, she found his laughter annoying -- here she'd practically put her head on a chopping block for him and he found it funny?

"I'm sorry," he gasped out between lungfuls of laughter. "I have to say, Marcie, I could fall in love with you in a heartbeat. That was probably the funniest thing I've heard in my entire lifetime."

She thought he might be patronizing her and was ready to kick him out, but every time she looked at him, he was truly amused, as if she had done something so extraordinary it never would have occurred to him. Wait...what did he just say? He could love me? Shit!

"I...I don't understand, Monty. I just violated a trust here...didn't I? I mean, I would be fucking outraged if you had done the same thing to me. I've acted horribly...what am I missing here?" Tears were flowing now, as much from her relief as her frustration at his reaction.

He caught his breath and took a long drink of water. Setting down the glass, he reached for her hands and looked her straight in the eyes. "Listen to me. If I haven't made it clear to you by now, please listen to what I'm saying: Money is of almost no interest to me in and of itself. It is a means to my ends. I have spent 25 years understanding my futures -- making money is child's play with that kind of vision -- futures that I never can truly predict but which I can bet better than even odds against.

"I really hope you can come to believe what I've experienced and what I'm pursuing. Money is trivial in the context of the real work I'm doing. Yes, I am disappointed at your lack of trust, but believe me, I think of that more as an opportunity for you to learn than of any slight against me. You know what I'm talking about, right?"

She felt humiliated and ashamed. He had pinned her exactly: she had shamed herself and rather than it being a threat to him, or to his trust in her, it was a revelation of her inadequacies. She felt ten years old, her awful faults under the spotlights. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?" She asked it quietly, knowing that to rebuild trust was almost impossible.

"Okay. Let me understand first. You say you audited me. Tell me exactly what that means." He studied her like a science experiment, his hands resting on the edge of the table, his body quiet.

She explained how the single sheeter worked and what she had uncovered.

"I'm impressed. I knew there was a reason I'm with Samuelson. Well, you pretty much know about my financial situation. You also seem to have a handle on my business interests, whether they're making money or not. But you didn't seem to put much merit in the non-profit / charitable side of the equation. I assume you saw I am involved in a variety of charities?"

"Of course...but...I mean...everyone contributes to charities as a way to protect their assets..."

"True...but I'm doing something a little different than merely making charitable contributions. Did you notice anything special about those non-profits?" He noted her confusion. "I'll save you the trouble. I don't contribute, I establish charities. You didn't take a good look at my contribution numbers, but I have funded several large charities well in excess of 50% of my earnings. My feeling is, I'd prefer to have my money go to the issues I believe in rather than leave them all up to the voters to decide."

She cocked her head at the figure. It didn't make sense. 50%? "I'm not sure I understand," her tone became business like. "You give away half your fortune, each year? Why didn't I see that in the reports?"

"Can't tell you that, but I can't give my money away fast enough, that's for sure. It's likely one of the reasons Forbes doesn't feature me more prominently."

She wiped away the tears from her cheek and tried to smile. She hadn't realized how heavy a burden the whole damn thing had been, and now all she wanted was for him to say goodbye or to find a way to get over it. He got up and came to embrace her, the sexual tension now clear to the both of them.

"It was a very stupid thing to do. I agree. I'm not sure what I can do here except to say I forgive you. As far as I'm concerned the matter is closed. But, I think you will need something more than that to feel you've 'atoned' for you sins. Am I sensing that?"

She nodded, squeezing him back with an embrace.

"Okay...I think I can help you there. It won't be easy for you, but I suspect that is what you need. Are you feeling better? Did you want to finish dinner or can't you eat?"

She realized she was still hungry. Hungrier than ever, actually. The tension of the past two days had left her empty -- emotionally drained and apparently famished. "Would you mind if we finished dinner first? I'm apparently starving."

His smile calmed her as he sat back down.

* - * - *

"Would you mind giving me a tour?"

They had finished and she had piled the dishes in the sink. She decided to do them later--she wasn't sure when his "lesson," as she had begun to think of it, would begin.

There were only a few rooms, nothing to speak of, and after she had shown them all to him, they returned to the living room couch.

"The best thing to do in these situations," he said stroking her jaw lightly, "is a ritual cleansing. It may get a little messy, but I don't want to do it in the bathroom. Does your dining room table have a leaf?"

She nodded and retrieved the extension from the coat closet. As he helped her put it in she wondered where this was leading.

"Okay...I saw a duvet on your bed, and...do you have a rain slicker or poncho?"

She couldn't begin to figure out what he was going to do with all of the items, or what it had to do with getting her over her guilt, but she dutifully collected the various bits. "I don't have a slicker...there's the shower curtain..." She really didn't want to take it off the rod if she could avoid it..."Oh, wait! Would a tarp work?" She retrieved the camping tarp from her bedroom closet and returned to the living room.

He had moved the cushions from the couch and put them on the dining room table, covered by the duvet, She brought over the tarp and stood watching, mostly useless and confused.

"We'll need a bowl with warm water and a wash cloth..." She left to collect the additional things.

"I think that will do. Okay. You ready?" He looked at her with those intense charcoal eyes, as if he was burning two holes through her.

She bit her lip and nodded, a little frightened and very nervous. "Will it hurt?"

He laughed a little. "Take off your clothes. Does a 'ritual cleansing' sound like it will hurt?" He watched as she unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. "It will be intense, but that's what I think you're looking for."

She lifted her right foot and slipped off her pump, repeating the operation with her left. She didn't think twice about getting undressed in her living room. It was one of the places she felt safe doing it. She panicked for a second, checking the curtains were closed and then continued. It didn't matter she was stripping in front of him. It added more to her growing sexual excitement. She unhooked her skirt and let it slip to the floor.

She didn't like leaving her clothes scattered around; she picked them up and neatly folded them on the couch before reaching behind and unhooking her bra. Still with her back to him, she shimmied out of her underwear and turned around to present herself to him.

"Earrings, too, love."

She blushed at the term, and at the same time realized her nipples were stiffening in the cool air. Putting her jewelry on the end table, she returned to stand next to him, not sure where she should put her hands. It was a little cooler than she liked; she wanted to hug herself to stay warm, but she didn't know if he expected her to stay exposed with her arms at her side. She kept them down.

"You really are one of the sexiest women I've ever met." He reached up and gently stroked her cheek, letting his fingers trail down her neck. Her wonderful neck. "Okay. Let's get you on the tarp for a second." He took it and spread it on the floor, directing her to stand on it.

"In the ashram, this was the very first thing the novitiates learned: to cleanse themselves of impure thoughts. I think it suits the situation, wouldn't you agree?"

She nodded, biting her lip and wondering what was going to happen.

"In some sacred acts, the ritual must be performed according to a prescribed sequence. But there are as many variations to the 'ritual cleansing' as there are teachers. There is no orthodoxy per se. The key is for you to focus on cleansing your mind and spirit." As he spoke he continued to draw his fingers down her body, sending shivers through her skin.

"Have you practiced Yoga?" He looked up to see her nod. "Are you familiar with Tadasana -- Mountain Pose?" Again she nodded. "Okay, this first part is best done if you are in Mountain Pose. In this case, though, place your feet about hip width apart."

She shifted her stance, looking down to make sure she had positioned her feet as he had requested. He was kneeling in front of her, his face just in front of her pubis and she felt a pulse of arousal at the thought he could just lean forward and kiss her. She resisted the urge to push into his face, focusing instead on his directions.

"Mountain Pose is tied to the ritual cleansing: both are extremely important to the practice while being fairly easy to do. Still there are subtleties to the pose that I need you to pay attention to. Let's start from the bottom up."

He touched her feet and directed her to raise her toes, spread them and plant them down, to focus on the three corners of her feet and to imagine the energy of the Earth beginning to flow into her legs. Moving his fingers up her shins, he had her focus on her knees, keeping them slightly locked but not tensed.

"Your quads are really important in this pose." He gently laid his palms on the front her thighs. "Turn them 'on' and feel how they support your upper body. This is crucial to keeping the flow of energy moving up from the Earth to your head." He lightly dragged his right palm across her skin moving his fingers between her legs, cupping her cunny and resting his finger tips inside the folds of her cheek. "This is the Mulha Banda -- Root Lock. You might know it as Klegle exercise."

She looked down, struggling to keep her thighs slightly tensed, her feet planted and her knees relaxed even as his fingers were pressing against her sex. She swallowed and resisted the urge again to press herself into his face.

"Try to tense these muscles here," he demonstrated by pressing the ball of his hand up into the band of muscle between her vagina and anus. "The best description I've heard is to try and cut off the flow of pee. That's it." He could feel her muscles tighten, and watched her abs constrict slightly. "It's a challenge, but try not to tense your stomach muscles."




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 03



She took a breath and took stock of her lower body. She thanked herself silently for keeping in shape and for all the gymnastics she'd had in high school. Although she'd practiced Yoga on and off for years, she'd never had this kind of personal corrections. Completely personal. She kept her focus on her feet, her quads, her root block and now she heard him mention her glutes. She felt taller, rooted to the ground, as if her legs were a sturdy tree. She could almost begin to forget about the individual muscles, imagining instead her lower body forming a solid base.

"That's it," he coached, moving his hands now from her butt up her back. "Turn on the back Heart." He stopped behind her shoulder blades, gently pushing them down towards her waist, lowering her shoulders. "Keep your lower back in its natural curve and try to lift your breasts towards the sky slightly." He slid his hands around her ribs dragging them lightly across her breasts. She inhaled at his touch, her erect nipples sensitive to the stimulation from his hands.

"Perfect. Now breathe in deeply, and breathe out, using your diaphragm to pull air in and push it out." He stood back and watched her. She felt exposed...and alive. Her lower half had melted into the floor, her upper half swayed slightly with each breath. "Feel the energy of the Earth flowing into your body, up your legs, to your yoni, your stomach, your breasts and heart, and now to your head. With each breath let the Earth's energy flow into you..."

She visualized the flow of energy letting his words take her into her body, her breath. The feelings of guilt surfaced, the terrible injury she had done to him, the breaking of a trust, personally and professionally, and she felt the energy mix with the feelings, like cream in coffee, swirling. She heard his voice as if from far away, gently coaxing her to focus on her breath, on the energy and she felt the humiliation and guilt begin to wash away.

"Before we get to the next step," he interrupted her thoughts, "it's best to do a few cleansing breaths. With each inhale, I want you to sweep your arms up over your head and with each exhale, do a forward fold, gently, touching your toes. Okay. Inhale...count to five..slowly bring your hands to touch over head, slightly arch your back...and now exhale slowly...forward...gently. And again...sweep your hands out and up."

She had never felt so exposed and so light. As she lifted up, she knew he was studying her—naked—her sex split open slightly, her arousal mixing into the returning feelings of guilt, the old patterns of exposing herself now laid bare, with his permission, no by his suggestion, as a way of cleansing herself. She kept up her movements, now extended tall, her breasts pointing out towards him; her back arched slightly, her cunny pushed forward. She tried to keep all of the muscles he'd mentioned appropriately turned on or relaxed; the mental effort forced her concentration on the sheer complexity of the task, distracting her from her humiliation and guilt.

"Good," he said softly, "one more time....Now, on your last extension up, hold your hands above your head, interlace your fingers and bend your back more than your neck to look at them, Don't strain, but see if you can just lean back a little."

It wasn't a problem for her. She held the position, realizing again what a sight she must be, stripped and exposed in her living room, with a man completely dressed and no doubt fully erect himself, if past experience was any guide. She imagined his cock straining in his pants and smiled inwardly.

He leaned over and dunked the wash cloth into the bowl. "With the Earth's energy now flowing into you, and the energy of the Sky (air) holding you up, it's time to introduce Water. This is a very difficult part to do, so I want to prepare you for it mentally."

She shivered a little, trying to figure out what he was going to put her through.

"I am going to squeeze the cloth over your face. Your task is to hold this position no matter what." He began to dribble the water onto her cheeks, forcing her eyes to close. It tickled terribly as the drops began to flow down her neck. "Feel the water flowing across your skin. Embrace the droplets as they wash over you."

She tensed her jaw and then relaxed it, forcing herself to overcome the desire to scream from the tickling. The drops felt like tiny insects scurrying across her skin. He doused her again, this time further towards her chin, and the rivulets poured down her neck, across her breasts. She felt goosebumps on her skin, her nipples stiff and aching from the cold as the water evaporated. She focused on the drip drip drip of the water as it hit the tarp, the small droplets splashing on her feet.   

He kept up the flow, each time he squeezed the cloth he poured water over a different part of her face, forcing the drops to travel over different territory. After the initial shock, as the new drops retraced old paths, the tickling subsided and she could focus on her breathing. After seven or eight cycles, she lost count of how many times he squeezed the cloth on her face, but it continued until a new feeling emerged: a sense of the water pulling her emotions out and down to the floor; drawing out the humiliation and shame. She swallowed and focused on her breath, her arms beginning to ache from being held over her head.

He noticed her body beginning to shake slightly from the physical exertion. "Okay...one more. Open your mouth as wide as you can and take as much water into it as you can comfortably hold. Do not swallow it." She did as he asked and felt the cloth against her lips as he squeezed it into her mouth. She blocked her throat with her tongue feeling the water filling her up. "Don't close your lips; keep them open." She felt the water overflowing her mouth, dribbling down her jaw and landing on her shoulders, finding a new path down her back to her butt and dripping on the floor. "Now, push the water out of your mouth with your tongue. We're almost ready for the next step." She did as he asked and again felt the water streaming down her back, the ticklish feelings erupting where streams traveled in new paths.

"Gently; very gently bring your hands down to your hips, your elbows out....good...now very gently, taking it easy on your back, fold forward at the hips...keep your back extended and straight...that's it. Fold as far forward as you can comfortably. If you want to drop your arms, you may, but keep your back straight."

She hung there, her small breasts pointing down like upside down pyramids, capped with her nipples purplish pink from swelling. Relief from the strain flowed through her arms and back, along with the final drips of the water as it cascaded to the floor.

He soaked the cloth again, and washed her back, from her neck down to the crack of her ass, again, starting from the top and moving down. Again. And again. With each cycle, more water dribbled over her ribs, tickling her and forcing her to concentrate. She pulled her hands back to her thighs to support herself. He spread her cheeks and dribbled water over her rectum, letting the cloth run a stream over her hole. She could feel herself pucker and unpucker the sphincter there, the feelings of shame and exposure intensified.

"Good," he said supportively. "We're almost ready to go to the next step. You're in excellent shape, Marcie, and you have an excellent shape!" She could tell he was aroused by the tone of his voice and it aroused her. Though this might be a ritual cleansing, she knew, based on the evening in the den that there was more in store for her than a simple washing.

"Okay. Slowly stand back up and relax in Mountain pose. Gently breathe; inhale and exhale." He put the washcloth in the bowl and stood back to look at her. She was beautiful; her dark hair framed her face, her cheekbones, not too prominent, helped give character to her round face. That neck, so long he could just stroke it all night long. Standing there, naked and breathing, her small breasts rising and falling, her abdomen nicely shaped, the thin black hair of her landing strip pointing to her slit as prominent a sign as if it were neon; the gentle widening of her hips and her well toned legs. He hardened every time he saw her and he felt a far stronger need to penetrate her than he'd felt in years. There definitely was something different going on here.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," her voice croaked and she cleared it. "Fine. A little nervous still." She was actually a lot nervous, but she was also a little chilly, the water evaporating off her naked skin.

"I just remembered...I need a sheet...can I find one in the bedroom?"

She opened her eyes but didn't move. It felt too good to stay in position. "In the linen closet outside the bedroom door. Top shelf."

"While I get it, please visualize the life force flowing up from the Earth into all of the places that were fatigued by the last exercise. With each breath in, bring the force up, with each breath out have it flow through your body."

He returned and looked at her, eyes closed, standing straight and tall, her beauty overwhelmed him. The perfect curve of her breasts, her belly, the flare of her hips, her sex -- it all fit together for him as a sculpture.

"I..." She opened her eyes and looked at him, hesitating. "I think I need to pee."

He didn't want her to move, to walk to the bathroom even though it was close by. He grabbed the bowl and placed it between her legs handing her the washrag. "It would be better if you didn't walk too far. I should have asked. Can you go in that?"   

She looked down at the bowl and at him, feeling even more exposed. "I guess so...really?" She confirmed he was serious and squatted down over the bowl, blushing at performing such an intimate act in front of him.

She felt so much better emptying her bladder, once she began, the relief overcame her shyness. She looked down to see the yellow stream spraying into the bowl and looked up to see him staring at her, watching her completely exposed. She swallowed, the familiar feelings rising up inside her no matter how hard she tried to suppress them. She finished, not meeting his gaze but focusing instead on the liquid in the bowl. It wasn't much better to look down, seeing herself openly exposed to him, her legs shaking a little at having to squat. She wiped herself and put the rag on the side of the bowl. She stood up away from the bowl, wiping the rag water from her fingers on her waist.

"Take a moment and recenter yourself. Mountain pose, breathe in and out."

She did as he suggested, relaxing the embarrassment and shame from her mind trying to regain that wonderful sense of lightness.

"I want you to focus on this 'life force,' not as if it were a 'something,' like a noun but more as if it were an adjective -- it suffuses everything; some things to a greater degree others less. Even things we think of as 'lifeless' are infused with it."

She breathed in and out, thinking of her life force suffusing her being.

"You could think of it as a river. It flows among, between, all things we touch and see in the world. The river analogy is flawed because it suggests the force flows in a singular direction. It is much more like a light source -- an uncovered light bulb, say -- that emits outward in all directions simultaneously."

She imagined herself as a lightbulb emitting life accepting life.

"Both of these suggest the force is an external agent existing outside oneself. But that is also a limitation of the metaphors we have. Some have described it as a wild stallion which we ride, but that implies we have control over it, which is only partially true. It is not so much something we control as we join with"

She saw herself, naked, riding the stallion of her life force as it moved her from here to there.

"Okay, Marcie. You can get up on the table now and relax. Lie on your back and let's get you comfortable." He had laid out the sheet over the duvet and gestured for her to lie on it. He watched as she pushed herself up lifting her legs; her pussy flashing him as she spread her legs to get balanced.

She shifted onto the cushions, working her body to the center of the table. The cushions moved beneath her, leaving gaps. She looked over to him for help.

"Hold on a sec." He reached under her and held the cushion while she pushed it with her back and cheeks. "Okay. Lift up a little; I want to get these arranged a little differently." He pushed on her waist, indicating where he wanted her to lift. As she pushed herself up, he moved two cushions together, overlapping their edges to create a small mound, adjusting it to just under her glutes. When she settled back down, her mid section was raised slightly.

He frowned and turned to the couch to retrieve two throw pillows. "Here, let's try this." He had her lift up, pushing the pillows on top of the overlapped cushions; he settled her down again. This time her pubis was the highest part of her body, her legs descending down to the table, her head comfortably resting on a cushion.

"Comfortable?"

She nodded, looking up at him. She was comfortable physically, but feeling very exposed and vulnerable. She closed her eyes trying once again to recover the light feeling.

"Fire," he said. "The last remaining element."

She jerked her eyes open and looked at him with a little fear, expecting to see a candle. Seeing nothing, she laughed softly and closed her eyes again, working to drop her heart rate.

"Do you know 'Breath of Fire?'"

She nodded.

"Okay. In a moment, I'll want you to begin breathing for 20 breaths. Remember, mouth closed, out fast, in relaxed through the nose. Think about the life force you collected from the Earth. Visualize the Air pulling it through you and the Water shaping it. Now we will set it in you with Fire. Go ahead and begin."

As she began the breathing, he drifted his fingertips up her body, starting with her toes, to the tops of her feet, her shins, her knees to her thighs. He paused briefly at her sex, rubbing slightly over her mound, pressing on her clit before continuing up past her belly. By the time he had arrived at her breasts she was done. He stopped. "Again. 20 breaths." She continued as did he. His fingers trailed up the bottom of her breasts to her nipples, stiff from the cold. Again he paused, leaving them draped across her, before continuing up to her mouth across her face to the top of her head. As he arrived she finished.

She felt warmer, her attention focused on the three points of her body he had stimulated the most. She could feel her labia swelling slightly, the thought of being stretched open to his gaze, laid bare on her dining room table added to the growing warmth.

"Are you getting warm?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes closed, focused on her growing arousal.

"Where are you feeling warmth?"

She smiled a little at the new game. "My nipples feel...cool on the outside, but a little warm from your touching them. My...lips..." she wriggled her fingers slightly to point to her sex, "are getting a little warm...my stomach is warm."

"Your...lips?" He drew a single finger across her vagina, her labia opening slightly at his touch. She moaned agreement. "Is that what you prefer to call this part of your body?" He dragged his finger across her again, this time it came away slightly moist.

She smiled again. "My...cunny. I like to call it my cunny. Ooohhhh..." She lifted her pelvis slightly as he placed his fingers on her 'cunny,' pushing slightly on her clit. He felt its stiffness through the skin above it.

"Are you getting warmer?"

She noticed in fact she was getting warmer. The small glow had moved outward, up to her diaphragm. She nodded.

"Let's get you a little warmer. Starting with the top of your head, tense up every muscle you can visualize and count to 3." She tensed the top of her head, her forehead wrinkling with the effort. "Good. Now your entire face, to 3." She complied and as she did, he pulled on her nipples just slightly, stiffening them. It distracted her, but she tensed through. "Excellent. Now the back of your head, to 3 again." She tensed as best she could while he laid his hands on her breasts. She could feel his warmth moving into her.

He had her tense and then relax each part of her body, her neck, shoulders, ribs, belly, thighs, knees, feet and toes, and each time, he toyed with her breasts, her labia or her clit, sending shocks of sweet arousal into her core. By the time she had finished, she felt a small sheen of sweat on her skin.

"You seem much warmer now. Am I right?"

"Mmmmm. It's nice."

"We're going into the last phase, now Marcie. The most intense phase. You are already feeling better about yourself, aren't you?" He waited for her to nod. "Okay. You've been very hard on yourself in spite of being less than honest; in spite of being distrustful of me and in spite of violating your own very high ethical standards. In spite of all those things you have been even harder on yourself than was necessary." As he admonished her, he spread her legs a little, exposing her cunny completely. "As a final phase in the ritual cleansing, you will forgive yourself as you give yourself to me."

He opened her lips with his index and middle fingers, coating them with her moisture. "This will be difficult for you, I know it, but you will feel so much better when it's over, and you will be able to leave your mistakes behind you. Do you trust me?"

She wasn't sure what to believe or trust. Splayed out, completely open to his eyes and hands, she knew she could put a stop to whatever he was doing anytime she wanted, but she didn't want him to stop. She was heating up from his touches; she was relaxed and she did trust he wouldn't hurt her. "Yes," she forced a whisper.

He could sense her excitement, her juices were starting to flow, her labia had thickened, her nipples were swollen. He pushed two fingers into her, slowly, moving with grace and with her breathing. "That's it, keep breathing. Feel my hand entering your core, touching your life force, the life force you have been building." He pulled his fingers out, coated with the thick fluids, a sign she wasn't yet fully aroused and smeared them across her lips.

Again, he pushed three fingers into her, spreading her open, moving with her breath, in, rest, in deeper, rest, out, rest, out completely, smear across her lips and inner thighs. And again, four fingers, stretching her to a point of discomfort. Holding. Rubbing his thumb gently over her swollen clit, forcing a moan from her. "Breathe, Marcie, breathe in and out. Relax. Relax your cunny and let me in." She moaned at the thought of what he was going to do, but she visualized his hand deep inside her and relaxed her muscles.

His fingers were slippery from her juices, his thumb continued to massage her. Her lips were spread open, her thighs glistening from sweat and from her liquid he'd begun to spread on them. "Again, breathe in and out." He pushed four fingers into her, making as small a cylinder as he could, penetrating her slowly, working with each breath. She arched her back opening herself to him moaning as he pushed against her.

As she exhaled, he pulled his fingers out, painting her with her juices: the top of her pubis, the insides of her legs, the joints of her thighs to her groin. She wanted him to lick her, to eat her, as he had done the other night, to pull a climax from her deep inside her. She pushed herself at him, hoping he would understand.

He spread her legs further, her heels now draped off the edge of the table, raising her middle higher, her back arched slightly. She felt like a virgin sacrifice on an altar, her very core exposed to her priest lover. His hand returned to her open slit and he again pushed four fingers into her, again resting his thumb against her clit. Slowly he moved them in a complex pattern: around, in, out, all maddeningly slowly and confusing. All the while his thumb stayed pressed to her clit, pushing against it. She could feel his fingers from inside her stimulating her. "Ohhhh shit, Monty...oh god...oh god." She'd never felt anything like it.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 03



He felt her begin to flow as he brought her up to the crest of a wave and brought her back down again. "Say these words, Marcie: I forgive myself." He began again, bringing her up and she moaned, begging him to bring her over the edge. "Soon. Very soon. Say the words." He brought her back down.

"I...god. oh god...Monty...I forgive myself." She wanted to cry out from the intensity of what he was doing. She could feel her anus contracting, pushing, all of her muscles working to grab his fingers, pushing against his thumb. She was beginning to climax and he brought her back again.

"Again, Marcie. Forgive yourself."

"Oh fuck...fuck..Monty, please...don't stop...no! Please keep it going...please. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. I forgive myself. Please keep fucking me with your hand." She was clenching her hands on the sheet, lifting her pelvis and begging him with her open cunt...it was a cunt she realized for the second time in the last week. She had never felt this way before, and now she was beginning to think of herself as a cunt. Cunt. She kept playing the word over and over in her head as his hand re-entered her. She could hear the squishing of her juices as he pushed his way in, and she moaned again when his thumb stroked her. "Ohhhhhhh.....goddddd....yessss."

He kept the rhythm going; just enough to bring her up, and then back down. It went on for several minutes, each time she thought she would climax and each time he disappointed her. She was sweating now, and had tipped her head forward to look at him as he impaled her with his hand. She'd never thought she could take that much into her...cunt...she had seen fisting in a porn flick once before; it disgusted her and she'd never thought she would do it..."oohhhhh, goddddd...Monty...yess...fuck me...I forgive myself, I forgive myself, just please...fuck me..."

He pulled out of her, his hand soaked now. "Lay back and relax," he directed. She was breathing heavily, her breasts rising and falling, her body on fire. She put her head back down and he brought his fingers to her mouth, painting her come across her face.

She had tasted herself before, but this caught her by surprise. She felt empty between her legs; her cunny spread open, the air cool on her thighs. She didn't resist accepting his fingers on her mouth, pushing into her lips to paint her tongue. She tasted salty and slimy. She had the urge to suck his fingers to let him know she was his—that she would do anything he asked.

He pulled his fingers out and returned to penetrate her again, pulling more liquid from her, along with a groan of pleasure from her. He returned to her face, painting her musk all over her nose, her cheeks and across her lips. She relaxed her jaw inviting him to paint inside her mouth, but he didn't accept the invitation. He returned to her cunt, retrieving more juice from her and painted her face with it again. "Please," she begged, "please take me over the edge. I forgive myself. I understand. I'm yours..." she continued to babble as he teased her, first inside her cunt and then inside her mouth.

"In the context of Tantric sex," he said softly, "you approach the river, take a small handful of force, and do not return it immediately. You are approaching the river."

She wasn't sure how long she could endure the building up and coming down. And then he changed the rhythm. He shifted his position slightly, and on the next cycle with his fingers coated in her liquid, he slipped them into her mouth, drawing his fingers down her tongue, grabbing it between thumb and forefinger and pulling on it very gently. It caused her to rotate her head back, opening her throat for him. Holding her tongue with his fingers from one hand, he coated the outside of her throat with her spendings using the other. Each time he returned to her slit, he stroked her, forcing more moisture from her. Each time he painted more of her body with her oil finishing when he reached her nipples. He held each one, pulling it up slightly, raising her chest and arching her back. He had immobilized her head the entire time, holding her tongue; the image of a virgin prepared for sacrifice was even more vivid.

Her head tilted back, her breasts, now thrust up into the air, her cunt, pushed out lewdly, dripping and swollen, her breathing irregular in spite of trying to follow his directions, she was no longer a professional accountant -- she had been stripped bare of any modern civilized trappings. She was a virgin sacrifice, a participant in a ceremony as old as history. In that moment she slipped out from whatever had defined her and was just there, in the moment, being fucked by her lover priest's hands.

She was pulled taut between his hands, and he began to move them together, creating a vibration that echoed down her spine. She felt the climax building, crescendoing, her body like a boat flung up by ocean waves. He didn't stop and she knew he would bring her over the top. Higher, harder, he pulled on her in both directions, the vibrations moving through her until she exploded in a burst of light, her eyes rolled back in her head, her sobs and moans muffled by his hand in her mouth, her tongue held tightly. With her orgasm she felt her shame and humiliation, even her self-consciousness about her problem burn away, melt in the fury of that explosion; melt and flow out of her, dribbling down her cheeks from her mouth and dribbling out of her cunny between her legs.

* - * - *

She looked at him from beneath her nearly closed eyelids. Her head was reeling from the orgasm her mind cleansed of shame and guilt and self-recrimination. She was floating on a sea, weightless, a yellow glow in her core. She knew he must be harder than steel and she wanted to feel him in her.

Without warning, he slipped his arms under her and in a single smooth motion lifted her off the cushions as if she weighed no more than one of the pillows. He bent his head down and kissed her, his lips practically engulfing hers, his tongue probing her mouth. She knew he could taste her, and she wanted him to taste her...in her mouth, in her cunt. She pulsed at the thought of calling herself that.

He laid her down on the bed and stripped for her. As his briefs came down she watched his erection spring free, licking her lips in anticipation.

"Do you know 'Happy Baby?'" He asked, kneeling on the bed between her legs.

She nodded and lay back, knowing how exposed she would be in that position. She brought her feet up, grabbing them with her hands, making her thighs parallel with the bed. Her asshole and cunt were now facing him, split open and exhibited to his eyes, his fingers and his cock. She could feel her juices leaking out of her lips, tickling her as they traveled to her wrinkled hole.

He leaned forward, between her legs, his head coming into view, his chest even with her breasts. He planted his hands next to her shoulders and grazed the tip of his cock against her slit.

"I'm going to fuck you, Marcie. Hard. I need to fuck you. You are so beautiful, so vulnerable and so sexy." He slowly began to slide into her, staring at her face the entire time.

"Yes, Monty. Please. Fuck me. Hard. I'm so sorry. I so need to feel you in me. Fuck me. Very hard. I promise I won't mistrust you...Ohhhh!"

He shoved deep into her and buried her mouth in his. Pulling out, he shoved back into her again, forcing his shaft up to the hilt. She held onto her feet, keeping her thighs spread open, knowing she was his fucking cunt, fucking her cunt, her cunt. Cunt. She repeated it in her mind each time he slammed into her and again when he pulled out.

She moaned when he left her empty and screamed when he buried himself in her. She was so wet and open from his fingers she wasn't sure he could feel anything and she hoped, again, he would lose it and drown her in his come.

He kept it up, forcing her open, forcing his tongue into her. She couldn't believe his stamina and strength until he locked up, deep inside her and she felt the now familiar vibrations as he did whatever it was that he called an orgasm. He held himself above her, his body as stiff as his cock, pulling his mouth from hers to catch his breath. And her own orgasm swept up by surprise, tossing her over the edge. She lost her grip on her feet, her legs grabbed him below his ass and held him in her as she came. She felt her juices creaming around his stiff member.

"thank-you..thank-you, god, thank-you, that was so fucking great..." she mumbled incoherently hugging his back.

* - * - *

"I don't want you to worry," he said, shifting under the covers, some time later. "I have to take off for several days and I won't be easy to get in touch with."

She looked at him, a series of emotions chasing through her. "That's really nice of you to tell me." She really was grateful. "Thanks." He didn't need to do that.

"I just realized, we have been together practically every other night since we started going out. As unusual as it is for me to have so many openings in my schedule, I can't imagine a better way to spend my time." He smiled and let his fingers dip between her legs. She shifted slightly giving him better access. "As it turns out, I need to get back to some of my less interesting involvements."

"Mmmmm. Ummm hmmm." She closed her eyes and let him play with her, his fingers recalling the recent explosions she'd just experienced.

"Don't let the ebb and flow of circumstances fool you into thinking there's any pattern. It's possible there's a pattern, or more than likely, it's random noise. Your audit; my leaving for a few days; a party in a few days; your explosive orgasms -- none of it necessarily adds up to anything."

"Oh Monty, the sweet nothings you whisper in my ear." She smiled at the memory of her explosive orgasms. She liked explosive orgasms...she'd never had so many explosive orgasms and if this is what happened after she fucked up, she'd want to fuck up again. "I don't care," she snuggled close to him, feeling his cock. "I'm not sure I want to be a good girl if being bad is this good."

He smiled and closed his eyes to sleep.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 04



She arrived at 7:30, appropriately late she figured, and found the house overflowing with people. The living room was completely lit up, couples chatting, a woman serving hors d'oeurves, the sound of the conversations drifting out to her as she walked to the door.

He greeted her and introduced her to several couples, names flew past, faces she would have difficulty remembering. Through the rooms, out to the back where more couples chatted. They were very interested in this new person in Monty's life. It was apparent his friendships were intimate; the faces were bright and open, inquisitive about her.

He left her alone with the crowd, making his way to freshen their drinks and she looked around. Across the grass she thought she recognized someone and panicked for a moment, thinking it might be a guy from work. She strained to see him without being seen, and then the light hit his face and she silently screamed.

Jack Wilson? No way. Shit. No way. I've got to get out of here! A friend of her roommate's from college; someone who knew her from a lifetime ago halfway across the country. What were the chances? It wasn't possible! She felt like a rat in a maze. He couldn't possibly be here. Not now. As she turned to find a way back into the house, he looked up, caught her eye and froze in disbelief, a smile eventually broadening across his face.

It wasn't necessarily a friendly smile and she felt like a rabbit in the presence of a coyote. Best defense is a strong offense...She painted a smile on her face and walked up to him, forcing as hearty a greeting as she could.

"Jack? What the fuck are you doing here?" She came up to him and gave him a hug, disengaging after a couple of heartbeats.

"Marcie. Wow. How weird. Yeah...my partner...Joel? Joel! I want you to meet someone." He waved his hand at a gorgeous young man across the lawn. "Joel works for NightSense."

"Hi. Joel Stevens." He offered his hand.

"Hi. Marcie Adams. I'm a friend of Monty's." NightSense...oh yeah, one of Monty's companies.

"Monty's?" Jack said it with enough emphasis to indicate that only very close friends called him that. He sized her up. "How. Have. You. Been?"

"Great! How long has it been? Nine years? 10? Been working as an accountant for the past few years. Not what I had expected when I started school, but it's been working out okay. What about you?" She was nervous and tried to find a subject that didn't get too personal.

They made small talk for a few more minutes and she knew he would start to press her. As expected the questions turned more intimate.

"Now weren't you married just out of school?"

Jack had always been a weird guy. She didn't know he was gay during school, and maybe he hadn't figured it out back then. Whatever it was, he had always behaved weirdly around her, no doubt her reputation had preceded her, but of all the guys she had gone out with, Jack definitely never made the cut. He continually brushed Joel's arm, petting him, even as he stared at her breasts and crotch. As much as he weirded her out in school, he terrified her here.

"Uh...yeah. That didn't work out."

"But you seemed so open around him. Of all the couples back then, I would have thought you two would have worked out your difficulties."

She knew exactly what he was referring to and she blushed, trying to find a way to end the conversation without calling any more attention to herself. She couldn't afford him exposing her to Monty or his friends. Shit!

"Do you come at these...I mean to these parties often? I'm surprised we haven't seen you recently..."

He thought he was being funny, but Joel wasn't getting the jokes, and she was only feeling more trapped. She could feel the sweat beginning to bead up under her arms and in the crease between her breasts and ribs. She had to leave. Now.

"Hey Jack," she said with as much lightness as she could muster. "It's been great seeing you again. Joel. Nice to make your acquaintance."

She turned quickly and left before Jack reached out and grabbed her, or did something else horribly wrong. She moved quickly, but not so as to attract undue attention, hoping to find Monty before he ran into Jack. I'll tell him on my terms; he can't hear it from him!

She moved as quietly and unobtrusively as she could towards the back stairs. Seeing the elevator service door she knew she had to hide, to collect her thoughts and not be where anyone might find her.

Thankfully the door opened at the turn of the handle and she rushed down the hall to the elevator.

In moments she had found her way down the longer rocky hallway, the warmth and security of the enclosed space embracing her. The constant feeling of being watched evaporated; she hadn't even been aware of the pressure of the eyes on her until the feeling was suddenly absent.

She sat on the floor, her back to the wall and cried. She couldn't do this. She had to tell him. The secrets were pressing hard on her chest. As she sat crying, she came to the conclusion she would tell him...tonight. Her deepest secret. He'd been so forgiving about her stupidity earlier in the week; she knew he would be able to accept her...She closed her eyes and let her head relax, her resolve freeing a weight from her shoulders she had grown tired of bearing.

Without warning she was under the spell of the vision she had experienced on Sunday. Once again, she was strapped against the wall, naked. Her arms pulled out to the sides and cuffed to hooks just above her head. Her legs, spread apart by a metal bar, her ankles strapped to the wall. The image overwhelmed her, as it had earlier in the week: the sense of powerlessness, the immobilization and perhaps most distressing, her inability to scream, the ball gag strapped into her mouth.

Like a disaster or studying an insect about to die, she looked at herself, stretched out on the wall, her nipples clamped and pulled cruelly to the sides, flattening her breasts, the wires clipped to eye hooks next to her. She started to feel nauseated as the pain and fear in her trapped self looked out at her through teary eyes. She could see the fear...and now, as she stared...she could see the arousal...an emotion she hadn't noticed in the last vision. The arousal was much clearer to her and it alarmed her as much as the horror of the scene. This wasn't her! She didn't want this!

She knew it wasn't real, but she couldn't pull her attention away from it. She'd never experienced anything like it -- it wasn't like she could close her eyes...they were closed! But she didn't feel she could open them and it would go away. She was as trapped in the hallway as her vision-self was trapped on the wall. She screamed softly as her tormentor...not Monty in this version...stroked her naked skin with a leather whip...softly dragged it down her breasts, over her pubis. Her trapped self shuddered and closed her eyes, only to have the whip strike her across her navel, the man wielding it shouting at her to keep her eyes on him.

The scene and her feelings at seeing herself tortured brought her to the brink of fainting. She was frozen, forced to see how it would end. Somehow she knew, if she could look over her shoulder, she would see an audience silently observing her torture, and in that audience, she was certain, was Monty; along with many of the people she had met tonight.

She felt her juices beginning to flow and she moaned in protest. This can't be me! I can't possibly enjoy this. Oh God! The woman, her! in the dungeon was struggling to avoid the whip, but she couldn't move, forcing her eyes to look at the man to make him stop.

She watches in horror as he compliments her for her obedience, like a dog being trained. And worse, he rewards her by slipping the handle of the whip into her exposed pussy, pushing it in as far as it can go until she screams through the ball gag and shakes her head begging him to stop.

"You see," he turns to look at her, directly in the eyes, until she realizes he's probably addressing the unseen audience. "The poor creature doesn't know what she wants. First she begs me to fuck her, and now she begs me to stop." She can hear the chuckling of the audience behind her and moans. She recognized a laugh from the audience but couldn't place it.

"You enjoy being spread open for these nice people, don't you pussy?" He plucked at her extended nipples, forcing a cry of pain through the gag. "You are practically coming just from being so exposed to them, yes?" Again he plucked her nipples and she cried in anguish.

She couldn't stand it but even more terrifying than watching her being tormented, was the realization she was soaking her panties. At first she thought she must be peeing from fright, but she knew that wasn't true: she was spending...coming at the vision of being splayed open and violated in the most cruel and awful way.

She heard the laughter again and realized it was hers.

The last thing she saw, before she passed out was her torturer unsnap his leather pants to reveal a monstrous cock pointed directly at her and poised to impale her.

"Marcie...Marcie!"

She was lying on the floor, her back twisted and cramped, her underwear completely soaked. Monty was crouching over her; the concern on his face scared her.

"What's the matter? Monty? Where am I? What's going on?" She didn't know how she got her clothes back on, and where the hooks were, or how she had survived the awful torment and whether her pussy was injured from the fucking she knew she had just been through. She tried to move her arm to see if she was okay, but it was asleep.

He reached under her and helped her up. "Can you stand, or should I carry you?"

She shuffled her feet under her and realized she was unhurt, and completely disoriented. "It happened again...that horrible...thing..." she waved her hands at the wall and put her arm around him, letting him lead her back to the stairs. "Why is this happening to me?"

"Let's get you upstairs. You can clean up in the bedroom and rest there if you'd like. I'll let everyone know you weren't feeling well and had to go..."

By the time they made it up to the bedroom, her body had returned to normal, even if her mind was still recovering. He left her in the bathroom. "It's okay, Monty. I'll be okay. Don't send them away. I'll be out in a minute."

She splashed cold water on her face and took stock. Her dress was a little dusty but not soiled. She brushed it off and felt the cold wetness from her underwear. It wasn't just uncomfortable it would likely smell. She was stuck; she couldn't go out with her panties, she didn't have another pair here, and...a wicked thought passed through her...she couldn't...she couldn't go out without any...it would be tempting, the devil voice said, sending a plume of electricity up her spine...it would be tempting fate, her adult voice countered.

"Which would be worse," she argued with herself, peeling them off and looking for a place to put them. "Going commando and risk being caught, or wearing one of his..." she looked around the room briefly trying to figure out where he kept his underwear..."and risk being caught." The electricity at the thought of being just a slip of her dress away from exposing herself intensified and she struggled to push it down.

"What the fuck," she sighed, resignedly. Brushing her hair, she took a last look in the mirror, adjusted her make-up and rejoined the party in the living room.

* - * - *

As he left the room, he made a call. "Jeremy. We've had another incident. Same guest, same place. What did your team find out?"

"Hey Dr. Green. It's all clean. I looked over the report yesterday. They did a full sweep, all frequencies, no residual radiation, nothing out of the ordinary. It's all normal. What happened?"

"Hell if I know, Jeremy. Hell if I know. It doesn't feel right, I'll tell you that. She's traumatized. It's not good."

"Was it operating? 'cause we checked it without it operating..."

"...no it's not on..."

"I can send you the report...but it's clean..."

"Please don't. Let me see if I can sort this out."

By the time she re-emerged, most of the guests were already leaving -- off to other engagements. There had been an invitation to the two of them to join a group going to a nightclub, but he put his arm around her and suggested they had other plans.

"Oh you two...there's plenty of time for that later. Come on -- it's a great gig tonight!"

They both smiled at the implication, not denying its accuracy, and not apologizing for it either.

Within 30 minutes, with the exception of the staff, everyone had left.

"We've got it Mr. Green. We'll let ourselves out. Leftovers are in the fridge; there's a few bottles of open wine in the cellar."

He thanked them and turned to her. "Marcie. I'm worried. I don't understand what happened to you. How are you feeling?" He grabbed a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses, suggesting they sit in the living room and talk about it.

"What is going on down there, Monty?" She sat on the end of the couch away from him, letting her legs dangle down. She was careful not to let her dress slide up, at least not while the help was still walking around. "It feels so...relaxing...to be in that hallway. I've never felt so protected, and then, Wham! This horrible vision of being...being...it's too awful to even describe..." And worse, too awful to contemplate how even its memory stirred that glow in her groin.

"I'm really not sure, Marcie." He poured two glasses and leaned back studying her. "I'm very worried about you. After last Sunday I thought maybe some of the equipment down there was acting up, but I've spoken with my facilities guys and they say it all reads normal."

Facilities guys? Who has facilities guys taking care of their home? She took a sip of wine, feeling the cool air drift up her naked thighs. The thought of being stripped, strapped and helpless, exposed to an audience, an audience that apparently included her, while she was fucked mercilessly kept plucking at her, like the torturer had done to her nipples. She shivered, disgusted at the vision and disgusted by the desire it raised in her. She looked at him studying her and realized there was something going on he wasn't telling her.

"Do you want to talk about it...you had passed out down there...but you weren't drinking a lot, right?"

She shook her head. "No, in fact I had just left looking for you..." Not quite true, but I'm not ready to tell him yet "...to get that drink, and thought I'd take a detour. I just feel so...safe...there, until of course I'm tied up, stripped and tortured for you and an audience of your friends. Except then."

It was the first she had spoken of the details to him and he turned to her, shocked. His hand came up to rub her shoulder. "What?"

She related a few of the details but stopped when she realized she was getting turned on by it.

He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. It reminded her of a fish...gulping.

"There's definitely something going on here, Marcie. I'm just not sure what it is. I've been having a feeling lately, especially when we're together, that there's a deeper rhythm in play...a sense of powerful strange attractors." He did his theatrical eyebrow thing again and put on a Groucho Marx voice, "I'm strangely attracted to you..." He put down his wine glass and sat up, staring at her. "Seriously, there's a strong confluence of...something going on...something I've never felt before..."

She put her glass down and leaned over to kiss him. She'd heard the staff's cars drive away and knew they were alone. "There's something weirder, Monty." She took his hand and slipped it between her legs, drawing her dress up so that she was exposed to him. She put his fingers on her sex. "I don't enjoy S&M fantasies. I've never enjoyed them, and yet, I was gushing down there. I must have come at least twice." She pushed his fingers into her to emphasize her point: she was still juicy. "I don't understand what that means." She whimpered a little as she pressed his fingers into her further.

He looked at her and stared between her legs, letting his fingers play with her softly. "Let's go somewhere more private," he suggested quietly.

* - * - *

They made love quietly, gently as if he was concerned about hurting her, or as if she had been injured already. It was sweet, but not the fireworks they had been having, and it wasn't sufficient to wipe away the fragments of memories at what had happened to her in her dream/vision.

She wasn't tired; if anything she had gotten her second wind and was sitting up looking at him. He had rested his head on his elbow, the covers spilling off him. She loved looking at his body, the muscles rippling under his skin. She thought back to all of their conversations, to the intimate details of his introduction to Tantric sex by his guru, Sundar. She recalled the images from the book he'd shared with her in the den...when was it...just a week ago! It seemed like a year. It was obvious his spirituality was deeply intertwined with his sexuality. What do I know? All I know is it feels fucking fantastic! But the connection between his "belief system" and String theory...that was just too weird....

"So all of this talk about life forces, infinite universes, strange attractors...it's just your way of thinking about the world, right? I mean, it doesn't change anything one way or the other, does it?"

Even now, after he had been gently rocking her, his cock, stiff as ever sliding so nicely into her, gently bringing her off in small wavelets; even now, relaxing in the after glow, her hands resting on his chest staring at the night sky through the ceiling of his bedroom. Even now. For some reason she needed to talk about it. She knew something was going on between them. He hadn't been completely open about that thing that happened to her downstairs, and it scared him. Lord knows she hadn't been completely open with him, and it scared her to think about the consequences...and she suspected he knew she was hiding something.

"Well, 10 years ago I would have had a quick and dirty answer, something you could have read in a textbook. Here, at this moment, I am choosing among several possible futures, just in terms of what direction I want to take this conversation." He sat up, holding her hand and giving it a kiss. "We confront these choices all the time, but the question I ask myself is not whether to choose one path over the other (that's just politics) but rather why I should choose one path over another?" He emphasized the point by raising his eyebrows, as if she was supposed to answer. She shook her head and shrugged.

"Once you start answering that question, another pops up, and once you keep asking yourself why, you eventually find yourself at the quantum level." His passion for the topic was contagious. "And then..." he dragged her hand down his chest, across his ripped abs to his pubic hair. She could feel his cock getting stiff and moved her hand to hold it, "you re-discover it wasn't your choice down there."

She smiled at the double entendre, but looked confused.

"None of which has been an answer to your question. Okay, 'does any of it change anything...?'. 10 years ago I might have argued that it was simply a way of believing and it didn't really make a difference in the world. But six months later I found out my belief in quanta and all that stuff makes a real difference in the world. You remember the other night at the restaurant, your comment about 'praying?' And later, in the den?"

How could she forget the den? Every time she thought about it she got moist.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 04



"My point here is the same: my belief in an infinite set of universes is self-referential...like that fun house mirror setup...the belief in infinite futures means I can choose a future by believing in it. That can be quite handy." He nodded to her hand on his cock and she smiled again at his play on words.

But she still wasn't sure she understood. The idea sounded like childhood wishes. "Simply by changing your belief in a future, you can make it so?" She didn't wait for his answer, but moved her head down to his groin. She needed to taste him, to feel him in her mouth. It had been days since she'd given him a blow job and she loved to feel his cock on her tongue, in her throat.

"It's...okay...well, that's fantastic...It's something I'd need to...mmmm....that's nice...mmm hmm...need to demonstrate, because no amount of describing it can communicate it. Fuck. Yes. That's nice."

His hand trailed across her back leaving cooling beads of sweat. She moved more quickly, pushing him as deeply into her throat as she could. The tatters of her nightmare vision briefly distracting her even as they aroused her. She cupped her hands around his balls, feeling the skin crinkle and move, her fingers tickled him between his legs, until she felt his asshole. The memory of her explosive orgasms last week in the den and then again at her condo. She wanted to give him what he'd been giving her.

She pushed on his rectum, feeling him pucker and unpucker and she pushed deeper, forcing a moan from him as her fingertip penetrated him. She could feel his climax coming and pushed harder, his cock swelling in her mouth, the tip against her throat. God I wish he would give it to me. What does he taste like? And then the vibrations, his hands holding her as he moved against her. She felt his balls curl up and moaned.

"What were you saying?" She had rejoined him up at the pillow, her fingernails playing with his nipples. He looked at her a little dazed, wondering what had gotten into her. She lifted the covers and saw, without any surprise he was still stiff.

"I'd need to demonstrate it to you; if you really wanted to understand it...but...I'm not sure it's the right time..."

She figured he meant it wasn't the right moment, now, given what she'd just done to him, but studying his face, she realized he meant in their relationship and she sat back a little.

"You are witnessing a 'self-referential' moment, Marcie. They don't happen often but when they do it's a good thing to mark them."

She looked at him. She saw him struggling with an internal decision; it was the first time she'd seen him troubled about anything. Even the setbacks in his work he had occasionally mentioned didn't seem to faze him. She kept quiet.

"I need to show you something...but I'm afraid it may be too soon, or it may already be too late." He looked over at her, as if to size up the situation or steel his resolve. She didn't understand the urgency in his voice, or the cryptic language, but she could see he was struggling with something truly important and personal. More personal than anything he'd shared so far.

She held her breath. Shit. I knew he'd been hiding something. He's got skeletons in the closet. Do I want to know? Was he thinking about proposing? A future with him crystallized in front of her - nice dinners, a fantastic lover, well provided for, no need to work, children...maybe...maybe not...travel. Work, his work, consuming them both. It's about his work. He wants to show me something about his work. She sighed a little in relief.

"You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you," He said it as a statement, not as a request for validation. "And you understand there's a reason for us to be together..."

She nodded, hesitantly, not sure at all what reason there could be for them to be together, except she wasn't going to argue.

"Can you trust me?" He turned to face her, his hands coming to hold hers.

"Monty. You're scaring me just a little bit. Why shouldn't I trust you? You've not hurt me so far and you've certainly had the chances...ritual cleansing anyone?" She tried to lighten the mood a little. "As my daddy used to say - trust no one unless you've eaten much pork with him." She laughed. "I never understood that expression, but I sure as hell have eaten much pork with you." She gestured toward his cock.

"Here," he said decisively, "put on a robe and come with me." He swung his legs out of bed, stood up and retrieved one of the ever-present white terrycloth robes, offering it to her.

She groaned getting out of bed, more tired than she had realized, her pussy dripping (from her own juices, she obsessively noted) and reached for the robe. What does he do for a living? The single-sheeter hadn't gone into details about any of his businesses, but she knew he manufactured high-tech parts. It's about work, and he's concerned to share it with me. Does he build weapons? Is he a spy? She tried to shake off the silly thoughts as she followed him out of the room.

He led her up the stairs to the second level and down the hall, stopping at a closed door.

"I'm going to have to ask you to sign some paperwork before we go much further," he said apologetically. "It's not my choice, but a legal thing from my company. If you don't feel comfortable with the idea, that's fine. We can just sip some tea..." He trailed off as he opened the door into a dimly lit room.

"Paperwork?" She followed him in to what appeared to be a small personal theater. The 'theater.' He had mentioned it last week and I forgot to ask about it. Rows of loveseats faced a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass looking out over the canyon. It was different from the view from the kitchen upstairs - there she could see houses across the canyon, their lights twinkling in the distance. Here it was a green wall as the canopies of the trees hid everything that lay beyond.

He had moved to a small bar off to the left and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.

"It's a standard NDA," he explained. "Before I can show you anything that would help explain what we've been talking about for the past month and a half, I need your signature." He handed her a single sheet of paper with five paragraphs of legalese.

She looked up at him as if to say 'Are you crazy?' and looked down again at the paper. They'd just made love, shoving his cock into her throat, with a nightmarish S&M scene to kick things off; she couldn't think straight to make herself a chocolate milk let alone decipher a legal document. Probably not a spy...'course this could just be another ruse. Stop it! Focus.

"It's pretty standard - I'll walk you through it. Paragraph 1 says I'm going to share with you either through discussion or demonstration, etc. etc, various things my company holds near and dear and that are not public knowledge.

"Paragraph 2 says the injury to our company should you reveal this information to anyone else would be so much more damaging than the company could recover, the damages would have to be determined in court..." He went on to translate the legal into plain English pointing to the words in case she didn't believe him.

She understood what the document said, and basically there was no obligation on her - it didn't encumber Samuelson et al, it was between her personally and his company. She shrugged her shoulders and signed.

He made a copy on a desktop printer behind the bar, handed her her copy with his signature and proffered a seat in the front row.

It was much warmer in this room than the bedroom. She untied the robe letting the air play across her breasts and still moist pussy.

As she sat, black-out curtains slid with a small hissing sound from the side walls and a large flat-screen monitor swung down from the ceiling. He joined her moments later, holding a tray with a bottle of vodka, two shot glasses, a hash pipe and oddly, a game remote. She looked down to see if he still had an erection, but it was hidden behind the robe. Feeling a little self-conscious, she reached over, untied his robe and flipped it open. He laughed a little as she reached down and petted his shaft, still at half-mast.

"What's all that about?" She asked pointing to the paraphernalia on the tray.

"I thought you might need a couple of stiff ones before I showed you the deal."

She laughed. "I already had a stiff one, and so did you until we came up here. And as for showing me the deal, I think we've been down that road too once or twice today."

She didn't protest when he offered her a shot, nor again the second time. Comfortably numb, she sat back and took the pipe when he passed it.

"I haven't smoked any of this shit since I was in college. How come you're sharing it with me tonight?" She could feel the vodka beginning to creep in on her tongue. He poured her another as she took a hit.

"Well, you know it's not because I'm going to take advantage of you. I'm just a little concerned that what I've got to say may blow your mind a little and I wanted you to be as prepared as possible."

"Go ahead, Einstein. Let her rip." His logic that Vodka and hash were good preparation never crossed her mind.

"This is important. I need you to focus for a moment."

She sat up straighter and made an exaggerated act of paying attention. If he needed me to focus why did he get me fucked up?

"Do. You. Trust. Me?" He was trying to make a point.

"Yessss...that's the second time in 10 minutes... what's going on Monty?"

"Like I said," he stared at her. "Self-referential moment - this like a pretty important one. Here goes. For the past several weeks you and I have discussed my "life philosophy" (far more frequently than I've discussed it with anyone in the past 6 years); you've been curious about my beliefs; about chaos theory and so forth and that it wasn't just a matter of belief, yeah?" He paused and took a deep breath. "What would it mean to you if I said I had possibly found a way to navigate the manifold space time structure suggested by the String Theorists?"

She was going to say "I don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about," but he didn't really expect her to answer.

"Consider, for a moment," he turned to her slightly, "that we could position ourselves anywhere on the space time continuum - pick a coordinate on the grid and put yourself there as an observer." He pointed to the tray to illustrate.

"Don't we do that anyway?" She asked, taking another hit off the pipe.

"Well, in a sense, yes, but we don't have much control over the time coordinates - we're pushed along a fairly tightly defined path. Regarding the space coordinates, we really don't have much control over those either, except by moving our legs or eyes, and even then it's fairly limited - the really "big" moves are at the galactic scale completely dwarfing our local stuff. And then there's the moves outside of the three dimensions altogether..."

"But we've been recording other points of view for over a century - it's called photography." She was sure this was bigger than she could imagine, but either he wasn't being very clear about it or the drugs weren't helping.

"Right. Exactly. Now, consider you could position a camera at any node in the space-time framework. Theoretically, you could point the camera along a time axis and see into the past, or symmetrically into the future. Orrrr, you could point the camera along the space grid into any orientation. Now, if space is really composed of manifold structures, not just the three-dimensions we're accustomed to, that camera could be positioned along any of the dimensions suggested by the String guys."

The drugs were kicking in, and while she couldn't keep more than three dimensions in her head straight at a time, she kind of got the picture of a camera moving along a grid in wildly different directions. "Okay, I guess. Go on." She nestled into him, feeling his naked thigh with her hand.

"Okay. That's the theory anyway. Now, consider the infinite futures thing. It turns out the multiple dimensions of the space-time framework means there are multiple dimension of time, not just space. Got that?" He waited for her to nod. "Okay. You can forget it, at least for now. That's the part my company hasn't begun to tackle. We just can't engineer anything that can see in multiple time dimensions.

"But, we have figured out how to see in multiple space dimensions and for the purposes of our first product, that is far and away enough."

He lifted the game controller - a small box with a couple of joy sticks and several knobs, along with a little glowing screen.

"Here's where I need you to trust me. Several of us from the company have had this technology installed in our homes. We have been playing with it for about a year, refining the underlying engineering, getting some basic controls and displays in place. Since it's here...we capture things that are extremely, ummm, personal in nature."

He flicked a control and the screen came to life.

She darted her eyes to the scene and saw the two of them in his kitchen from the first time she came over for dinner, a month previously. She watched the scene play out: her looking through his liquor cabinet and him at the sink. The "camera" was positioned in an upper corner of the kitchen.

"This is an 'objective 3rd party' view of that moment. Here's what it looked like from your perspective." He moved a control and positioned a marker at her eyes, dragging a small arrow into her head. "I won't get it completely perfect, but you'll get the point." He pressed a button and the scene played out virtually the way she remembered it. The focus wasn't quite on the bottles, as she remembered it, but more to the side.

"And from my perspective." He repeated the motions, and she saw his hands loading the dishwasher, followed by his arrival behind her, his hands coming up to her shoulders.

She began to feel a tingle in her groin at where this might be leading and looked down at his growing erection. He obviously was thinking along the same lines.

"Are you opposed to looking at a little porn?" He looked up from her neck directly in her eyes, a wry grin on his face.

"You're kidding, right? I mean, weren't we just discussing Einsteinian cosmetology..uhh, cosmology a couple moments ago, and of course your lips were heavenly too, and...really?" With the drugs coursing through her brain it was getting to be too much.

"Well, given how much sex we've been having lately, anyone else would think it was impossible, pure pornography, but since you were there, I figured you would know it was for real."

She felt the spark in her groin grow to a small flicker. How did this happen? Was there some pheremone she emitted that drew these guys in? An exhibitionist flame to voyeuristic moths? Or were all guys like this? She thought back to her ex, always taking photographs, Polaroids before digitals were so common. His insistence on her nudity when the guys came over. At least she had destroyed the evidence. She had been so so careful to not let any out onto the net. She had been so careful not to even breathe a hint to any of her boyfriends over the past few years. And she had worked so hard these past six weeks to keep him from discovering how aroused she got stripping for a camera. Now, all along he'd been filming her completely unaware.

He watched her face looking for any clue what she might be thinking. Had he blown it? He was starting to have real feelings for her, the first he'd had in a decade it seemed like. He had been compelled to tell her. He couldn't let it go on any further without letting her know.

She stared at him and saw a mixture of excitement, pain and curiosity. She knew nothing she said would make a difference. Alternate universes, strange attractors. Tantric exercises! It didn't make a fucking difference whether she got up and stomped out of his life or opened her legs and let him fuck her. He was completely neutral to the future - they were all equal.

She struggled between the rising sense of anger and violation and the rising sense of arousal because of the violation. She knew it was a personality defect. She knew it didn't serve her well in her relationships. She always gave in as the victim. It turned her on. None of her work in therapy the past year seemed to make a difference. The scenes from the visions downstairs started to make sense in a sick way.

The excitement in her core was starting to win. She could feel her pussy getting moist, her lips starting to swell. Goddammit. Please don't do this to me.

"I...I...don't know what to say..." She was suddenly self-conscious of her nakedness; all of the sex they'd had, especially last week when he had her splayed out on the living room couch. He could watch that any time he wanted. She blushed. Shit. "Shit, Monty!"

She wanted to run from the room, grab her clothes and never come back. She wanted him to take her, right then, force her to watch their time together. She was overwhelmed and confused. Who else could see these things?

"Hold it, Marcie. I was trying to make a joke and it's obviously failed miserably. We have had such great sex together, I had thought maybe it would be a good segue, but please don't jump to the wrong conclusions about my intentions." He put the remote down and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her straight in the eye. "Breathe with me." He waited until she took a breath and let it out slowly. "Yes. I could call up any images of any time of any room in the house since we installed the technology from about two years ago. The point is not to embarrass you, as if anything we did here is embarrassing. You remain one of the sexiest women I've ever been with."

If that was supposed to calm her, it didn't help much. Instead all she could think of was how many other women he had recorded. The fight inside her between giving in to her cravings to be watched, and now her curiosity about who else he had fucked, and her need to protect herself raged. Her face was screwing up in pain.

"Don't make this smaller than it is, Marcie." He had completely misunderstood her torment. He thought she was worried about her reputation, or that she might think he was a pervert. "This could likely be evidence of the most revolutionary technology humankind has tripped over. I mean it. Bigger than the number 0, bigger than fire. Bigger than...Doritos."

She started to worry about his ego-mania until the last comparative sunk in and she realized he was making another self-deprecating joke. She looked up at him and saw the hope in his eyes that she would come around, and she started to laugh. Damn him. He always finds a way to get me to laugh.

"Tell me you haven't shown any...this...of what we've done... to anyone." She needed to regain the sense that he was her dream lover not her psycho killer.

"None of it is stored anywhere. It has to be 'called up.' We can point the 'camera' along specific space-time coordinates to any point in time and space since the equipment was installed. No one outside this house can see what the camera can see, and we've developed some pretty strong crypto for our systems."

She thought again about last week. The scene in the living room. He had eaten her until she was begging him to make her come. It seemed to have gone on and on. She suddenly wanted to see it.

"What do you want me to say? I think I get it...sort of. I'm really really embarrassed, Monty, in spite of suggesting I shouldn't be. You've had eyes on me without my knowing it. It's more than creepy."

"I know...I understand. I was really hesitating to even tell you, but that would have been far worse. I'm sorry...for violating your trust. If it helps, I'm willing to let you look at any moment in my life in the house since the stuff was put in. Anything. Anytime. I realize I've been living with the knowledge of this stuff for 10 years. It isn't something I'd expect you to absorb right away."




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 04



She was trembling at the thought of what she was going to see. Her anger flared up one last time - more at the thought he had deceived her than that he had caught her on camera. In the midst of her growing arousal and flaring anger a very small voice of reason tried to suggest he couldn't be blamed for her exhibitionism - he had no idea. The rest of her pounced: this wasn't time to be reasonable.

"Let me have it," she said hotly. "Show me how to work it. I want to go to last week. You know when."

He looked at her, hiding his own concern behind a placid mask of detachment.

He showed her how to set the time and date and how to move the stick to navigate. He pressed the "go" button and she watched the screen get hazy and then clear up.

He was opening the door, gesturing her in.

She couldn't help herself, her arousal caused her to vibrate slightly.

He was certain she was irate, her movements barely concealing the enormity of her anger. He held back hoping she would work through it, they would work through it. He watched her face as the scene played out in front of them. It would be days before he learned the truth, several long days. In the meantime he had nothing to do but let this future take its course.

They had both been so horny that night. They hadn't slept together yet. In spite of several dates, and a lot of sex, they both wanted their first fuck to be something special. He offered her a drink and invited her into the living room. It didn't take long before he practically attacked her, smothering her neck and face in kisses, the camera caught his tongue sliding into her mouth. She sucked it hungrily, battling it with her own.

She remembered the feeling of virtually being swept off her feet. His hands on her before she'd had a chance to sit down. He peeled her shirt off and unsnapped her bra. She watched her face as she watched him stripping her, peeling her like a ripe fruit. He kissed her breasts, sucking lightly on her nipples. She moved the camera next to his face, seeing his lips brush across the raised bumps. Her now-self could feel him again on her breasts, her fingers of her free hand moved to touch her nipples.   

She was stripped naked, laid out on the couch, the soles of her feet pressed together, her knees splayed out. Her now-self could feel her pussy, hot and moist, yearning for his tongue, just as he had that night on the screen.

"Eat me," she said softly, pulling his head down and spreading her legs. It was the least he could do for her. She felt his tongue glide into her wet folds. Too bad he isn't sucking his own juices out with mine. It would be a satisfying punishment. He owes me. He'll come for me.

She watched him lap at her open slit and turned back to the screen where he had dived down to do the same. She moved her viewpoint next to his lips, pressed up close to her open labia, the shadow of her pubic hair's bluish undertone to the bright pink skin. She followed his tongue into her, watching the rough surface slide on her juice covered walls. She held her position watching, feeling and remembering him penetrate her, slipping in and out, tickling her clit.

"Oh god, Monty." Her screen image began to pant and moan and she couldn't resist it. "Yesss, yess, yess." She hissed out the words, urging him on, feeling his entire mouth swallowing her outer lips.

"Fuck me with your mouth, Monty." She could barely say the words and not loud enough to be heard over her moans on screen. She had put her hands on his head, pushing it harder on her, her moans loud enough to disturb the neighbors, if he'd had any close enough.

She stared at her face in orgasm. She'd only watched herself one time before, when her ex had left his tapes out. She'd been humiliated at how much it turned her on. Her attempts at therapy hadn't been working. Here she was again humping his face watching him eat her and feeling an enormous orgasm billowing up from her core.

Her screen image threw her hands above her head and she thought she was the most vulnerable, beautiful sexy woman she'd ever seen - completely lost in her pleasure - and the orgasm overtook her, forcing her to close her eyes. His lips never stopped doing the right thing, now gently sucking her juices from her, lightly flicking across her clit. Her hands rested on his head, each move of his lips caused her to spasm slightly.

* - * - *

"You've hurt me, Monty." She was in tears. She'd left him on the couch, retrieved her clothes and washed her face. "You have no idea how much you've hurt me."

She was leaving. She wasn't sure if she was ever going to come back. Her body was on fire at the thought he had so many hours of her. She was going to come back. She had to come back. He had the perfect camera.

She shut the door, tears blinding her. He just stood there, face impassive, smug. Not smug. Disengaged. He looked like he didn't give a shit one way or the other. As far as she could tell, he had predicted it, just as he was predicting she'd be back.

He stared at the closed door and thought about what had just happened. It had been a stupid approach. He saw that now, but something about the way she was with him, he had felt she would have responded differently.

He hadn't tried to stop her. What could he say? He had apologized for hurting her, but he knew that wasn't enough. He stood in the hall, listening to her car drive away, her musk still on his lips. She is so sexy. I've never felt this way about anyone before. There was something going on here, a piece of the puzzle he hadn't put in place.

He shook his head and walked to his study. Lying down on the couch he meditated beneath the starry ceiling. What future was in store for him?

* - * - *

She didn't sleep well that night, what was left of it, nor the night after. She never left her condo the entire weekend, subsisting on herbal tea and daytime television. By Sunday night she was a complete wreck, having worked through all of the angles a dozen times an hour. She didn't have any sedatives other than wine, but she knew in spite of needing to get some sleep, alcohol wouldn't really help. She could always call in sick, but she couldn't let this to affect her work too. Monday morning she arrived at Samuelson's, practically ran to her office and called her therapist.

"Patti?" She was nearing tears. "I'm having a problem and I need to see you....today if possible...right now if possible. Really? Yes. Definitely. I'll be there at 10 sharp."

She knocked on the door and waited to be invited in. She had seen her face in the mirror in the hall. Puffy, her eyes swollen. She looked like shit.

"Marcie? Come in." Patti got up from her desk and moved to an overstuffed chair near the couch. "What's going on?"

"It's Monty." She had been so excited to tell her about her new relationship. For six weeks she'd talked about practically nothing else. Patti had offered some words of support, but mostly it was one of those times when she could just listen and enjoy her client's good fortune.

They had been working on Marcie's exhibitionism for almost the entire year. Patti had made it clear from the start, exhibitionism per se was not a crime, nor was it immoral, perverted or any other label with one caveat: it had to be between consenting adults.

Although Marcie's father never felt the need to impose any particular sexual mores on her, Marcie's step-mother was practically Baptist in her rules about sex. Marcie hadn't been on a date until Senior Prom and only because her sister was home from college and had been corralled into chaperoning her. When she finally left for college she was so shy around men she'd blush if one happened to smile at her.

And then, in college, freed at last from the boundaries set for her, she began to frighten herself. Although she hadn't considered herself good looking, most men would turn to watch her walk by: beautiful large brown eyes set in a small round face with a neatly pointing chin resting on that neck. It was her neck that caught everyone's eyes.

She frightened herself by her behavior at parties. She got invited to a lot of parties and in spite of her heavy academic load, she rarely declined the opportunity to party. At first she thought she was so popular because of her roommate, but eventually she realized boys were asking her to go. The first time she got scared was at a dorm party a few weeks after the start of term.

In spite of her step-mom's strict rules, Marcie had figured out how to drink. She would stay overnight at her friends' house, an older sibling buying them rum, or gin, or tequila, and they'd get drunk. On one shot it seemed. By the time she got to college, she was very practiced at drinking, and it still only took a shot or two before she got loose.

The noise from the dorm rooms was deafening; she put her hands over her ears and slowed down. Her friends ran ahead of her. When she finally caught up they had already poured themselves some shots and offered her one. It was a little quieter in the back of the room, the music blaring out into the hall. She took a shot, and then a second.

A few guys came by to check them out and invited them to dance. The tune wasn't so bad and before long she was dancing to most of the songs, along with downing a few more shots.

One of the guys, dancing next to her, leaned in to her ear and shouted over the music. "Why don't you take off your shirt and dance naked for us?"

She wasn't sure she'd heard him and turned her face, her eyes screwed up questioning him.

He smiled and motioned for her to join him with her shirt off. He peeled his away revealing a set of abs and pecs she hadn't seen...ever. She caught herself staring, practically licking her lips, and realized he was expecting her to join him. In the crowd. Without her shirt (and he made it clear, her bra). She looked around to see if she knew anyone. Her friends were nowhere in sight.

And then she just did it. She peeled off her shirt before she could think about it and unsnapped her bra slipping it off her shoulders. She saw an opening and threw her clothes into the corner, her small breasts jiggling slightly. She was so horny she could feel herself leaking into her panties.

Her dance partner gave her two thumbs up and came up again. "You have fantastic breasts. What's your name?"

"Marcie!" She shouted back, dancing around him, oblivious to the rest of the room.

"Is your bush as beautiful as the pears hangin' there?"

She realized he had an accent...English...no, Australian...no, Scottish. Yes, Scottish. She looked up at him again and saw he was motioning for her to take all of her clothes off. She smiled wickedly and shook her head no.

He came up to her, shimmying his body against hers, his fingers gently brushing her back. The music was ending and then what would she do?

She looked around for her clothes but there were too many people where she had thrown them. She realized eyes were turned to her, guys and girls and she blushed. Before she could think the music started again and her companion was still with her.   

"James!" He shouted, still looking expectantly at her crotch. She giggled and said no, trying a few steps she'd been thinking about. She twirled around and saw other women had taken their shirts off with their dance partners. The room was beginning to fill with sweat and musk. She had resisted going further. That time.

But she kept getting invited back and she wanted to go. She didn't dance topless every time, but more times than not she had exposed herself to a room full of (mostly at first) strangers.

The night she agreed to take all of her clothes off scared her the most. It was a hot spring evening - the party was at a lake just off-campus. It was after the families had all left, 8 or 9 at night. There were dozens of kids, some drinking, a lot of pot. She had realized several months into this behavior she didn't need to drink to dance topless. It turned her on so much, far more than the fear; she'd end up just doing it. Until she left, or woke up the next morning, humiliated and ashamed at her behavior. She became convinced she was a pervert.

She didn't believe guys when they said they wanted to go out with her. She figured it was just her getting naked that made her popular. When one of her math partners suggested a party by the lake, she naturally agreed, nervous as usual she would make a fool of herself, but hoping this time, this night, she could just enjoy being with people. His name was Rick and she liked him because he was super-smart. They studied together - he had a great sense of humor. He wasn't her type and he wasn't that attractive physically. But she was starting to think of him as her best friend.

It didn't take long for her to get into the party. She danced with a number of guys and was just about to get a drink when Rick stepped in.

"I've been meaning to tell you how incredibly beautiful you are." He stumbled over the words, obviously drinking a little too much.

She got nervous, ducked her head slightly and thanked him. She was happy it was too dark for him to see her blush.

"Would you consider taking your clothes off so we could all share in your beauty?" He had trouble getting through the sentence, but she was certain he had rehearsed it.

It didn't matter. The words were like a trigger for her vagina to let loose. She could feel her moisture building up, her lips swelling. She looked around; it was something she had learned to do. About an even mix of men and women, some she knew - that was a good thing. She didn't want to get raped. She had shaved yesterday. She had been experimenting with various "do's" down there and she smiled at the memory of what she'd done. That in itself was almost enough.

She looked at Rick and thought how sexy it would be to make him hard just by stripping. It was one of the things that turned her on most - the thought that men were aroused just by looking at her dancing tits. She smiled at him, reached down pulled up her shirt. She hadn't worn a bra in weeks; her breasts didn't need it and having them free meant she was closer to showing them off even as she went about her day. She was in a near-constant state of horniness from it.

Rick smiled at her, making a prayer sign to God. As they danced he just stared at her, from top of head to her gorgeous neck down to her navel. She immersed herself in the way he stared at her.

As smoothly as she could, while she danced, she unsnapped her jeans and dragged down the zipper. He could see her red panties now, cutting a line below her waist drawing in his eye. As she danced, she shimmied the jeans down past her hips, her knees and pulled her feet out, in rhythm. She looked at his eyes growing like saucers like the bulge growing in his pants.

She made sure he saw her staring at his growing erection, her hands working the air around her hips, her breasts, her groin. She watched his eyes following her fingertips, raising his hopes she'd pluck her panties off, just for him.

She was dripping. She was certain if it there was more light, everyone could see how wet she was. She put her hands on her head and brushed her nipples lightly on Rick's shirt, the electricity sent shocks down to her groin. She moaned into his ear.

She peeked at his shorts and saw his penis pushing hard against his zipper. She had no intention of having sex with him. If he wanted relief he'd have to jack off, and hopefully without her seeing it. While dancing behind him, she peeled off her panties and put them on his head. She hoped the aroma would drive him wild.

Buck naked she continued to dance around him. She had coiffed her bush into the shape of a cat's head. The thickness and density of her pubic hair gave her an excellent palette to work from. Rather than fight it (if she just let it go she'd be covered from her waist down under to her ass), she put it to good use.

It achieved the effect she was hoping. His eyes grew even wider and his boner suddenly shifted, poking the purple head up to the edge of his waistband. He had moved his hand to rub it behind his shorts, either unaware or no longer caring that he was stroking himself in public.

What she was doing was wrong. So wrong in so many ways. She knew it. She knew if the police came right now she'd be in jail. She knew she was making a horrible reputation for herself, in spite of her apparent popularity. She couldn't help herself. A circle had formed around the two of them, the dancers all focused on her. Her breasts were sweaty and her pubic hair was beginning to get matted. She didn't care. She wanted everyone to see her. She wanted everyone to get naked, even Rick.

It took all she had to tell Patti about these early events, but over the past several months she had worked her way into her marriage and out of it.

After a few sessions, Patti began shifting the discussion from the "what's" to the "feels." She was interested in whatever Marcie wanted to talk about, but she wanted Marcie to talk about how she felt. It took weeks for her, collecting up courage, to say out loud that she actually loved being naked in front of people. It was a minor breakthrough. She had never said it to anyone for fear of the shame. Patti congratulated her. No judgment except pleasure at her reaching a milestone.

Since then, Marcie had focused on the trouble it caused her. The troubled feelings. She loved being naked but afterward she felt so ashamed she couldn't face her classmates or her husband. Her husband even!

She had been so certain he only married her because he thought she was "loose." She knew the honeymoon was going to be a challenge - he had purchased a fancy video camera to take to the islands and on their wedding night he almost had her agreeing to be videoed.

Within months of their vows, he had her stripping while his friends played poker. It was a drug for her, and the hangover lasted her whole life. When he invited a woman to the game it was too much. She had stripped for them, not worried about being naked in mixed company, but he had miscalculated. When he reached over to the woman and fondled her breasts, something snapped. She stopped dancing, picked up her clothes and walked out of his life.

Patti had spent months with her on that moment. She had been over it a million times. Now, 11 months into it, here she was again, walking out on a guy because he was giving her the exact thing she craved...and despised.

"So what's up with Monty?" Patti brought her back to the here and now.

"You know how great it's been, right? Well this past Friday night I left him." She immediately broke down, taking a tissue from the table in front of her. "He...fucked me over."

Patti let her cry for a moment and then prompted. "How specifically did he fuck you over?"

"You know I've been bragging about the sex, right?" She hiccupped a little. "And how he's always so cool and aloof. So night before last...no, Friday night, after a party at his place, he actually opens up a little. We made love. It was sweet. Tender." She drifted off a moment remembering that part of the evening. "He still hasn't come. It's still so weird. Anyway, he asks me if I trust him about a million times and then he brings me to his home theater.

"We'd been talking about his religion - well whatever - his life philosophy, Tantric chaos string theory or whatever," bitterness was creeping into her narrative. "And then he asked me to sign an NDA and then he told me about his work." It had all come out in a rush.

"Hold it. He had you sign an NDA? I want to make sure I heard that correctly. You made love...let's see, 'it was sweet' and then you signed papers? You are not legally bound to that agreement with respect to this session, by the way, so if it's germane to your reason for being here you are free to discuss it."




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 04



"It doesn't matter. It is 'germane.' It's the thing completely. He's invented a kind of camera, and for the last six weeks he's been filming us having sex!" She broke down again, blowing her nose into the tissue.

"I'm so angry at him! I walked out I was so upset. I told him I didn't know if or when I'd be coming back." She was hunched over rocking she was so angry.

Patti got up and stroked her back, relaxing her a little. "You're pretty angry. Why are you angry at him?" She retook her seat across from her.

Even though she'd half expected it, it always took Marcie by surprise - wasn't the answer obvious? "Because. He. Filmed. Me. Having. Sex." She could have spit hornets.

"I got that part. But did you and he ever talk about your concerns with exhibitionism?"

"No! Of course not! I haven't gotten to know him that well! The other night was only the third time he spent any time talking about himself. He was just opening up to me. Besides, it's not the kind of thing I would lead with if I'm trying to cut down, doncha think?"

"I understand. But take a moment and breathe. Why anger? Why not sadness or disappointment or?"

"He tricked me." There, she'd said it. It had been lurking just beneath her tongue all weekend. He'd tricked her. "He led me to believe he was falling for me, and all along he was just using me for his new camera."

"I see." Patti took some notes and waited.

She stopped and blew her nose. "Well," she continued, "maybe he didn't trick me so much as deceive me." She looked up at the ceiling for a heartbeat. "Shit. He didn't deceive me. He just didn't tell me it was happening so I could have had a choice. Instead, all this work I've been doing has been for nothing."

"Okay, wait a second here. Let's re-frame it: Monty's work happens to be exactly the thing you are working hardest to avoid. For whatever reason, he happens to have this whatchamacallit running all of the time. Chalk it up to his social ineptitude for not mentioning it to you...by the way, wasn't it obvious there was a camera in the room?"

"That's the thing. It's not really a camera, it's not in the room. He can replay any scene from his house since he had the equipment installed. It's top-secret, you can't reveal this to anyone under penalty of blah blah blah." She laughed a little.

"Are you blaming yourself for this?"

"Huh? No...I don't think so. What did I say?"

"'all the work I've been doing has been for nothing.' You make it sound as if you had something to do with the fact he was recording your sex. You are not to blame for anything here except for trusting a guy to be a gentleman."

"Strange attractors," she mumbled. "Chaos theory..." As angry as she had been, she suddenly calmed down, uttering snippets Patti couldn't quite make out.

"Well that was quick. So you aren't blaming yourself anymore, you're suggesting it was...chaos theory?"

"You know Monty," she said it as shorthand. "Look at it: here's an absolutely perfect guy. We bump into each other on accident (there are no accidents)," she lowers her voice to imitate him and giggles, "then for six weeks I have the most amazing sex (except he won't ejaculate - totally weird) and as it turns out, the guy is about to become a gazillionaire (again) because he's invented a camera, a thing, whatever, that just so happens to record us having this fucking-fantastic sex, and I'm trying to get over my exhibitionism. How much more coincidental do we need here?"

Patti made some notes, concerned about her client's rationalization, but relieved she'd gotten over the anger and guilt. It was an interesting theory - if it helped her move through her anguish about her exhibitionism, perhaps that would be alright. She would monitor it.

"Shit. I treated him pretty badly." She recalled his look as she left and realized it could just as easily have been pain as disengagement. She wanted to take the day off work and run over there.

"Time's almost up." Patti looked up from her notebook. "What's the story? Going to go talk to him about your situation or keep it a secret?"

She sighed, cringing at the thought of what she'd have to say. Of what he might say. Of how awkward sex would be in his house. Of how incredibly hot sex would be in his house, now that she knew she was being watched. But that didn't mean she had to tell him...yet.

"I'm going to call him and see if we can get together tonight. I don't know if I'm ready to bare all, but at least I'm not so pissed at him. Thanks Patti. I don't know what I would have done."

"As usual, you did the work. You're doing great, Marcie. Don't be so hard on yourself about what you have and haven't accomplished so far. Next week, let's do an inventory and see how bad off you really are." She said the last with a smile, and led her out the door.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 05



"Monty," she called him after her session. "We have to talk."

She could hear him gently breathing, letting out a small sigh? "Anytime. Anyplace. Lunch? Dinner?"

She hadn't worked more than an hour so far that day because of her session. She couldn't afford the time away from work. She had to see him, had to get this out in the open.

"Drinks. Antoine's. 6PM."

He agreed and hung up leaving her shaking slightly at the raw emotion building inside her. She was terrified. She was angry as hell. She needed to do this thing. She wanted him. It was stupid to wait so long, but she had to get some work done.

By 3PM she had almost forgotten about it, buried in some stupid corporate finance audit. It should have been dry enough to burn any emotion out of a person, but every few minutes she'd look up and daydream about what she was going to say, what might happen later that night.

On the way to the bar she recalled the night in the living room, the one she had forced him to show her. The scene she wanted to see was in the den, but she had cut it short, just after he had finished her off in the living room. She had thought the night was going to go as all the others had -- all foreplay without the big event, but it hadn't ended there. She practically missed her right turn thinking about what they had done later that evening.

* - * - *

She looked at him, still stiff even though she had reciprocated his incredible cunnilingus not moments before. "Are you always so aroused?" She felt a little...intimidated? that she couldn't satisfy him.

"Just around you," he stroked her.

"Stop it," she giggled, a little embarrassed at the complement. "I'm serious. Every time we get together, I can't seem to relieve you. It's disturbing as much as it is a challenge. Not to mention incredibly sexy." She reached down and held his erection. She loved how warm it was; soft on the outside, firm on the inside.

"I am serious. There's something about you that keeps me stiff." He made a point of tracing his eyes from her fingers to her nipples, stopping at her bush along the way.

She blushed, but didn't stop stroking him. Petting him really. "But, why doesn't it get soft after you come? And are you hard even when we're not having sex?"

He paused. "the second question is easy: No. When I see you naked, or touch you, or kiss you, or you touch me..." he stopped to take note of her hand, "...the first question is a little harder to answer."

She caught his eye, raising her eyebrow to confirm the pun.

"It's as close to a religion as I get," he continued, looking her straight in the eye. "Remember my comment at dinner about belief systems changing your behavior?"

She nodded, still stroking him, wishing she could get him to release his sperm for her.

"Well, that 'Tantric Exercise' reference -- I was serious about it being like praying. Would you think me a terrible geek if I filled you in on it a little?"

I wish he'd fill me in a lot with it, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards...That conversation at dinner -- he really started to go off on belief systems...I hope he isn't some kind of religious nut -- although if this is what his religion's about, maybe I shouldn't complain.

"Let's go into the den -- it's cozy there....No...don't get dressed, I love to see you parade around this house...your body adds sorely needed femininity to my starkly male aesthetic." He smiled lewdly at her.

They went down the stairs to a room below the kitchen -- it was like being inside a crystal its facets extending out from the house into the forest behind. Except for the floor and the back wall through which they entered, all of the other surfaces appeared to be glass. The far exterior wall was interrupted with a fireplace: it appeared to be suspended in the forest.

It was breathtaking and she wondered why he hadn't brought her here before. It was immediately her favorite room in the place. Several pieces of furniture decorated the room: large poofy bean bags, a deep pile rug, book shelves on the solid wall, tables throughout. "Monty. You keep surprising me with new rooms. You should give me the proper 25 cent tour." She posed with her hand on her hip, pouting.

"I have been remiss, you're right. It's best during the day. How about after breakfast?" He raised and lowered his eyebrows, Groucho Marx style.

She giggled and nodded her head, pleased with him he had invited her and pleased with herself for accepting. We're certainly moving this in an interesting direction.

He watched as she explored the room; her hesitancy at being too close to the glass, her inspection of the bookshelves. He busied himself at the fireplace getting it started within moments.

"I love to meditate in this room," he commented, standing up from the fire. She had stopped at a shelf reading some of the titles. He stood and looked at her, realizing his penis was rapidly rising again at the sight: her breasts were "perky" in a way that made him want to rush over and kiss them. Her neck. That neck. He so wanted to just stroke that neck, pushing her energy down to her groin. His eyes traveled down to her waist where he lingered on the line of her buttocks -- so tight and nicely shaped. He continued to marvel at her proportions -- how close to ideal they seemed to him. His erection was nearly full.

She looked up, realizing he'd said something but not catching it. She immediately saw his cock and tsked. "There it is again -- I thought you had calmed down a little, coming down the hall. What did I do this time?" She had pulled a book from the shelf, her eyes widening as she opened it to a page. "What is this?"

The fire lit the room with a yellowish orange glow. He looked down at the book in her hands and saw one of the Kundalini practices -- a specific Tantric position for novices. The woman in the photograph was spread open, her dark bush peeking out from the top of the man's head, his face buried in her. Her hands were over her head and her eyes were closed.

"Let's talk over there," he suggested, taking the book from her and pointing to a bean bag by the fire. He turned off the light and joined her; the two of them nestled together thigh to thigh.

"This is only one aspect of the Tantric practices," he said, stroking her cheek. He had closed and re-opened the book, this time to a page much closer to the beginning. She couldn't ignore his penis sticking up in front of the open pages; she licked her lips at the memory of it in her mouth.

The image was of a man and a woman, both naked, he with a large erection (not circumcised, she noted), she fully bushed with moderately heavy breasts. They were standing facing each other, hands open and at their sides, their eyes closed. The caption read: "The first exercise: Tantric Breathing and meditation."

"Tantra practices," he continued, "have a lot of mis-conceptions, especially after the 'free-love' period of the 1960s." He casually leafed through the pages with one hand, revealing mostly what looked like poetry to her, interspersed with diagrams, photographs, mandalas and other illustrations she couldn't quite make out. His other hand continued to stroke her face, moving down to her neck and breasts and then back up again.

Even though only moments ago he had pulled an overwhelming orgasm from her, she was getting aroused again. The fire, being naked in this glass room, exposed to the forest, the imagery in the book and his insane erection all worked on her arousal. She would have closed her eyes except she couldn't tear them away from the images in the book.

"It is a very complex multi-cultural tradition, bridging many centuries." He emphasized the word, stopping his hand. "I had the great fortune, or you might say, strange attractor, of running into Sundar when I did. Although he was disdainful of my use of hallucinogens, it wasn't because I used them per se, just the indiscriminate way I was using them."

She peeled her eyes away from another photograph -- this one of two men servicing a young woman and looked up at him. "Apparently Tantric practices think highly of sex?" She was starting to leak a little and felt self-conscious of staining the bean bag.

He noticed her shifting and looked down to see her pressing her legs together. "Open your legs. Let me see your yoni full of life."

She blushed at the thought of exposing herself to him and then laughed to herself. He's just shoved his tongue in me. What am I shy about? "I'm worried about staining your furniture," she said lamely.

"It's leather. It wants to be oiled." He let go of the book and gently separated her legs with his hand.

She lay back opening herself to his eyes; hoping his hands would follow. She was surprised when he returned to the book. The feeling of complete exposure -- to his eyes, to the forest, to the stars -- being naked in this room -- threatened to reveal more than just her skin; she consciously turned her thoughts to what he was saying.

"Yes. Sexual practices are key to some of the Tantras," he continued. "But most Westerners have mis-interpreted the ideas, or have only taken away the sexuality of the practices, leaving the deeper meaning behind. 'Tantra' in Sanskrit literally means 'weave.' But it is really about the interweaving of the totality of life.

"Sundar and I happened across each other...well, at that time I had chalked it up to happenstance...since then I've learned it had nothing (and everything) to do with luck." He stopped again and she looked at his face. "Are you in the slightest interested in this?"

"I, uh, yes! I mean, I'm really a little confused what we're doing here...you've got me kind of turned on, and now I'm feeling left a little hanging, and I'm not sure what Sundar has to do with anything...and I...yes...I'd like to learn more about this stuff. It seems pretty important to you."

He smiled briefly and turned back to the book. "I'm not being fair. Let me try again." He moved his finger against her, where her legs joined, separating her lips. She felt a slight pressure on her clit and involuntarily pushed against him.

"The 'universal life force' I mentioned before. Let's say one of the pathways to tapping into it was orgasmic sex. Let's say each time you have an orgasm you touch this life force. It sometimes feels that way, doesn't it? The French expression for orgasm says it: la petite mort -- the little death." He pulsed his finger just so, sending a small wave of pleasure into her. Her eyes rolled back slightly.

"But let's say each time you touched that life force you exchanged a little something with it. It is an even exchange -- just like in accounting: a little liability offsetting a little asset." He pulsed his finger again and she mewled quietly, pushing against him.

What is he doing to me? I've never felt anything like this! "Okay," she breathed. "That feels nice, by the way. You don't have to stop."

He smiled and adjusted his finger just so, sending another small pulse into her. "And by the way," he said confidentially, "I really like offsetting your little asset." He raised and lowered his eyebrows again. She giggled.

"Anyway," he continued. "That's the 'normal' way of the world. Humans fuck, they orgasm, they touch this life force, there is an exchange and we go about our day. But what if," he pulsed, she moaned, "what if instead of an even exchange we got a little more out of the force than we gave back? What do you suppose would happen?"

She had laid her head back on the bag, sprawled open to him; her legs spread wide, her hands at her side. She turned to look at his cock, impressed again at its stiffness, and reached for it with her fingers. "I don't know," she said quietly, hoping he would just keep finger fucking her. It felt delicious, made all the more intense by the hidden eyes in the forests staring at her spread legs, the stars looking down on her naked breasts.

"It's been debated for several centuries, ever since an early Hindu figured out how to do it. The hope has been, and it really has been nothing more than hope, that the small imbalances caused by a few individuals over the years are lost in the noise. The thinking goes, small drops lost from the ocean will not upset the overall balance of life. That of course has been the rationalization. The reason there's been any rationalization at all, however," and here he tapped her clitoris as he lifted its hood. She rotated her pelvis in response. "Is the incredible power even a small amount of life force has imbued in the properly trained and receptive practitioner."

Suddenly she could feel a heat building up inside her, something different from her usual orgasm -- a fire, not a burning but a glow -- she wasn't sure what it meant but it suffused her entire core. Each pulse of his finger added a drop to it, like a growing sun inside her.

"What...what are you doing to me?" She barely whispered it as she felt his finger continue to pulse against her.

He pulled away, abruptly but gently. He brushed her hair away from her forehead, wiping sweat in the process. "On a scale of 0 to 10," he said softly, "where 0 is Shopping at the Grocery Store, and 10 is My Most Violent Orgasm, where are you right now?"

It caught her by surprise -- so much of this was coming out of left field -- but she was feeling so good, if it meant he'd continue doing it, she'd play along. "Uhhh, 6?"

He slid both hands up her legs from the inside of her knees to her thighs stopping just as his thumbs barely touched her outer labia. He moved away with her as she moved to push against him until she stopped.

"Please?" She begged slightly, hoping he was teasing her for a reason.

"I had been smoking this incredible hashish." His thumbs grazed her lips, opening them just slightly. She felt the moisture there. "A woman walked into the room where we were smoking. I'd never seen her before. I'm not sure to this day if she was real or not, although she certainly seemed, and felt, all too real. I was so high I wasn't even horny anymore, so when she casually undressed in front of us I barely registered it. When she unzipped my jeans took out my cock and started playing with it, I was surprised only that I was getting hard."

She didn't know where the story was leading, but she had given into him, letting him take her wherever it was he needed to go. His thumbs were spreading her lips open and letting them close, open. Close. Open. Close. Slowly, infuriatingly slowly. But with each stroke she felt the glow build slightly.

"She had skin the color of roasted marshmallows -- a golden brown -- like the light came from inside her. She knelt down in front of me, her breasts at my eye level, her fingers so small and delicate wrapped around my cock. She stared at me the entire time, silently as she serviced me. I'm sure I was grinning from ear to ear, but I was so out of it I didn't have a clue what was going on. She could have been sent to distract me while a bunch of muggers took all my money. I had no idea.

"I had gone to the hash den on the recommendation of a buddy who said it would blow my mind. There were several guys in the room, as I remember, but all I could do was focus on her. She never said a word, but she handled me like a pro. In a few strokes I was hard, in a couple more, she had my sac in one hand, the other stroked the underside; the feeling was so intense, it was like a small super-nova was building inside me."

She understood completely as his fingers now separated her inner lips, the index finger of one hand lightly opening her hood exposing her clit to the air. "Ahh, ahh, ahh, Monty. Ohh, please. Please, please." Her own glowing orb was expanding, filling her abdomen and moving up to her chest. And then he tapped her. Once. "Ahhh!" Twice. "Ahhh, ohhh, Monty." And then he gently pulled away. "Nooooo....please don't stop. That's so mean!" She jerked her eyes open and looked at him.

"Imagine you had the most amazing lover," he ignored her pleas, "bringing you to the brink and just letting you hang there. Not for a moment...like now, but for days. Weeks. A year. Imagine each time you came this close," he put his finger and thumb almost together, "you weren't allowed to peak. Imagine I was so hard and so ready to explode you could have hung a towel on my cock."

She imagined it; she looked down and saw it. She looked up at him.

"She was just the 'fluffer' as they say. She got me prepped and left me there. I had no idea how long we had been together, but the entire time she brought me to the brink and backed off, brink, off. For what seemed like hours, but probably was only for a few minutes. When she left the room I was pleading with her to come back and finish me. I was so numb from the cannabis I couldn't move my hands to help myself. And then, with my cock harder than I'd ever felt it, Sundar walked in."

He leaned over her and kissed her, stroking his tongue between her lips. She reached up to hug his back, stroke him, caress him, urge him to penetrate her. She tried to get him to mount her, but he held back, just stroking her tongue with his, an imitation penis far distant from where she needed it. He pulled away leaving her panting.

"'If you don't climax', Sundar said, 'you might find an answer or two to the questions you've been asking.' I had no idea what he was referring to, or better said, I had no idea how he knew what questions I had been asking or how my not coming would in any way address them, but he got my attention. He got my attention, I might add, because he sat down next to me to have a philosophical conversation while I had a boner harder than steel." He paused, looking out to the forest.

"Is that why don't you come?" She wasn't sure how to get him back on track, but it seemed like the right thing to ask at the moment.

"In a word, yes. But Sundar's counsel didn't get through the fog in my head for several months. I was so taken aback by his approach, I just listened. He told me several stories, each one more hypnotic than the last, until by the end of the evening -- the sun was coming up, he had convinced me to visit his ashram and get a better feeling for what he was saying.

"I had nothing to do and nowhere to go at that point in my life. Six months later I had become initiated into his following. Two years later I decided to leave. I had consumed everything he had to offer me in the way of printed text. I hadn't mastered anything by then, but I had seen and discovered enough that I was confident I could find my way without him. He didn't disagree.

"I had come very close to the life force on several occasions with novitiates at his ashram. The practice was to have sex, but not to climax, often for hours at a time. Near the end of my stay there, the week before I decided to leave, we had a long meditation practice -- three days of fasting and deep visualizations. At the end three new novitiates were introduced."

"Girls?" She was intrigued by the story's exoticness. She tried to attract his thumbs with a small wiggle.

"Young women. All of age. I wouldn't have sat still for it. All from university, all interested in pursuing a deeper spiritual path. These three in particular I can still remember. Slight, beautiful figures, skin as clear as polished copper. Dark hair. On their heads, under their arms and on their groins."

She made a face.

"I have a thing for unshaved women, but don't feel you need to do anything different for me." He ran his fingers across the slightly stubbled surface of her pubis. "You really want to hear about this? It's not entirely germane."

"Ummhmm...it sounds like it's going to get exciting. But don't let it stop you from whatever you were doing." Please fuck me!

"Well, let's just say I had my next religious experience that day. Remember, we'd be fasting and meditating. We were dressed only in loin cloths, the weather was mild -- warm and wet. The room was comfortable -- pillows all around, a little incense if I recall. They all came in at once. Naked, completely unihibited and sat down, cross legged in front of us.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 05



"I began to harden, my cock beginning to tent up the loin cloth. They all noticed, of course. I watched their eyes flit across the three of us sitting there. Their eyes dipping down to look at our crotches. Clearly, I wasn't the only one.

"Sundar began a chant and they closed their eyes, their hands resting on their knees. I stared at them, their breasts rising and falling with their controlled breathing, their yonis opening slightly, glinting with a little moisture." He let his hand cup her open cunny, his fingers joined his thumbs around her lips, painting them with the moisture seeping from inside her.

"Within minutes we had mounted them. It really was like that. We each slipped off our loin cloths, reclined them back onto some pillows and penetrated them. It was so delicious a feeling to slip into the one I had chosen, Rani I think her name was. She was hot and wet and I knew she was struggling to not climax. It was one of her first times. We moved in rhythm to the chant, feeling the rising crest and falling wave as our cocks bottomed out inside and pulled almost out entirely." He began to push into her with his fingers.

"An hour later and they had orgasmed several times, but the others and I were still in familiar territory, a long distance from any climax, and then it came at me. Like a wild storm from somewhere deep inside I felt the rush of a wave crash over me. I may have lost consciousness. I do know Rani moaned in a way different from anything she'd done that day. I don't know what happened to me, but in my head, in my spirit, I had bathed in that river, and instead of giving anything back, I walked out taking a bit with me.

"Later, I had a chance to chat with Rani; she admitted to being a little frightened. She had felt me go stiff, my entire body that is, my cock was clearly stiff already, and then I vibrated...silently. It was my first time. After a couple more years, I just stopped ejaculating altogether. Each time I orgasm I bathe in the river and walk out, taking a bit with me. It's been almost 25 years."

She gasped, not only at the thought, but at what his fingers were doing. She clutched the bean bag with her hands and closed her eyes. "But, really? 25 years?" It came out in a husky whisper.

"Do you want me to go further?"

She opened her eyes and saw him staring at her, taking her naked body in, raking her with his eyes. She closed her eyes again and nodded, letting his fingers continue their stimulation. She spread her legs wider, until she felt her groin muscles pull and slunk back into the bean bag as far as she could.

She imagined his stiff cock sliding into her, and when he hadn't moved, she looked at him again, raising her eyebrows. "Do you want me to beg you?" She said in her whisper. "Can you fuck me with your hard cock?" She felt wicked saying it, but he had driven her over an edge.

He rolled onto his side, never letting his fingers stop their caresses. She looked down at his raging erection, its purple head bigger than she'd seen it...ever. She wanted him inside her. Badly. Finally. It had been almost a month since their first date. They had done practically everything else.

His hand left her...open, wet and swollen. He cupped her chin, tilting her head back, exposing her completely now. She felt the thousand eyes of the night on her and the old feelings came back, the mixture of humiliation and arousal, of shame and abandon. She rode it, embraced it. She pulled her hands over her head, spread them on the back of the bag inviting him to enter her.

And then he did. Slowly, gracefully, like a lithe cat. Silky smooth she felt his rod slide slowly into her. She moaned deep from her throat and he kissed her there...on her neck, gently, pulling another deep moan from her as his balls lightly touched her below her slit. Another push and he was in to the hilt. She could feel him pulsing, his heart beating inside her.

His hands slid along her arms, until his fingers intertwined with hers. He lay there, holding her open, pulsing inside her, his lips gently kissing her throat.

He moved slowly in and out of her for what seemed like an hour. She had lost track of time. She had lost track of the number of times he had pulled out completely, pulling a moan of protest and desire from her. It was maddening. He raised her up on a wave and pulled it back down. Up until she almost crested, and then down. Over and over again. She had long since pulled her arms around him, her hands on his ass to push him in. She needed him to come inside her, she needed to come on him.

And then, finally, she felt his body stiffen, a vibration that began in his feet and traveled through him like an earthquake. His cock pulsed, expanded and then he did something and she erupted over the edge like a tidal wave breaking a sea wall. She screamed, for the second time that night, and she hoped against hope the pulsing she felt inside her was him finally letting go of his seed.

She lay panting, recovering from the mind blowing climax, feeling him on top of her, feeling the sweat on his back, brushing the light hairs on his ass. She noticed his penis hadn't flagged at all. He still completely filled her up; she could feel the pulse of his heart inside her. She melted a little. At least there's that. She moved against him, feeling him slide inside her. It was delicious.

"Monty," she began. He shifted to hear her better. "I...this...I'm not sure how to say this." She had been thinking how incredibly wonderful this was, and she couldn't really believe it was true. She had flashed on the idea of spending the rest of her life with him, but she knew that was stupid. It was too soon. Besides, what would he think of her if he really knew her...about her...sickness.

He kissed her neck, up her jaw to her lips and then kissed her deeply, sucking the air from her, penetrating her mouth with his tongue. He moved, just so, and she felt his hard prick rubbing her, the bone of his pubis rubbing against her clit. She didn't think she could do it again, but obviously he could. She lay back letting him move against her, draping her hands on his ass, the small of his back, and then, out of nowhere another orgasm began to blossom and she moaned into his neck as she rode it over the top.

* - * - *

She got to Antoine's a little early and grabbed the rare open booth in the back, ordering her gin and tonic on the way. She kept her eyes on the door, her fingers worrying the napkin into little spirals and whirls. She had only looked down for a moment and a shadow made her look back up. How does he do that? "Hi." She looked back down.

"Hi. Thanks for seeing me. I..."

She didn't let him finish. "Please. I have to say this. I don't want you to speak. I need to say this and it will be very difficult for me." He slipped into the booth across from her. She took a long sip from her drink, the alcohol already working its way to her frontal lobe. "Monty. You have no idea how you have hurt me..." She really didn't want to cry but it was almost impossible "...I. Have. Worked. For. 1. Year. To break an addiction I have, and in one month you have screwed it up for me." The last rushed out with a sob she buried into her glass.

He sat there, impassive, a fleeting expression of pain traveling across his face like a tic. The waitress came by and he gave her his order. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, Marcie." He prodded her gently to continue.

"Your 'camera.' Your ability to record things. About me. I...I have a problem and you...fucked it up." She immediately regretted how she had started the whole conversation and tried to start over. "I'm sorry. You didn't do anything. You had..have no idea what I'm talking about." She wiped her eyes with the napkin.

"You are upset with my recording you. I got that part the other night. I am in idiot. I shouldn't have done it..."

His drink came and they sat for a moment. She turned his last sentence over in her memory: shouldn't have recorded her or shouldn't have revealed his invention to her? Don't be paranoid. "What do you mean?"

"I should have told you about it in a very different way. I was caught up in the heat of the moment and I forget how weird it is. It's no excuse, but I've been living with this way of thinking for so long I really do forget 'normal' people don't experience things like I do."

"I'm anything but 'normal.' She was bitter. "I like to have people watch me." It came out before she could stop herself. She blushed and couldn't meet his eyes.

The realization of what she said hit him all at once, like a kaleidoscope's crystals all falling together for a brief moment before splintering apart. He put down his drink and closed his eyes, recalling the image. 25 years. Another moment. Her. Being watched. Him. With the perfect 'watcher.' Click.Crack. The crystalline image appeared again and he saw the next steps. He recorded everything he could in that brief moment. He wanted to share it with her. She wasn't finished.

"I'm a freak. An exhibitionist. I've been seeing someone for over a year to try and get better, and I thought I was making progress, and then, WHAM, you come along and blow it all away. I don't know what to do. I'm completely fucked up about it."   

He signaled the waitress to send another drink for her.

"Marcie," he tried to get a sentence in. "Can I say something for a moment?"

She nodded, finally looking up. All she saw was compassion. No pity. No disgust. Love? He'd been dropping hints. No way. Not love. Love. Did she love him? Was that what this was about? Losing someone she was starting to fall in love with?

"You already know my thoughts about coincidences, right? Don't you think this is a little weird? We bump into each other completely 'by accident.' We hit it off. We have fantastic sex. We have had fantastic sex, right?" He waited for her acknowledgment. "I happen to have this incredible camera, which you knew nothing about. You happen to be an exhibitionist, which I knew nothing about. And we find ourselves together. Not possible, right?"

"But I don't want to be an exhibitionist. I want to be normal!" She hissed it rather than shout it out as loud as she really wanted. It wasn't even what she wanted to talk about -- she wanted to tell him she had figured out the same thing with Patti, but she got hung up on her disorder.

"What is abnormal about being an exhibitionist?"

She could see he was sincere. She couldn't believe it. "You're kidding, right? You'd date a woman who likes to take her clothes off in front of strangers? Who likes to do it in front of cameras? It's humiliating. It's wrong. What's wrong with you for not seeing how wrong it is?"

Again they were interrupted by the waitress. They waved her on.

He pursed his lips and looked at her, sizing up his next comments. "I'm not going to argue with you. I can see you feel strongly about it, and I can see you've been working hard at reconciling it. As it turns out, I don't feel any judgment about it whatsoever. I don't know what 'normal' is. I don't see that there's anything wrong with you getting off on being naked in front of strangers. But I see that it disturbs you a lot; Please know I respect your feelings about it even if I don't feel the same way."

"You're sounding just like my therapist," she laughed a little into her glass. "La dee da. Take off your clothes whenever you want. No one cares. You're the only one who gives a shit." She was getting angry. "Why don't I just strip right here. I mean, what the fuck. Might as well." Unfortunately, even the thought of it, combined with the alcohol, had actually started a small tremor of interest in her groin. Oh no. Please. Not now.

"I'm not sure that would be prudent, only because it's against the law and the results could get a little complicated. But if you want to go to a club where you can strip naked, I'm sure we can make that happen."

As much as she was looking for any sign of him patronizing her, she couldn't detect a bit. She looked at him like he was crazy and finished off her drink. "Maybe a better idea would be to invite some of your workmates over and I could put on a show for them...or...wait. I know, why don't we have a film party with me in the porn starring role? Oh, wait. We just had a party, and what do you know, I was the porn star!"

He waited, letting the outburst pass. There was nothing to say. He wasn't titillated by the idea of her being an exhibitionist any more than he would have been if she were a cross-dresser, a Lesbian, or a seamstress for that matter. He thought back to her earlier anger at his lack of 'investment in the future.'

"Remember a few weeks ago your annoyance at my philosophy regarding the future? I think you posed the scenario of us having a kid and the kid being hit by a car. Yeah?" She looked at him, waiting. "Okay. You left last night after learning only half of what I needed to tell you. Before you decide we're through and that I'm not good for you, or worse you're not good for me, I'm hoping you'll give me another hour or so of your time to hear the rest of the story."

She started crying at the thought he was ready to break up with her. She hadn't really heard everything he'd said, but the image of her being through with him finally hit home. She didn't want to be through with him. She really wanted to be with him. She pulled herself together, sniffling into her napkin. "Okay."

"Okay. Finish up that drink and let's get out of here. This is no place to talk."

When she got up she realized she'd had too much to drink and wobbled a little. "Are you okay to drive," she worried.

"It's a small place around the corner. Quiet, but not too quiet." He took her arm and escorted her out the door.

What the fuck, she thought. He seems completely unfazed by my disorder. How could I find such a guy? Would he really be okay with my stripping in front of strangers? The thoughts boiled through her mind, uninhibited by the alcohol. The familiar feeling in her groin at the thought of being naked in front of people started to grow. What's wrong with him? How could he be okay with this? She imagined him following through on the suggestion of bringing her to a strip club.

A crisp, Spring breeze hit them as they rounded the corner pulling her out of her musings. She grabbed her coat and unconsciously nestled into him for warmth. I do like the way he's built. He's got money. He's ambitious. He seems like he's got his head screwed on straight...except for the camera thing...and I still don't know what this Tantric stuff is really all about...but it sure as fuck feels good when he does it to me. Again her thoughts were interrupted as he stopped in front of a storefront bistro. He opened the door for her and let her pass in.

"Dr. Green," a maitre d' welcomed him. "I will have a table ready for you in a moment. I hope the evening is treating you well?"

"Thanks Charlie. Yes. Charlie. Marcie. Marcie. Charlie." She accepted Charlie's handshake and offered him her coat. "We'll wait at the bar, if that's okay."

Dr.? When did he become a Dr. all of a sudden?

The place was packed, with people waiting at the bar. She wondered what kind of pull he had that they would get a table ready for him without a reservation. They stood at the bar; all of the stools were taken. She noted the bartender gave him a sign and in a moment came over.

"Dr. Green. What would you like this evening?"

"I think it'll be 'one of those nights', Jack. A caipirinha for me. Marcie? Another G&T?"

She felt a little steadier after the brisk walk, and knowing they'd be eating soon, she agreed.

"Ummm...do you own the place, Doctor?" She looked around, realizing he probably did, remembering too late about the single-sheeter. He had interests in several restaurants, she recalled.

"Yes. There are several of us. Limited partnership. I don't get involved in the operations, but I've been the chef's biggest fan. Young guy out of Hungary, actually. PhD (a couple actually), not MD."

She could see why he chose it -- it was just loud enough to cover their conversation but not so loud they had to shout.

The drinks came and before she could take two sips, Charlie came by to usher them to their table. As they walked she noted the other patrons -- some dressed to the teeth, others on their way to another event. Mostly couples, she saw, a few small groups. The room was dimly lit; each table had a small spotlight on the white cloths, art on the walls lit by their own lamps.

The table was in back with a window into the kitchen. He sat facing the room giving her a view of the chefs. It was surprisingly quiet in this corner. There were no other tables nearby.

Charlie mentioned a few of the specials and gave them a single page menu.

"French fries, Charlie. If you could. Thanks." He looked up at her surprise and smiled. "Signature dish. The chef knows his way around potatoes."

"Okay. Where do I pick this thing up?" He took a sip of his cocktail. "We've got this 'widget,' for the sake of discussion, that lets us capture events at any point on the Space-Time grid. We had hoped to use it to explore alternate futures but we ran into some major theoretical roadblocks. Moving in time forward is almost impossible, we think, moving in time backward is pretty easy -- as you saw -- but moving in time sideways is tantalizingly just outside our grasp."

She hadn't put it together like that even though everything he'd been saying for the past few weeks all pointed in that direction. She smiled at the sudden image of his cock pointing towards her. "Sideways." She acknowledged.

"Right. An infinite number of alternate futures. We can't travel into the STC..." She quickly unpacked 'STC' —SpaceTime Continuum— "...more than a microsecond...well that's theoretical...more than a picsosecond at the moment, which seems like a very short time, but in fact is ages in terms of the universe."

She took a drink and held up her hand, motioning him to hold on. "Hold on...hold on...you're saying you have successfully seen into the future a picosecond? How much ...or better said...how little is that?" Her head was swimming a little.

"A trillionth of a second. Not long in our time frame, but when it comes to decaying electrons, quarks and all that, it's a lifetime. We've seen enough to know that much of String theory is likely correct. Haven't published the theoretical stuff yet, but it will likely be Nobel laureate work."

She looked at him in awe. Who is this guy?

"Oh, not for me. I'm just the money man in this case, but for some of our researchers this is their life's crowning achievement, and I'm all too happy to help out."

"Sideways, you were saying."

The waiter came to take their order. He ordered a bottle of wine. She wasn't sure if she would be able to walk out. Her resolve from earlier in the day was dissolving. What had she been hoping? That he would apologize? He'd done that. That he would promise her he'd turn the thing off and help her with her sickness? He'd actually suggested something completely opposite. The feeling in her groin stirred again. They gave the waiter their order.

"Right. Sideways. Let's say we could "point" the camera along any number of possible grid lines in the STC. Theoretically, we should be able to advance along the time line and see what future lies ahead. Of course if we pursued that line we'd miss out on all of the other lines...assuming the 'camera' is like a normal SLR. But it isn't an SLR. It's more like a lightbulb that sucks rather than glows."

The image made her head hurt. "Hold it. You used that analogy before, right? But I thought we were...we weren't talking about this...we were talking about...about Tantric meditation or something, weren't we?" She was missing something. Something just outside her understanding. She could just barely get there, but the alcohol or her own self-involved issues were getting in the way. Her phone vibrated, making her jump. Goddamn phones! I just want to throw them out! Why doesn't his phone ever ring?




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 05



She reached into her pocket and saw it was her mother. She clicked it on do not disturb. He had started talking again. "Wait...go back. A lightbulb that sucks..."

"Okay, it's a really stupid image, I know, but it's the closest thing I can come up with that's remotely accurate. Let's say you could put a camera anywhere on the STC. Let's say you could "point it" along any grid line. Now, let's say there were infinite gridlines to choose from. Wouldn't it be cool if you could just start capturing and not worry about what "direction" you were facing?"

"But you're only capturing 1 picosecond into the future, so that doesn't seem to make any sense, no matter how many you capture."

"Hold that thought. Remember, infinite is a lot more than a 1 trillion, and just because we're only able to "look" 1 picosecond "forward" doesn't mean there isn't a heckuvalot of information we could capture in that moment. As it turns out, though, if, instead of capturing along the time grid you capture along the space grid, you could see all events that have ever happened, or will ever happen in that point in space...all at once." He paused while the waiter delivered their first plates. "But that's not the point of any of this; as much as I can see it fascinates you...

"You walked out the other night when you learned about the camera. I was wrong in introducing it to you that way. I miscalculated for sure," he was machine-gunning his words, revving up his excitement. "But I had no idea you were struggling with your own issues about being recorded. I am very sorry." He held out his hands for her. She reached across and placed hers in his. She felt a warmth flow into her. Her shoulders came down a little.

"What I had hoped to share with you the other night was a lot more than the gadget. It's a pretty cool gadget for sure, but the really important thing is not what it does, but what we've stumbled over in our efforts to build it."

She could see he was stalling, or building up the courage to go somewhere. What else did he have to tell her that was bigger than this?

"The gadget is just a very poor method of visualization what the Tantric Hindus have been practicing individually for centuries." He said it quietly as if he was confessing to a plot to blow up the airport. He looked at her to see if she understood the importance of the remark.

She shook her head slightly; she didn't get it. "You've found a way to 'see' like a Hindu?" Inwardly she giggled at the phrase -- walk like an Egyptian, see like a Hindu. She snapped her attention back to him.

"Yes. Exactly."

"OK. And that's more important than the ability to record alternate futures?"

"It's all part of the same thing." His voice was tighter, as if he was getting a little angry. "It took me 15 years of meditation, guided by a guru, to begin to see what I showed you the other night on my TV. ...no...That's not quite right." He paused, letting go of her hands, turning his attention to the hors d'oeurves. He picked up his fork and gathered his thoughts.

"I only showed you one past last night, our mutual subjective past. But remember, this thing records all possible pasts..." He stopped realizing she was lost.

"Monty. Tell me. Please." She looked tortured, as if she didn't really want to hear whatever it was she was about to ask him. "Why...why me?"

Before he could answer she went on. "You're wealthy. You're gorgeous. You have everything. Why would you take the time to be with me? And now that you know about me...why burden yourself with me? I'm not just asking because I'm insecure...I am insecure..." She laughed a little. "But really. I don't want to get hurt any more than I already am, so if this thing you've got for me is just entertainment, I need to know. Now."

His lips pressed together and his forehead creased a little.

"You might not be surprised to hear that I've given that quite a bit of thought."

She raised her eyebrows slightly.

"I've said it before...accidents rarely happen. We 'bumped' into each other and I felt the most amazing things I hadn't felt before. What's up with that? I asked myself. I meditated. Deeply. I observed things about that accident and our wonderful lunch afterwards. I can't be sure of the future any more than the gadget can, but I can see alternate pasts...up to the present. I traced some of those -- the ones with highest 'probability.'" He raised his hand to stop her from interrupting. It was clear she wanted to know more. "They all led to us going out to lunch and to dinner the subsequent date. Every one. (With the highest probabilities...I've stopped looking at the low probability pasts -- they're just too weird).

"And today, just now, you've revealed your 'sickness' to me. And, freak that I am, it all came together. Our futures are intertwined, just as our pasts have been. There's a very high probability of it."

"Freak? Geek. You're a geek for sure, but you don't hold a candle to me, Monty. I'm the freak. What kind of 'high probability?' She took another bite to hide the trembling. Definitely freaky. Freaking me out. Who the fuck is this guy?

"It's hard explain. Impossible. Like trying to explain a dream. Doesn't translate. But can you trust me enough to believe me when I say that our getting together wasn't an accident, that our futures are intertwined? Beyond a feeling that it will continue to be pleasant, I can't really get any details."

"But why me? What's so important about me that someone like you should be together with someone like me?"

"It's not 'someone like' you, or 'someone like' me. It's you and me. Our futures. Shit. I keep forgetting. This would be a lot easier if I could show you." He paused. "Would you...could you...come back to the house with me. After dinner? Now?"

The feeling in her groin intensified. It had been lurking there since her third drink and now it broke free for a moment. The house. A constant audience. She felt moisture beginning to flow in her...yoni...she liked that word. I am such a slut! Yes! Take me home! Fuck me in front of your camera! Don't ask me! Make me!

"But what about dinner?" She was a little hungry, they hadn't even finished their first course and she was trying to find a way to stall for time.

He caught Charlie's eye. "Charlie will take care of it."

"Hold on a sec. Let me use the bathroom."

The table was situated near the bathrooms -- two single handicap rooms, unisex. The minute she locked the door she dialed Patti. Be there. Be there. Answer. Answer Answer. "Patti, oh thank god you're there....Yes. I'm having a real problem. With Monty. Yes. I told him!...Thank you...but, well, it's not working out so well....No, if anything he's been a mirror image of you!" She laughed briefly. "Right. Well, anyway, I'm practically shaking I'm so anxious. So, we had a drink, and then another, and, well, now he's taken me out to dinner, and he's apologized profusely and...well...he wants me to go home with him...I don't know...I don't know. He says it's because we didn't finish what he had hoped to show me Friday night, that I ran out before he could really tell me the whole story...yes, I believe him, it's just I can't imagine being in that house. What do you mean? Why do I have to spell it out for you? The camera...I...I just don't trust myself...to STAY DRESSED! I don't know what to say, Patti - I just can't pretend I'm going to stay dressed. I'm already contemplating stripping for him and we haven't even left the table yet. No...he's been a perfect gentleman...I know, right? But what should I do? Shit Patti, you're no help at all! Okay. Okay. I know. Thanks. I'll set up an appointment for later in the week. Thanks. Sorry to bother you."

She washed her hands and face and took a long look in the mirror. The face she saw staring back at her didn't look much older but she felt world-weary. She wanted so badly to make this work with Monty. He seemed like such a great catch, but she couldn't get over her neurosis...and his seeming neutrality about it made her question whether she could ever be happy with him.

She set her resolve and returned to the table.

"I've asked Charlie to box everything up, if you are still okay about getting out of here...otherwise, we could take it to go and sit somewhere else if you'd prefer."

"No...no, I think I should give you a chance to explain, and if it needs a demonstration, I think I can make it back to the house."

He backed out of his chair, finished his drink and offered her his hand.

She was a little dazed and in spite of not really certain of his motives or her own self-restraint, she apparently did trust him enough to go home with him. Oh, therapy is going to be hot this week.

In the car, his car -- she'd left hers at the bar -- he tried to explain a little further.

"There are only three gurus in recorded Hindu history who have claimed to have 'Forsight.'" He began.

She couldn't believe he had started up this way. She turned to him. "What?"

"Sorry. I know it sounds completely out of context, but bear with me for a sec. The ability to see alternate pasts is achievable with enough guidance, meditation and practice. In every generation there are at least a few gurus who claim to be able to do that. It's more than a parlor trick -- there must be some survival rationale for it, to put a Darwinian frame around it -- for some communities especially those in terrible trouble, it can help guide their future knowing no other past was more likely than the one they are on. Or, upon occasion, they may learn the track they're on is really one of the unlikely 'pasts' and they can take steps to correct their course.

"But 'Forsight,' Forsight is different. It is purported to be visions of likely futures. Not just the kind of probabilistic predictions all of us make -- those are simple compared to this -- but clairvoyance in high definition.

"What if, what if the gizmo I've got is a means of helping people achieve Forsight? I know, I know." He held up his hand again to stop her. "I said it couldn't see into the future more than a picosecond. But remember, that was capturing along the time axes. Along the Space axes? It's all there -- whatever happened or will happen shows up. Our simulations suggest it's pretty disorienting...we're not built to see the world that way.

"But more to the point: what I said is 'a means of helping people achieve Forsight' -- meaning, by working with it, I think people can actually change the way they perceive the world. What if this thing is the first step on a complete revision of the human race? I said it the other night and I meant it -- we are looking at a discontinuity unlike any we've seen in our species -- since Homo Erectus left the jungle." He looked over at her. "When I think about it too carefully, I'm more than a little frightened by it."

She was only listening with half an ear. Most of her attention was still focused on what would happen at the house. In spite of her apparent resolve, and her brief discussion with Patti, she was still second-guessing the future. If only she had this Forsight he was talking about, maybe she could put her mind at ease.

As he continued to prattle on about it, she was losing the battle with her inner demons. Her lips started to tremble and by the time he had confessed being a little frightened she realized her hand was shaking. She held it out in front of her, confused.

"What's going on Marcie?" He looked at her staring at her hand.

"I don't know...I can't go there. Monty. My hand. My body. I...you...please stop the car." She started to shiver and broke into tears.

He hesitated, still confused by her sudden change in behavior. He imagined this was what an epileptic fit looked like. He stared at her for a moment and then pulled the car over to the curb. "Marcie? What's going on?"

"Monty. Take me back to my car. I can't go to your house. I can't go there. If I go there I'll just...I don't know what!" She sobbed between words. "Take me back to my car. Please."

"Marcie. I'm so sorry. I've been an idiot. You're absolutely right of course. Let's just sit here for a minute and collect ourselves. I so want you to understand what's going on, but how stupid of me."

He shut off the engine and put his arms around her as best he could with the bucket seats.

Stopping calmed her down immediately. The minute I walk in there, I know I'll just want to strip. I just know it! I can't do it! Why is my body turning against me? She could feel herself loosening up at the thought of unseen eyes looking at her.

"It doesn't matter," he said as soothingly as he could. "I want you to see what is really going on, but it doesn't have to happen tonight. When you are ready." He stroked her shoulders and kissed her neck lightly.

She didn't push him away. She wanted him. She wanted him to love her, she wanted to love him. Love. There. She'd said it...or, she'd thought it. Again. I think I'm falling in love with him. Shit! "No, Monty. I'm not sure I can ever go back there. I'm sorry. But how can I go back to the one place in the world I know people can see me, where my most intimate moments are visible to anyone who has access to your gizmo? I can't. How could you make me?"

He sat silent for a few heartbeats. "Marcie," he said gently, "you can't let this stop you. You have to get back on the horse again. If you give into these fears, you'll never get over them. I promise you, you only need to come and see what I've got there. You can keep your clothes on. In fact, I insist you keep your clothes on." He said it as a joke, and it made her smile, but she was unswayed. He kissed her chin, her cheeks, her eyelids and then down to her lips. She still didn't push him away. He explored her mouth, letting his hands roam on her back. She melted into him.

"Marcie?" He pulled away slightly. "What can I do to get you over this? I know. It's a huge favor to ask. More than a favor. A huge sacrifice on your part. But I don't understand how you'll ever face your fears if you don't face this one. I'll help you. Let's do this together. Seriously, I really will insist you keep your clothes on. (I can't believe I'm saying this to the most beautiful, sexy woman I've met in my life)" Again she smiled and relaxed a little.

"Monty. How can I? I want to be naked right now. In your car! In the restaurant. Knowing you or anyone else can watch me. I just want to show my body off! That isn't normal! It's wicked!" She looked away, humiliated at her defect. Her disorder.

He started up the car again and put it in gear.

"Where are we going?"

"What can I say? I'm taking you back to your car." He was irritated.

"Monty?"

"Yeah."

"Are we going to be okay?" She sat up in her seat.

"I'm not sure, what that means. I'm not sure what we have entirely. Let me just say, the future I saw had you over at my house. If not tonight, sometime soon. It's always possible it was wrong. I don't believe everything I see in my visions, but the probabilities seemed pretty high you were coming back. What do you think? Are we alright?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. She sniffled. What am I doing? Why am I throwing this away? This is the best thing that's happened to me in my entire life and I'm fucking it up! So what if I get naked? He's said he doesn't care! Just go over there!

He had turned the car around and was heading back. He had no time or space in his life for trivial irritations, but the future he had seen made a lot of sense. It didn't matter one iota to him whether she spent her entire life naked -- that was immaterial in comparison to what he envisioned they would do together. Something was missing from the equation. Something he needed -- or she needed -- to do to get this future back on track. He had seen a future that was so much bigger than anything he had seen before, and he was certain she was fundamentally a part of it.

"Monty?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you're going to think I'm completely bonkers, but it's okay. I think I can go over there now."

He looked over at her, dead pan. "Are you sure?" He pulled the car over again.

"Yes. I'm okay. I realize I didn't give you a chance the other night and that wasn't fair. You obviously were trying to tell me something and I didn't wait. But now that you know what's wrong with me, I hope you'll cut me some slack, yeah?"

He assured her that as far as he was concerned there was nothing wrong with her (except he wasn't too sure about this latest stunt), pulled a 'YUey' and headed back to his place.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 06



"It changes people, Marcie." He continued the theme he had begun in the car as he let her in the door. "Experiencing alternate pasts changes your view point." He closed the door and took her coat, seeing her disbelief. "I know, it sounds impossible, and none of us are completely certain, but we've been running some very careful experiments and they seem to pan out our suspicions."

She expected him to bring her to the theater right away, but he was walking to the kitchen.

"Would you like something? Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?" He was filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.

More alcohol at this point sounded like a really bad idea. "Tea would be fine, thanks."

She sat down on a stool and pondered what was happening, for the umpteenth million time this week. "Hold it, Monty. Let me try and sort this out:

"1) You have a belief in Tantrism, which, among other things means you choose not to ejaculate

2) Your choice to not ejaculate also means you have been squirreling away life force from the river, giving you even greater vision into the past, and apparently into the future

3) You learned this trick 25 years ago from a guru named Sundar, who, after letting you fuck young women in his ashram, let you go when you had mastered all he could teach you."

She looked at him wickedly for a moment to let him know she was poking a little fun.

"4) You are brilliant, of course, everyone knows that, but your ambitions with Tantrism led to something more than just spiritual pursuit. Apparently you have tripped over a machine that is a digital equivalent of what you and only a few others in the history of humanity have achieved.

"5) You have become fabulously wealthy, through a mixture of cunning, bravery, courage, 'Forsight' and what I would call just blind luck and what you would call 'strange attractors.' How'm I doing so far?"

The kettle was whistling, momentarily interrupting her and distracting him. He had been smiling the whole time, eager to see her be comfortable back at the house, and completely relaxed at the ribbing. If she can make a joke about it, it's a good sign. "Good. It all sounds familiar." He brought her a mug.

"Let's see, what else have we learned? Oh yes:

"6) You not only don't ejaculate, you stay hard. A long time. Without Cialis or Viagra. That's a nice side effect, by the way....

"And what have learned about me? I suppose it wouldn't be fair to only inventory you." She sipped a little.

"Well," she continued. "A) I like to strip naked in front of complete strangers; sometimes when I'm sober, but more often than not after a few drinks." She smiled shyly at him over the cup. " B) I am an excellent auditor. I can decipher a set of books in no time. C) I love to eat. (As do you, for which I'm thankful). But I love to eat cock. Not all cocks...yours for sure. I love to feel it in the back of my throat. Mmmm, I'm already thinking about it even though I swore I wasn't going to do anything other than hear you out...but if you have to, Dr. Green, I would take an injection from you anywhere, anytime.

"But I've gotten way off-track here. Let's see, what else do we know about me? A, B, C," She rattled off the letters on her fingers. "D) > I don't like to strip naked in front of other people. That's in complete conflict with exhibit A), and hence, E) I see a therapist, often. Oh yes, and while we're on the topic of my insecurities and frailties, you should know two more things: F) I am falling in love with you completely and utterly, and G) I can't imagine why you would even have the time of day for a fucked up chick like me."

He was about to answer her, when she stopped him. "And one more thing, which I don't understand at all, and which I demand to know the answer to before we continue any further: why is it, no matter when we're together, your phone doesn't interrupt us?"

The question caught him completely by surprise. "What?"

"Your phone. We've been together almost two months and I can't remember a single time when it's rung. But I know you use it -- I've called you on it..." She stopped. He was starting to laugh at her again and it annoyed her.

"You...you are so...wonderful!" He reached out to hug her, still laughing but with a twinkle in his eye. "What do you suppose people did before cell phones?" He whispered in her ear.

She turned to face him, letting his lips brush hers. She shook her head.

He didn't answer, but instead pressed his lips to hers, moving his tongue between them. She kept her teeth closed, still annoyed. She pulled away. "Not so fast, buster. I'm not going to play that game. You're going to tell me about the phone before we go any further." She didn't let him go, and she didn't let him kiss her.

"Okay," he pulled away firmly and looked at her gravely. "I'll tell you about the 'mystery of my phone,' but first can we do this thing in the theater?"

She pressed half of her mouth together, twisting her face, annoyed and thinking. She capitulated and they took their mugs down the stairs to the theater.

"So where did we leave off...oh yeah, sideways. It certainly wasn't obvious to us when we started that we'd be able to look sideways along the space-time grid. We knew the future was going to be tough, and we were surprised at seeing so many pasts, but sideways was something we hadn't thought was even an option. And as it turns out," he unlocked the door and let her in, "looking sideways, along an infinite number of paths, is a poor-boy's way of gaining Forsight."

She sat in the front seat and waited for the curtains and projector to do their thing. None of it made any sense to her, in spite of being able to rattle it off on her fingers. What could looking sideways on the space-time grid possibly mean? Nothing. Malarkey as her step-mother would say.

He joined her on the love seat and pulled up the remote. "It doesn't happen all at once, but several of the folks who installed the equipment noticed after a few months of using it they were getting these visions..."

She looked up at him...

"...yes, similar to what you reported experiencing in the basement. Hold on...we'll get to that in a moment...yes, it might have something to do with the equipment..."

She could feel the anger mounting and decided it wasn't worth it. If he knew it might have something to do with the camera, why didn't he say something last week, instead of letting her think she was going crazy? She lost track of what he had been saying.

"...multiple exposures over several months, so I'm not at all clear whether it really has something to do with the camera. I'm more inclined to think you might have a sensitivity or natural 'talent'."

She looked at him like he was from another time: obviously a scientist, how could he even begin to believe that people had psychic powers. She wanted to get on with the show. "Okay, what did you want to show me?" She didn't hide her impatience.

He looked back at her, a little puzzled and fiddled with the remote. "I showed you the actual past experience we had together when we first met. Let me show you a slightly different past that diverges from the one we both remember. It's the night of the party." He fiddled with the controls.

She saw herself walking among the guests, not too different from her memory until she reached Jack and Joel on the lawn. She hugged him with apparent sincerity and they chatted amicably. The camera was from high up -- near the house. She asked him to stop it. "Can't you get any closer? This looks really different from what I remember, and I'd love to hear what I'm saying."

"Nope. Can't "zoom in" as it were, but sound shouldn't be a problem. Might be a little distorted. The equipment is designed to stay within a short range...mostly for security reasons." He played around a little and the scene continued.

She heard herself say something unintelligible and while she was trying to figure that out, she sat shocked, looking at the screen and then over at Monty. There, on the lawn, in front of dozens of strangers, she peeled off her dress, unhooked her bra and shimmied out of her panties. Still smiling at Jack she gathered her clothes and nonchalantly sashayed her way back into the house, toward the stairs.

He adjusted a few knobs and the joystick and kept her in view as she walked up the stairs, her ass cheeks and vagina clearly visible from below as he followed her up.

"Stop that!" She squeaked, incredulous at what she was seeing. The scene continued to follow her to the living room, where she rejoined him and his guests.

"No. Fucking. Way." She gestured at him to stop the scene. She was in mid-stride frozen in place, her clothes tucked under her arm. He had swung the camera around to point directly at her, her nudity now on display in front of them both. As he had swung the point of view around she could see the other guests just noticing her walking in. "That," she pointed at herself, "is impossible." In spite of her vocal objections her body was responding quite differently. She could feel herself begin to loosen up and realized at some level she really enjoyed seeing herself naked in a roomful of strangers.

"I have an infinite number of these 'impossibilities', each with minute differences." His matter-of-fact tone made her head hurt. She expected him to tell her next that pigs could fly, and he'd use the same nonchalant tone. "Should I continue with this one or proceed to the next thing I wanted to show you?"

She struggled with her feelings. This is so wrong; why do I get so fucking excited about it? It's not possible! Yet she couldn't break her eyes away from her body, open, accessible, visible to everyone without any apparent shame or discomfort. She was smiling, her small breasts standing out, her nipples at attention. She noted her bush was nicely trimmed and then slapped herself mentally for even thinking it was okay to be exposed this way. She did have a nice body, she had to admit to herself, and she did seem to enjoy showing it off...Stop it! Her internal struggle extended beyond her thoughts. She shifted, uncomfortable with the mounting arousal from her crotch.

"Marcie?"

"Uh...please...no, we don't need to see any of this any more...unless what you're going to show me next is even worse..."

"That," he said, wiping the scene from the screen, "is a matter for you to decide. None of this has any value whatsoever as far as I'm concerned....except, of course, I love to see you naked...but hopefully we can rectify that without having to look sideways." He realized his faux pas too late, and kicked himself for being such an idiot. "Here's the party again. Different past, almost exactly the same probabilities as the prior one. Tell me how this makes you feel."

There she was again, down at the lawn, talking with Jack. He had put on the sound, but it was still pretty garbled. She could tell she wasn't comfortable at all talking to him, but it was a different discomfort than what she felt the "real" time: she noticed a sense of arrogance or self-righteousness...as if she were better than Jack rather than threatened by him. She couldn't tell how she knew it -- it was her face mostly, but at this distance she couldn't be sure. Her stance, the way she faced him. It all felt very foreign to her. Again, she left the lawn and he tracked her back up to the living room. When she rejoined him, the view centered on her face: although she was smiling, the here-and-now Marcie could tell she wasn't happy.

Disgust. She felt disgust, and disappointment, in this person she was seeing. She was haughty and...and holier-than-thou. She whispered something into Monty's ear.

"Hold it. Rewind it, could you? I want to hear what I said."

He obliged and the words came through clearly: "I just saw someone I knew from college. Someone who knew me back when...when I felt the need to exhibit myself in public. Those old feelings came back, but I'm so glad I could squash them." She squeezed his hand and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

The whole scene made her feel very uncomfortable in a way that was completely different from before. She noticed a slight nausea and a complete lack of any arousal. She thought it might even be a reaction to dinner. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

"Are you okay?" He had blanked the screen and turned to her.

"No. Not really. I don't understand what I'm seeing...what I'm feeling." She forced herself not to hyperventilate.

"I take it this last scene wasn't possible?...either?" He asked it in a comforting way; she didn't take it as patronizing...just analytical and inquisitive.

She realized he didn't care one way or the other. She knew he had said it before, but she didn't believe him. Now, sitting in the theater, watching herself expose herself, debase herself, humiliate herself in front of his guests, and he didn't give two shits about it...it was too much to believe. She desperately wanted to be okay with being naked. She liked being naked! No! It's not true! You are a slut for even thinking it!

The thought shocked her. It wasn't her voice, but the voice of her stepmother and she relived the humiliation from high school that she tried so hard to forget. The memories came crashing in too strong to stop.

She had just turned 18 and had invited a girl friend, another senior, for a study night and sleepover. They had been giggling in her room about college and what to expect in the coming months.

"You know," her friend said confidentially as if anyone could hear them outside her room, "they make you strip when you first get to the dorms. My sister told me they forced her to do it. The first night. She had to take all of her clothes off and run down the hall along with all of the other first years. It was a co-ed dorm too...even though the boys weren't supposed to have been there, they were. They took pictures..."

The thought of being forced to run naked down a hall of older students caused a reaction in Marcie she hadn't ever felt. She could feel herself getting moist...down there...and she looked up worried her friend would notice. They were still dressed, but she couldn't hide the flush in her cheeks.

"Oh stop it, Daryl. There's no way they'd do that..."

"I saw the pictures." She nodded her head. "They gave her a few as a 'memento,' is how Jean put it, but I think it was to keep her quiet in case she complained."

The idea was preposterous, but the intensity of the feelings it aroused in her were greater than anything she'd felt before.

"I bet you couldn't do it if they dared you. Jean said if you didn't do it, they made you sleep out in the hall until you agreed to. She said it was fun..." The last part Daryl barely whispered...mostly in disbelief.

The idea of being stripped naked and forced to run down the hall...Marcie couldn't concentrate on anything else for a moment or two and missed what Daryl had been saying.

"...couldn't, could you?"

"What?"

"I was wondering if you can do it here in your own house, forget a dorm room. At least no one is home right now..."

She looked at her friend trying to sort out the feelings. Was Daryl gay? She'd never had an inkling of it before. Why was she daring her to do this? Equally mysterious was why she was actually thinking of taking her up on it. Her vagina was tingling and she could feel her secretions oozing a little. Daryl would know, the minute she took off her clothes she was excited by it. "Would you?"

"No big thing. Who cares if they see a little tit and bush? Besides, I wouldn't be alone, right?"

"You don't think I could do it?" She looked at her, trying to see if she was just needling her or if she really didn't think she had it in her.

"No way. Like I said, you couldn't do it tonight, right now, and it's just us two -- I've seen you naked dozens of times..."

She was buzzing now, her head felt a little light and she knew her panties were getting damp. "You really think so, huh?" She stood up, putting her pencil and book to the side. "Let's see about that." Before she could think about it, she peeled off her top, and unsnapped her jeans and slid them down. As she unsnapped her bra, she looked her friend straight in the eyes. "I don't see you getting undressed, Ms. I've-been-naked-a-hundred-times."

Her friend smiled and just shook her head. "Not necessary. I'm prepared to do it if you do, but you'll have to go through with it first." She leaned back on the bed and watched as Marcie continued to undress.

Her breasts popped out as she dropped her bra, and she hooked her panties down, exposing herself to her friend. She quickly tossed the underwear aside before Daryl could see any stains and stood up. "So...what's the big deal?"

"Okay...one circuit around the house and then I'll believe you."

She panicked at the thought of running naked outside -- it was night, but there was no way she was going to do that. "No way. Not outside..."

"Not outside, silly. Inside the house, one circuit upstairs and then down and then back up. Two minutes."

Marcie considered how likely her folks were to come home. They were at some meeting or another -- the possibility was slim but not improbable that they could be home soon. For some reason the idea of running through the house naked just kept going through her head -- being exposed in a flash through a window to any unsuspecting driver or passer by.

"Okay. But then you've got to do it." She reached for her door knob and took a breath steeling herself.

She ran out into the hallway to the stairs, Daryl looking at her from the doorway. Down the stairs, into the living room, through to the den, the front hall where anyone out on the street might see her, into the kitchen and then back to the front hall streaking back up the stairs. Daryl stared at her the entire time, a glazed look on her face.

"Okay, tough stuff. Do you have what it takes?" She stood panting on the stair landing, her fists at her hips looking at her friend. She knew she must be a sight, her small breasts heaving, her pitch black triangle of tangled hair against her white skin.

"No problem, Marcie." Daryl reached down and pulled up her shirt, exposing her breasts. She hadn't worn a bra, and as far as Marcie could see, she really should have -- Daryl's breasts were considerably larger than hers, although that wasn't too hard a bar to get over.

Daryl peeled off her shorts and Marcie was surprised to see she wasn't wearing any underwear at all. Daryl's blond hairs had a touch of gold; Marcie caught herself staring at her friend in a different way they'd seen each other naked tons of times before in the locker room, but this was different -- way more intimate.

Daryl ran down the stairs, her breasts jiggling, her buns pumping behind her with the motion of her legs. Marcie watched her move through the hall and out of sight, only to return moments later from the other direction heading back up the stairs. She was smiling at her, unashamed at exposing herself to her as she ran up the stairs.

The two ran giggling back into her room.

Marcie sat on the bed uncomfortable being naked and alone with her girlfriend in her bedroom.

"Hey!" Daryl said, throwing back her hair and sitting on the floor. She sat back on her hands, not making any moves to put on her clothes. "Have you ever looked at yourself?"

Marcie just stared at her, not comprehending. "What do you mean?"

"You know, an exam, like the doctor does?"

Marcie just shook her head a little, still confused.

"Shit, Marcie, you've been to the doctor, right? Pap smear, gynecological exam, stirrups, speculum?" Her friend grew more incredulous as Marcie just looked more confused. "Holy. Shit. You are 18 years old and you've not had a proper exam? Doesn't your mother want you to live to see 21?"




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 06



Marcie remained silent.

"Go get a couple of mirrors from the bathroom...and do you have a flashlight?"

Marcie pointed vaguely to her desk drawer and left to retrieve some hand mirrors.

When she came back she made sure to close the door. She had thought she'd heard a noise but there didn't seem to be anyone in the house. Still she really didn't want to be surprised by her parents coming in on them.

"Okay. Hand me one of the them." Daryl was kneeling on the floor, her legs spread wider than her hips. She slipped the mirror between her legs.. "Take a look." She motioned for Marcie to come over.

Daryl held the flashlight in one hand and had peeled her vagina open with two fingers of the other hand. "Look into the mirror." Marcie looked down and saw her friend's slit held open by her fingers. Where Marcie's skin was alabaster white, Daryl's was tan, like a roasted marshmallow. The first thing she noticed was how her skin grew darker around her labia and then the deep pinkish purple of her vagina stood out in the glare of the flashlight.

She wriggled as she realized she was getting turned on. She didn't understand why. It felt so clinical, like she was looking at a textbook of a vagina, but she was so close, it was so intimate.

"There, you see that?" Daryl was pointing at a lump of skin just above her inner labia. "That's my clit. When I get really excited it comes out of its sheath a little." She paused and looked up. "You've never done this? Shit, my sister and my mom taught me this last year. It's important to know what you look like, Marcie. I mean, boys don't have any trouble, right? 'Cause their stuff is always in your face, but my mom was telling me women weren't allowed to look at themselves until she and her generation, as she likes to say, changed the rules. C'mon, you know what I'm talking about, right?"

Marcie nodded but couldn't look away from the image of her friend's vagina held open just a few feet away.

"Okay, let's see what yours looks like. Everyone's different!"

Marcie hesitated. She knelt down but wasn't sure she wanted to expose herself this way. More importantly, she was getting juiced up from the past few minutes and she was sure Daryl would notice.

"C'mon. I did it. Now you do it. It's important to look at yourself Marcie. Really!"

She split her legs open slowly, still fighting herself and then slipped the other mirror onto the floor. Looking down she positioned it so she could see the underside of the legs -- something she'd never done before. Daryl handed her the flashlight. She took it in one hand and as she'd seen Daryl do, slowly opened her lips. Her skin was pale around them, but they were a dark purple, framed by the black tangle of hair. They felt swollen and warm as she opened them, and she blushed with embarrassment to see a string of mucous stretch across them when she split them apart.

"Ohhhh, that's so cool. You're turned on, aren't you! Go. Don't let me stop you. Look at yourself."

She turned a dark red but didn't stop. Her inner lips were lighter and her channel was a bright pink, coated in a cloudy white cream. She closed her eyes, mortified she was so turned on.

"It's okay, Marcie. I think it's great you like to do this. Look. Look at your clit.

She forced herself to look at the mirror and saw the little nubbin she had only rubbed unseen. It was pushing itself out of a crease of skin and she knew what it would feel like if she touched it.

Daryl was staring at her, her legs still straddling her mirror, and she was tempted to touch herself, to see what it felt like when suddenly her bedroom door flew open and there was her stepmother staring at her, dark red and angry. Marcie fell over backwards in fright, dropping the flashlight and flailing to cover herself.

The memory of the humiliation from her step-mom that night came rushing back after years of suppressing it. Daryl had been asked to leave, raising even more questions from her parents...it was a horrific event, and its memory opened a crack in a shell Marcie had been building most of her adult life.

She jerked at the upwelling sense of shame.

"Marcie? Where did you go?" He was staring at her.

"I...I have to go, Monty. I can't stay here tonight...you understand, right? I can't possibly even go to the bathroom here. Can you take me back to my car?"

"But...sure." He would be patient. There was much more to this relationship than just sex. He knew it. He could sense it in the way she responded to the scenes...to her sensitivity...He had plenty of time.

* - * - * - *

As they drove to her car she was silent, working through the tumult in her brain and heart.

"Monty?"

He turned his head to acknowledge she had his attention.

"You know I'm seeing a therapist for this problem, right?" She couldn't remember how many times she'd mentioned it...

He nodded.

"Would you...would you be willing to speak with her? You can say no, if you don't want to..."

"You want me to see your therapist?"

"I know, it sounds...if you don't want to...sorry I brought it up." She shrunk into her seat, dying. She was fighting the memories of her first time being an exhibitionist and the terrible events that followed -- memories she had worked so hard to forget.

"It isn't a problem, Marcie. I'd be happy to see her. Is there something you expect will happen because I've seen her?" He didn't mind in the least, but he didn't understand what could possibly come of it.

"I don't know...it's stupid. I just thought, if the two of you could talk a little, maybe you could understand a little more about what I'm going through. I don't think I can communicate it very well."

"Okay. Just tell me who to call and I'll fit her in."

As he drove off she tried to stop him: he hadn't told her about his phone.

* - * - * - *

She walked into her condo terrified at being alone with the thoughts that had suddenly flooded her brain. What had started as a small crack in her psyche's armor was now a full-fledged breach and the full details of what happened after her step-mother caught her came rushing through.

She undressed quickly, shivering as if from the flu, but she knew she wasn't sick -- not from a virus. She knew she should write down her thoughts, or record them, or something -- that Patti would want to have the details of her feelings.

She wasn't tired, another reason she knew the shivering wasn't from an illness. She was all too awake, all the better to be aware of the memories. She through on a night-shirt and made herself a pot of tea. As the water heated she revisited the night of "Daryl's Dare" as she used to call it. God, I remember how awful that was -- it's been 10 years!

Her step-mother, Jane, called the two of them downstairs and demanded to know what was going on. Neither of them would answer her.

"An abomination," Jane practically yelled. "Young girls playing with themselves, exposing themselves -- it is devilry and I won't stand for it in my house. Now you tell me exactly what you were doing or there will be real hell to pay!"

The two of them looked at each other; they still couldn't think of anything more to say than they already had. They had told her at least part of the truth -- Daryl dared Marcie to run around the house naked. But her step-mom wouldn't accept it. Her father had long since shrugged his shoulders and gone to bed, leaving the two girls to fend for themselves.

"You are going home tonight, young woman, and I'll be certain your parents understand why you won't be invited back. And you, young lady. We'll have to see about you."

They were forced to wait downstairs until Daryl's parents came to pick her up, and only then was Marcie allowed to return to her bedroom.

Pouring the hot water into her cup she reflected on the deluge of memories suddenly overwhelming her. Hell week. That's what she had come to call it, what she thought about it every day until she finally left for college and was out from her step-mother's clutches.

She held her mug in her hands, steeping in the shame and humiliation of that week.

At breakfast the next morning her step-mother was waiting for her, flushed and angry.

"You understand you are grounded, young lady?"

Marcie nodded, head lowered.

"You understand there is a special circle of hell for prostitutes and...lesbians?"

She looked up at her completely confused and defiant. "I am no such thing!"

"You will not speak. You will not talk back to me. You admitted as much last night when that whore friend of yours dared you to expose yourself . Do not pretend to be innocent. I'll hear nothing of it. You will be punished and I can only hope it is enough to get these sinful thoughts and behaviors out of your life! No after-school activities this whole week. I will be here when you get home and I will see to it that you are properly trained to respect yourself!"

Marcie could only imagine what her step-mother had in mind, but she kept her anger and defiance to herself.

As promised, she was waiting for her on her return from school. "We will start with your room. You will clean your room. But because you can't be trusted, I will supervise. Now. Get upstairs."

Only it wasn't just a simple tidying up. Tears rolled down her cheeks at the memory of that first day. She sipped her tea hoping by letting the thoughts flow she could get through them. Obviously, suppressing them hadn't worked.

"Since you are obsessed by being a common whore who displays her body for any to see, let's see how funny it is to clean this room without a stitch of clothing on!"

Marcie gasped at the suggestion trying to protest.

"I'll hear none of it. Now. Every stitch. You think it's so much fun to display the body God gave you, then let's get to it. Now!"

She'd never seen her step-mother so angry: her face flushed, her hands sweeping through the air. Marcie feared if she didn't do something, the woman would hit her. She backed away until she was literally and figuratively up against the wall and didn't know what to do.

"I'm not kidding you little hussy. Off with those clothes! You think this is such a big fun game. Now, or your week will turn into a month!"

Marcie cried as she unbuttoned her shirt, sliding it off her.

The tears flowed down her face in her kitchen just thinking about the pain and anguish of that moment.

"You have a lot of work to do, slut. And so do I. I can't just sit around all day waiting for you. Let's go!"

She unsnapped her jeans, slipping her shoes and socks off at the same time. Standing in her room, sobbing, her crazed step-mother staring at her she couldn't compute what was happening. As she unsnapped her bra and slid her panties down, it was as if another person was doing it. As if she were someplace else, watching her like a lab experiment.

In her kitchen she studied that scene over and over again and the ones that followed, the tears she couldn't shed way back when now pouring out of her.

"Hmmmm...is that the way you keep yourself?" Jane stared at her tangle of pubic hair. "Do you not have any pride in your appearance? You run around naked like a banshee, well I suppose you don't care that you look the part!"

Marcie just stood, blushing at being exposed this way, her hands trying to cover herself up.

"Well? What are you standing around for? Get this place cleaned up! We'll deal with your personal hygiene tomorrow!"

Her step-mother had her begin by picking up her clothes and putting them into a pile. As she worked, she would criticize her, insult her and suggest how ugly she was, that her figure was all wrong, her breasts too small. After an hour, the room now more tidy, she left Marcie in shock, informing her she would remain naked until her father came home, and that for the entire week she was to remain undressed the moment she came into the house until her father returned from work.

She spent the rest of that day holed up in her room staring at the walls looking at herself in the mirror trying to resolve the terrible words Jane had used.

Around dinner time she got dressed, expecting to be called down any minute, but as she was pulling her shirt over her head, her step mother opened her door.

"Not so fast, you little jezebel. Your father won't be home for awhile -- some union meeting or another. It'll just be you and me for dinner, and since you seem to enjoy exposing yourself, you'll continue to be naked."

Marcie tried to plead with her, apologizing over and over, but there was no negotiating. She pulled off her shirt and bra, slipped out of her panties and reluctantly followed Jane downstairs. As she passed through the entry hall she panicked at the idea of someone being able to see her from outside. She skittered quickly through to the nook, realizing that any of their neighbors could see her through the windows facing the back yard.

"Get yourself some milk and sit down. You will do grace tonight." Jane was curt and obviously angry, but at least had stopped insulting her directly.

As Marcie sat at the table she realized she was getting aroused in spite of the horrible shame and humiliation...or maybe because of it. The thought frightened her; the feelings causing her to squirm a little.

Dinner passed almost without a word, Marcie feeling more than ridiculous sitting there with her breasts exposed, her sex starting to moisten.

After dinner, her mother excused her. "I expect you to remain naked tonight while you do your homework, and prepare for bed. In fact," she paused, "you will sleep naked tonight since you seem to think it is so much fun."

Marcie just shook her head and returned to her room.

She stood up to refill her mug, the details of the trauma returning unbidden and unstoppable. She sobbed from the pain and misery she hadn't been able to express back when it had happened.

The next day at school she was still so traumatized she barely spoke a word. After 2nd period, Daryl cornered her in the girl's bathroom.

"What the fuck happened last night?" She was genuinely concerned for Marcie. "My folks were absolutely fucked up about it."

"I'm sorry." She couldn't think of anything else to say. She felt miserable.

"Sorry? You've got nothing to be sorry for. Your step-mom is a complete psycho! When I told my parents what we had been doing and that she must have been spying on us, they both told me I couldn't go back over there...not because of you. Because of her!"

Marcie just shook her head, washed her hands and left. She couldn't bear to tell Daryl what Jane had forced her to do the day before, or the prospect of the rest of the week.

She arrived home to find Jane waiting for her at the door, the expression on her face requiring no words. Marcie put down her backpack and promptly undressed in the front hall.

"Fold those clothes neatly, you little prostitute, and carry them up to your room along with your backpack. We'll continue to clean your room today and then we'll see about cleaning you!"

Marcie did as she was told, reluctantly carrying her things upstairs worrying all the while about what Jane's threat might mean.

Her step mom joined her in her room a little while later.

"I've been meaning to clean out your dresser for months. This will be as good a time as any. Let's start with the top drawer."

Marcie opened the drawer and began to pull everything out onto the floor. Each time she bent over she knew she was exposing herself to her step-mother. She grew more frightened with each movement as the sense of being naked in such close quarter was once again turning her on. She was certain she must be some kind of pervert for feeling this way.

She sipped her tea remembering that second day of punishment. She remembered now she had been certain Jane was going to find something in her drawers -- something innocent in any other context -- that would become an excuse for Jane to punish her. Except for the mounting anxiety and fear from her increasing arousal, the exercise ended without further incident.

Perhaps that was why Jane had become enraged.

"When you have put that box of give-away stuff in the garage, you may return upstairs. We will see about your personal hygiene next."

Marcie practically was shaking as she brought the box down to the garage. She had to pass several windows, and though the box covered her front almost completely, anyone coming to the door would see she was stark naked. In the garage, she had to get close to the overhead door with its row of windows at chest height. If any of the neighbors happened to look at just the right moment they would see her breasts flashing behind the glass. She rushed back upstairs, in spite of what she suspected awaited her.

"Come into the bathroom, Marcie." The voice wasn't harsh, but it had a steely quality to it that sent a shiver up her spine. She swore silently to herself that she was even more turned on -- her nipples were erect and moisture was beading up on her labia.

Jane was standing next to the bath tub. On the counter was a razor, shaving cream and towel. As she took in the shaving paraphernalia and tried to process what was going to happen to her, her eyes grew wide at what was in Jane's hands: an enema bag and tube, along with a douche.

"It's clear to me, Marcie," Jane said softly, the threat clear in her voice, "you don't know how to take care of yourself. You've let your pudenda overrun. No doubt you are not properly cleansing your colon or your womanly parts either. Today, and every day this week, you will clean yourself thoroughly. So that I know you know how to do a proper job, I will help you today. We will start with your colon."

Jane pointed to the towel draped over the bathtub rim, obviously implying Marcie was to bend over it. She started to protest, but Jane only grew more angry, until Marcie simply shut down and kneeled over the towel.

"Hold yourself open so I can slip this in."

She put her hands back and spread her cheeks, tears of shame and humiliation overflowing her eyes. The tube, covered in lubrication, easily slipped into her pink ring, penetrating her. She could feel the tip of it moving higher and higher into her colon, the intrusion forcing a spasm, not only on her sphincter at her anus, but deep within her. She'd never had anything inside her before and she moaned from the pain.

"That's enough out of you. We need to make sure you are properly cleaned; no doubt the toxins inside you are helping the devil's work."

Marcie became convinced in that moment her step-mother was insane, but with the enema tube now deeply buried insider she wasn't in a position to protest. Moments later, Jane declared it was ready and Marcie felt hot water flow into her colon. She struggled to keep the liquid in her as the pressure against her anus built.

"Please. Please Jane. It hurts. It's too much. Please stop."

"You'll stop it now, Marcie. It's just a little hot water. It will clean out the poisons in your colon. Now just shush and hold it in."

She closed her eyes and hoped the spasming would pass. She breathed as deeply and regularly as she could, focusing on green pastures and butterflies, ponies and blue skies, until Jane told her to stand up.

She was certain as soon as she moved water and shit would explode out of her ass and she begged her to let her sit on the toilet and eliminate. It was no use. She groaned as she pushed herself up off the rim of the bathtub with her hands, her belly distended from the liquid, the tube wriggling in her hole.

"Stand up! Stop dawdling. We have a lot to do still."

Apparently Jane expected her to do much more than just stand up. She pushed against the bathtub and brought her knees off the ground, trying to move in one gentle motion to a standing position. The pain from the liquid was almost enough to make her faint, but somehow she found herself standing, her anus pulsing against the tube, her colon cramping trying to expel the liquid.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 06



"Turn this way and hold this." Jane gave her the enema bag, instructing her to hold it up at her shoulder. "Don't let that down, the liquid will just flow back into it, and I don't want to have to clean it. Now let's see what to do about your pudenda. It's completely out of control."

Marcie realized too late Jane's intention. She could barely move and couldn't protect herself with one hand, but instead watched in horror as Jane began to apply shaving cream to her pubic mound. She was forced to spread her legs a little to give her more room and as she watched, the black bird's nest of hair became a meringue of white lather.

"Some pubic hair is appropriate on a lady," Jane was muttering, as if instructing a class in charm school. "But the patch of overgrown wicker you have down there is just another indication of your poor self-discipline." Jane took the razor and began to pull along Marcie's mound, starting at the crease with her thigh.

She couldn't hold out much longer from the liquid in her gut. The scraping of the razor against her sensitive parts, along with the tube up her ass, combined with the cramping of her colon made Marcie utter a groan so guttural it shocked the both of them.

"Please, Jane. I'm going to make a mess. I need to let this out of me."

Even her step-mother knew when it was enough -- that, or she didn't want to supervise Marcie cleaning up shit on the floor. She stopped shaving and turned her to squat over the toilet, pulling the tube out of her. As it came snaking out of her hole, Marcie could feel the enema liquid and shit dribbling out with it, until, with a pop it came out, followed by an explosive gush of liquid and feces. The feeling of relief was so intense she moaned, curling over to rest her elbows on her knees.

The slurry pulsed out of her, accompanied by gas and solids until her cramping subsided and only dribbles remained. She was fighting tears.

"Clean yourself up and then stand up. We need to finish this and then do your privates."

Marcie was confused until she remembered the douche. She wiped herself thoroughly and then stood up, seeing half of her mound clean shaven, the other have still covered with foam, much of it on her legs and belly.

She stood up, flushed the toilet, turning up her nose at the mess in the bowl and presented herself reluctantly to her step-mother.

With a few quick strokes, Jane removed much of the remaining cream and then directed Marcie to turn around, spread her legs, bend over and hold the counter top.

She wasn't at all certain was about to happen next, but she was too weak to protest. In a heartbeat she felt Jane spreading more cream on her labia and realized she was going to shave her lips. She just set her mouth and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping her step mother wouldn't cut her in the process. Oddly, her fingers were very gentle, pulling her labia to stretch the skin, gliding the razor across the lips.

"There," she said when she was done. "Look at yourself now." Jane took the warm washcloth and wiped away the residual soap to reveal a very tiny strip of thick hair stretching from the top of Marcie's slit to just below her waistband.

"I expect you to keep it this way as long as you live in this house. Don't think I won't check on you, 'cause I will. Now let's finish up in here so I can get dinner on the table."

Marcie sat facing the inside of the tub, this time to receive a tube in her vagina. Jane handed her a plastic bulb and instructed her in the use of a douche. The liquid flowing into her vagina came out just as fast as it went in, splashing in the tub and on her feet and legs. In a few moments it was over, with Jane handing her the washcloth to clean up.

The memory of that first day, and the pain and humiliation of the next four days of enemas and douches, along with the near constant nudity after school, hit Marcie like a cold shower. She had completely repressed the entire week. She had believed she had shaved herself out of some kind of wicked desire, when in reality it started from her step-mother's psychotic belief in devilry.

Her tea had long grown cold while she sat in a trance-like stat going over the week long torture. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone, ever. After it was over, her step-mother never made any reference to it again; never made good on inspecting her pubic region, never discussed the entire affair.

A month later, Marcie wasn't sure it had ever happened, except for the record her pubic hair was keeping, and now, more than 10 years later, she was struggling to figure out how she had forgotten it and what that horrible sequence of events had done to her life.

* - * - * - *

"It was good of you to come, Dr. Green. I know this means a lot to Marcie." Patti invited him to sit on the couch as she took her seat in the chair. "Are you nervous?"

He laughed lightly. "Please, it's Monty. Nervous? About talking to my girlfriend's therapist? Why should I be nervous?" He smiled, comfortable being there. "Marcie asked if I could come over and I am more than happy to oblige. If there's anything I can do to help her, naturally I'd like to do it."

"Well, she's told me she's informed you of her concerns...about her need to be undressed in public, and perhaps equally important, her feelings of humiliation about being that way."

He nodded.

"She's told me you were..." she referred to her notes, "...'a mirror image' of me in your reaction. How did you react?"

"I think I said that it didn't matter to me if she wanted to be naked. That it would likely get us into trouble if she did it at the particular bar we were at, but if she really wanted to do it, I could find a club that would accommodate her without any problems." He said it as if they were discussing the cost of coffee.

Patti took a note. "Full disclosure here: you know she told be about the technology? The 'camera?' Please be aware that legally your NDA doesn't trump doctor/patient confidentiality."

"I understand. She mentioned it. That's fine, but before I leave, my legal team has advised me I'll need a signature from you on an NDA." He pulled it out of his briefcase and set it on the coffee table between them.

"So, what do you think? Isn't it a little odd that an exhibitionist finds herself on her boyfriend's secret camera?" She said it with sincerity and no hint of malice.

He took it at face value, smiling. "Neither of us was aware of the other's hidden aspects. Now we know. I'm hoping she can live with it. Her preferences don't bother me."

"But that's the thing, Monty. It isn't a preference with her and whether it bothers you or me is beside the point. It bothers her. She wants anything but to be an exhibitionist. From her perspective it's ruined her life and she's working hard to make the right choices. Now she's facing a terrible conflict -- she feels deeply for you, just as deeply as she feels against being naked in public. You had asked if there was anything you could do to help. What do you think would help?"

"Well, you're the therapist; can't say I've spent a lot of time worrying about how to help others untangle the messes they've gotten into. I've been...careful...I guess...not to get myself into too much trouble I couldn't get out of." He sat back to give the idea more thought. "How can I help? The best I can do is be supportive. If she doesn't want to strip ever again, I'll help her with that. If she decides she really can't live without being undressed, I'll support her feeling good about that. Frankly, I'm sure, if we stick together, I'll see her naked one way or another." He shrugged and smiled sheepishly.

She made a few notes and looked up from her book. "Hmmm. I was hoping for something else...do you think there's any way to avoid having the camera on while she's at your house? Or..." She stopped when she realized it wouldn't go anywhere. She continued on a different tack. "Marcie tells me you suffer from priapism. Is that true?"

He laughed again. "Priapism is an affliction that its sufferers would choose not to have. What I have is completely different -- I have long lasting erections that don't subside merely because I've had an orgasm. Did she mention I don't ejaculate as well?" He leaned forward, interested in where the conversation was going.

"She did mention that, and she's a bit unnerved by it. Perhaps you could help her understand that as well. It might put her at ease a little with her sexual...performance...if you like."

"Well, if she ever asks you, let her know I don't think there's a thing wrong with any aspect of her sexual performance."

"Monty, I think there's something you're not telling her. What do you suppose it is?"

It was one of those open ended questions that could mean anything. He wasn't terribly concerned about what she thought he was hiding, he wasn't even curious to know what she thought it might be. Time to take the conversation in another direction.   

"I can see you're very concerned about Marcie's well-being...as you should be, being her therapist. Let me run an idea past you and see what you think of it."

He laid out a plan he had been thinking about since Marcie had first revealed her exhibitionism. When he had finished he looked at the counselor to see if there was any chance it might work.

"I can't endorse this, Monty. I want to believe, as you do, that it might do some good, but there's nothing to suggest it wouldn't cause her some harm as well."

"Well, you had asked what I could do to help, and I've been thinking deeply about this. Based on everything I know, it feels like a real possibility."

"Feeling like a possibility is a far cry from a research-based approach with appropriate controls."

"But I'm not even mildly interested in making this a research project. Marcie is obviously in pain and how much progress have you two made in the past year..."

"...sometimes these things take time, Monty. I think, and I think Marcie would agree, we've made huge gains in the past few months. This is a deep seated issue. I don't want you playing Doctor, in spite of your degree."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to suggest you aren't helping. Let me try it again. Would it be something you would be willing to monitor, assuming she agrees to it? Would you be willing to participate more fully in it, assuming you had the time -- I would be happy to underwrite your costs."

Patti looked at him, sizing him up. The proposal was outrageous, but she could see he was sincere, if a bit naïve. The thing is, she realized, he's not stupid, and he has some background in the area.

"Let me think about it for a day or two. Let me discuss it with Marcie and see how she feels about it. If she is open to the idea, I would be willing to work with you. I'd need to look into protocols of this type -- it's not novel, you understand, even if your technology is."

He saw the meeting was over and began to collect his things. "I'd appreciate you keeping an open mind and give it some thought. And...if you could just review that document and sign it, I'd appreciate your help getting my lawyers off my back."



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 07



She sat at her desk thinking about her situation. It had been over a week since the revelation of his device. She didn't know where they stood in their relationship. She surely couldn't go to his house, and she didn't feel comfortable having sex with him at all if they were through.

That he had seen her therapist was heartening; Patti had called to say he'd just left and that she wanted to discuss some things with her. She was seeing her tomorrow, out of cycle. It must be important; Patti assured her from her reading of the situation, Monty was sincerely concerned about her welfare.

But she still couldn't bring herself to even call him. They hadn't spoken in a few days, the longest silence since they first started going out. It scared her a little. She didn't want to lose him, but she couldn't see how to bridge the growing divide.

She was still reeling from the outpouring of memories surrounding her step-mother's insanity towards her, the first time she'd inspected herself, the psychological and physical abuse. She had wanted to talk to Patti about it, but somehow needed to keep it for herself for a little while longer. She had thought hard about how her exhibitionism in college must have stemmed directly from that weeklong torture, but she was frightened by how completely she had forgotten the entire thing.

A text message startled her. It was from him. Join me for a weekend away? I've got a board meeting at Grey's Point. Could be fun...

The message only intensified her internal struggle...Grey's Point. Four star resort at the beach. Weather was going to be fantastic...and then she thought about their situation...Didn't he realize she was struggling? Did he even notice they hadn't talked in days? Did it seem strange to him, that for weeks they'd been fucking like bunnies practically every other night, and now, a week had gone by and nothing? Was he so engrossed in his own shit he didn't think about what might be going on between them?

Along with the upwelling questions, she felt her anger grow. Oh how good it would feel to just call him and let him have it. She picked up the phone and called Carole instead. She hadn't told her anything that had happened in the last week. As the line rang she got up to shut her office door.

"Hey, sweetheart, how's things?" As usual, Carole's jauntiness struck a discordant tone.

"Hi. I needed to talk to you."

"What's up. You sound like shit..." She paused, and then, "Oh shit. You told him."

"Yeah. I told him. But..."

"...did he freak out? Are you okay? Should we meet for lunch?"

"...he didn't freak out, and he's just such a great guy, and yet...Carole...it's just too weird. I can't tell you everything...but...well, it gets really weird...that's all."

"What's going on? Now you have to tell me. Start from the beginning...so how did it come up?"

Marcie wasn't sure how to sanitize the whole experience, given she felt a legal obligation to keep the device a secret, but the whole thing revolved around it; it was in the center of the whole damn mess. She danced around it until Carole pushed her...

"He...he has a camera..."

Carole paused; Marcie could see the gears turning..."Holy. Shit. He...he taped you? Doing it? But...didn't you know? Wow...whoa."

Marcie didn't want to throw him under the bus, but the way Carole was reacting it was as if Monty was the pervert, not her.

"It's not quite like that, Carole. You make him sound like a real creep. I...didn't know...but he told me...it's way more complicated than I can tell you...but the point is, he told me first, and then I told him, and then...well, I'm not really sure what to do now. We haven't seen each other for almost a week, and now...well, now he's invited me to Grey's Point for the weekend...and I'm not sure why I should go."

"Wait. Wait. Let me get this straight. For reasons you can't explain, which I frankly don't understand, the guy isn't a creep for secretly filming you having sex, you aren't prepared to dump him, he apparently loves that you like to exhibit yourself, and remind me...he's loaded, right? Sister, I'm not sure what the issues are, but a weekend at Grey's Point? I'll go instead of you. How's that?"

Marcie laughed a little. "Mmmm, hmmm. No. I'm sorry. I can't tell you because it's a technology he's working with and I've signed an NDA...now stop it! Please, let me finish. Anyway, yes, I'm really confused. I asked him to go see Patti, and he did -- just today, and she's told me he's really into me, and...shit.. I don't know."

"Patti said, 'he's really into you'?"

"Okay, look, I'm seeing her tomorrow and she's got something to propose...but she's assured me he's not a creep, so I guess I'll trust her on that one. But, it just feels like if I go with him this weekend I'm not much better than a high-priced call-girl. Really. If the only reason I'm hanging around with the guy is because he's loaded, that's just prostitution."

"Yeah. That's it. You're the slut 'cause you're falling for a guy who actually digs you, and by the way who's wealthier than God. So yeah. Definitely tell him no. Not a good idea to keep seeing him."

She could hear her tsking in the background, and Carole was right. She was being an idiot, again. Why can't I trust the world isn't out to get me? She had a fleeting thought to share with her her latest revelations about her step-mother but bit her tongue.

"Thanks, Carole. As usual you put the proper light on things. No..no, I'm serious. I deserved it. I'm an idiot. I just can't believe this guy is for reals. Yeah. I'll let you know what I decide, but why the fuck shouldn't I go to Grey's Point with Mr. Hard On?"

* - * - * - *

"Monty?" She felt so shy all of a sudden. They hadn't talked in days, and it was as if she were back in middle school. She was practically shaking from nerves.

"So, shall I send the car to your office, around lunchtime on Friday?" He seemed completely unperturbed by their week-long hiatus.

"Lunch...how about 1? Does that give us enough time to get there? Wait a minute...car? Aren't you driving?"

"I'll explain when I pick you up. 1PM. Perfect. See you tomorrow. Oh, there's a dinner on Saturday night, if you don't have something to wear, we can pick you up something at the resort. Be prepared for some time at the beach too. I'll be busy during the afternoons, but the mornings are wide open."

The way he said the last part sent a small shiver through her. She could see herself spread wide open for him...every morning. She shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"See you."

* - * - * - *

"Ms. Adams?" The man's voice was silky smooth. "Your car is waiting downstairs when you're ready."

It was 12:45. Way too early. "Okay. I'm going to be a few minutes, though. I'll be down at 1."

"No problem. We'll be here."

She quickly finished up, not satisfied at how much she still had to do. It was going to be a rough Monday, but how often did a girl get to go on an all-expense paid weekend at Grey's Point? She signed out of her system, turned off the lights and waved a few hesitant so longs as she exited the office. She had to swing by her car in the garage to pick up her suitcase.

As she left the lobby, she saw a sleek black town car parked in the drop-off zone, the driver, smartly dressed in a black suit, leaning on the hood chatting with some building personnel. As she approached, he swiftly stood up and took her bag. He loomed over her by at least a head, maybe more, his shoulders broader than a house. He had to weigh three times her. A linebacker was all she could think of. His smile was disarming; he effortlessly took her bag while opening the back door.

She slid in to an empty back seat of a nicely appointed limousine. It wasn't a stretch, but the leather seats were cushy and it was quiet. She noted the full bar and thought it was still a little early to be drinking. She was disappointed to see Monty wasn't in the car and.

She rolled down the window before the driver got in. "Ummm. Excuse me. I don't even know your name..."

"Jim, ma'am."

"Jim, will Dr. Green be joining us? And please call me Marcie"

"Yes. Dr. Green is our next stop."

He got behind the wheel and pulled away.

She realized, in the couple of months they had been dating, she'd never been to any of Monty's businesses, not counting his restaurants.

She dropped the window separating the driver from the back. "Will it be long?" She could review more of the files she'd taken with her, but frankly didn't want to get into it if it was only going to be a few minutes.

"About 10 minutes is all, Marcie. Feel free to make yourself a drink; there's some nuts and candies in the fridge there as well." He looked at her in the review mirror to see if she was okay.

"Thanks, Jim." She decided to check the thing out, having only been in a stretch once in her life -- after prom -- and then there were so many kids in the car she could barely get a look at anything at all.

She realized she was nervous. It was like their first date all over again. The week had changed everything: his invention, his lack of concern about her problem, her memory of her first time...when maybe her hang-ups all began...his proposal with Patti...and all of the sex they'd had. She blushed thinking back on it and it had only been a week. The memories flooded into her mind -- the massage, the first time they made love, the first time in the shower...the visions in the dungeon...no...basement!

She knew she should stop thinking about all of their times together, but she couldn't; she was horny. She hadn't had any for a week and after months of some of the most intense sex she'd had in her life, she was hooked. The thought of his erection made her wriggle. She wondered how long she could take it before she attacked him.

She lingered again on the confrontation with her step-mom; a memory she had spent years suppressing. Maybe there was something to what Monty was suggesting -- she'd only seen two alternate pasts that night and it pulled one of the key moments in her past out from under a garbage dump of guilt and shame.

She looked out the window as the car entered a parking lot of a non-descript set of low-slung industrial buildings. No names on the buildings suggested one of two things to her: there were no "named" tenants, or the tenants valued their privacy. The driver turned between two of the buildings and then turned right into an underground garage. As the car passed through the doors, Marcie noted several uniformed men stationed on either side of the entrance. To her alarm they were brandishing semi-automatic rifles.

What the fuck is going on?

The driver continued through to a ramp in the center of the garage and spiraled down three levels, exiting onto a brightly lit floor. They traveled back the way they had come; as far as Marcie could tell, they were driving much further than where the entrance should have been. Finally, he stopped at a set of glass doors she assumed were the elevator entrance.

"If you'll just wait here a minute, Marcie, I'll let Dr. Green know we've arrived."

She sat looking at the gleaming cars parked throughout the floor, wondering where she was exactly. She was about to get out and look around when the two of them returned. She looked up to see Monty's face, to see if any emotion registered there that was close to what she was feeling. The smile that greeted her was so genuine and so sincere, her concerns melted away congratulating herself on ignoring her idiotic concerns.

He slid in next to her and before she could say a thing planted his lips on hers. She moved to embrace him, feeling his hands run up her ribs grazing her breasts. She would gladly have fucked him right then and there, except for the small matter of Jim. She was certain he'd seen it all, but he hadn't seen her all, and she wasn't going to let that happen. She could control herself until the hotel room...maybe.

She pulled out of the kiss just as Jim pulled away from the elevators. "What is going on here, Monty? Did I see armed guards at the front door? And why the car and driver?"

He set his attaché case into a pocket and sat back. "Did you make yourself a drink? It's a little early, but I've got nothing until tomorrow at 2PM, so it wouldn't bother me to toss a couple back."

She shook her head, but indicated he was more than welcome to partake.

"This particular board meeting is a little more sensitive than the usual. A few government types who prefer to keep their high priced assets under slightly greater security when they all come together under one roof. We had a preliminary meeting with a task force here this week, and now several of us are getting together at Grey's Point...you met Jim?" He gestured to the hulk taking up most of the front seat.

"Yesss...Impressive. Body guard?"

He half smiled. "Yep. Nice guy. Been with us for several years. Hate to see him hurt. Hate to see him hurt someone else for that matter. Thankfully nothing's happened in all these years, and I don't expect anything this weekend, but I can understand how it might be a bit unnerving. I think I'll make myself a drink, speaking of unnerving..."

* - * - * - *

She'd never been to Grey's Point -- it was way out of her league and she'd never had a reason -- no golf tournament, no awards banquet, no major conference she'd been invited to attend. As they approached the main building up a winding drive, the road bordered with manicured beds of flowers, she could already smell the ocean. It appeared briefly and then was hidden by a grove of trees or the main building itself.

She looked at the sprawling structure, several stories high but styled as an English cottage -- rough sawn shingles, details around the windows, the roof slanting down -- and realized it was much larger than it appeared. It was composed of two wings joined to a central block for the main entrance and a large covered arrival area. Jim swung the car into place and she looked out the windows to the landscaping. One of the hotel personnel opened her door waiting patiently for her to emerge.

Monty had already swung his legs out, grabbing his attaché on the way. She followed suit, a little overwhelmed by all of the attention already being paid to her. Is this what it would be like living with him? She shut down the train of thought, following him to the lobby.

A man greeted him as he walked in the door, handing Monty a folder and a set of keys. They chatted briefly, and then Monty introduced her to him. "This is Jim Saunders...there appear to be a lot of Jims today, eh? If there's anything you need while you're here, Jim can help you. Here's his contact information; he's available 24 hours a day."

She took the card and looked up at the two of them, a little confused. "But, I ..."

"It's a working weekend, as I mentioned. We'll have plenty of time until about 2PM tomorrow, but after that, you might find yourself alone for several hours."

She nodded slightly, still a little mystified. She could find a number of ways to entertain herself in this place, she was certain, but apparently if all else failed, she had Jim.

They entered the elevators, their suitcases already having been taken up. As the elevator doors closed she took a glance at the lobby: marble and fresh flowers everywhere, the concierge and reception desks a deep mahogany, and the smell of the ocean permeating the air.

She was silent, thinking about her new status with him -- his "date" for a business weekend. Perhaps the others had their husbands and wives with them, maybe others had dates too. Her thoughts drifted to the conversation she'd had with Patti -- that he had suggested a novel method of treating her disorder. Patti wasn't completely convinced, although she told Marcie the philosophy behind it was sound, and that there were therapies based on it she had read about. But she was more than a little concerned: Monty was not an objective third party; he had his own agendas and in spite of his apparent neutrality regarding Marcie's condition, he wasn't a trained therapist and was romantically involved with her. She had agreed to let him proceed only as long as Marcie was okay with it.

Marcie wasn't sure what it was, but it had something to do with the device. Since that wasn't part of the weekend plans, she set her worries aside following him out to the hall. Therapy could wait until next week. A concierge was waiting at their door, welcoming them in.

When she turned into the doorway, the view struck her like a bucket of water. The entire front of the suite faced the ocean, floor to ceiling glass, completely filled by the dark blue of the ocean greeting the light blue of the sky.

The suite was huge -- a main sitting area with tables and chairs, a small bar and an entertainment area. Off to the right she could see the main bedroom, and off to the left another door to a room whose purpose she couldn't imagine.

She'd only seen hotel rooms like this in movies. She was moving slowly through it all; as if in a dream. She realized, after several moments, Monty had been asking her something. The concierge had already left. They were alone.

"I'm sorry. I've just been distracted by this room. This is amazing!"

He smiled at her. "I was saying I'm going to unpack and then I was wondering if you wanted to hit the beach for a couple of hours."

She followed him into the bedroom.

Their suitcases had been placed on separate stands. There was more storage than in her own bedroom at home. She unzipped her small bag and placed the few items she'd packed into the top drawer of a bureau.

"I think I mentioned this, right? There will be a formal dinner tomorrow night...?"

She practically died. She hadn't brought anything close to formal. Her anger started to build. "Monty, you had said there was a dinner, but nothing about it being formal..."

He didn't let her get far. "It's okay. Not to worry. There's a shop off the lobby -- I'm sure they can fit you with something. If not, we'll figure something else out."

She was more than a little pissed. What else wasn't he telling her? "Formal. Tomorrow night. Okay. What else?" She tried to breathe through the annoyance.

"That's the only group event. Here's the agenda..." He tossed the folder onto the bed towards her. "Sunday we'll likely have brunch with a bunch of the folks, and then we have an afternoon session. Check out is at 1PM -- but we're welcome to use the facilities all the way into the evening. It's up to us when we leave."

"I think before we hit the beach we better see whether they have something for me to wear, don't you think?" She had finished unpacking, taking her toiletry bag to the bathroom. More marble, A gorgeous shower, separate toilet and a bath. The annoyance was rapidly replaced with sheer wonder. She was sorry they only had a couple of days there.

"Great idea," he called to her from the bedroom, "but let's get into our suits -- they won't mind fitting you in your swimsuit."

She didn't doubt it, as it was a beach resort, but the idea made her a little uncomfortable. The difference between trying on a formal dress and wearing a bikini was almost too much for her to bridge. As she came back into the room he was already undressed, his cock swinging from side to side.

"Now that's a pretty sight." She giggled as he thrust his pelvis forward, making his penis bounce.

"I'd say we could do a quickie, but I don't want to miss the sun. Quick get into your suit."

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching her undress. It sent a bolt of electricity up her spine, taking off her clothes for him in this strange room, the entire wall open to anyone who might be walking on the beach beyond. She knew they couldn't see her, but she felt self-conscious nonetheless. Her nipples hardened at the thought and the electricity turned into a small vibration in her groin.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 07



She stood naked in front of the bureau, opening the drawer to retrieve her bikini. She knew he was watching her, taking in her ass cheeks, her bare back and she loved it. She half expected him to come up behind her and take her in his arms, his hands stroking her breasts. When she looked over her shoulder at him, he was still on the bed, but the bulge in his suit was evident.

She threw on her bikini and cast him a look that said "I'm ready."

"They have towels downstairs, but the rules say we have to be covered when we go through the lobby." He opened a closet and pulled out two robes, tossing one to her. "Let's go get you a dress."

The shop appeared like any other she'd seen in hotels, until she started looking at the merchandise. Designer dresses in all styles, colors and sizes. She couldn't believe the selection. Or the prices. She looked up at him after seeing a price tag of $1500. "I hope you aren't expecting something special for this..." She made it sound as if she was his whore. It wasn't lost on him.

"Don't worry about the price, just find something you like. And you being here is already something special." He turned away to look at cuff links, watches and other accessories in the cases letting her browse.

"Where can I try these on?" She asked the young woman who had come over to help her. Turning to him she said, "I'll be back in a minute."

He watched her enter the dressing room and took a seat by the mirrors. Momentarily she returned, dressed in a short black dress, with a high neckline and not much definition. It didn't look good on her at all. He shook his head even before she could see it in the mirror and once she did, she made a gagging sound, giggling. The second dress was a shimmering blue and peach full-length gown.

When she took a look, she laughed again. "I look like a peacock!"

The third dress was spectacular -- a simple black sheath, full-length, tailored to fit her body. It was backless and he could see she wasn't wearing her bikini top. She looked like a million bucks. As he watched her turning in front of the mirror, he realized it needed one minor adjustment.

He came up behind her, whispering in her ear.

She looked at him, and around at the shop to see who else was there. The young woman was helping another couple at the front of the store; they were alone in the back.

"I can't!" She hissed.

"It looks like crap with them on. We have to see it without them." He didn't wait, but reached down, to lift the hem and slip his hand up to her bikini bottoms. With a quick movement he slid them off, letting the dress drop. Folding them into his palm he stepped back. "Much better," he assured her, taking stock.

She stood in front of the mirror admiring herself. Only this thin fabric hid her nakedness from anyone looking their way. She realized she would have to find some sheer underwear and pantyhose if she didn't want to ruin the lines of the dress. It looked like it was painted on her, her body clearly outlined by the design.

"I think it fits you perfectly. No adjustments required, except for this..." He motioned to the bunched bikini in his hand. "Let's go to the beach."

He followed her back into the dressing room and watched her slide the dress off. As she pulled it over her head he looked at her, her bush neatly trimmed into a small landing strip, her small breasts poking up. He couldn't resist the urge to lean over and kiss them, startling a small shriek out of her.

"Stop it!" She whispered, pushing him away.

She grabbed her top from a hook and slipped it on, putting out her hand to request the bottoms from him.

"I'll need some shoes, but I can look for those tomorrow." She slipped her bottoms up and stood up to kiss him. "I can't believe this is happening."

As he paid for the dress and the woman wrapped it up, Marcie browsed through the shoes. There appeared to be a wide selection of possibilities and she figured she could find something while he was in his meeting.

"Let's go," he took her arm. "She'll hold it here for when you want to come back to try on shoes."

They laid out their towels on the sand. It was bright and she hadn't brought her sunglasses. Squinting against the white sand and shading her eyes, she scanned the beach and the ocean. It was like a fairytale -- the waves crashing in their constant rhythm, the beach almost deserted, the small knots of people grouped around the refreshment stands or kayak vendor. She sat back on the towel and let the sun soak into her, holding his hand in hers. If this is what it would be like to live with him, why would I question it for a second?

They stayed out for about an hour, the late afternoon sun was warm but not intense. She was concerned about being burned, having forgotten her sun block back at the room. Her porcelain white complexion did not handle a lot of sun well. It took her weeks to get a tan, and only then by carefully limiting the amount of exposure she got each day. This was one of the first days she'd been out, and she swore silently to herself she'd been so stupid.

He, on the other hand, had a swarthy complexion -- it was obvious he only needed to be in the sun for a few minutes to get a tan. She looked at him as she turned over for the umpteenth time and realized how much in love she was with him. All of the confusion of the past week dimmed in comparison to the surge of feelings she had for him in the moment. Along with that realization came the urge to make love to him and she knew it was time to go in. She pressed her fingers into her skin to see if she was getting burned. It was just a little shade of pink. Definitely time to go.

"Monty, I've got to go in. I forgot sun-block and I'll be burned to a crisp if I'm not careful. Besides, I think I need to see you out of that suit..." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"I think that can be arranged. Let's check out that shower, hmmm?"

Within moments of returning to the room she had stripped him of his suit, running her fingers on his semi-stiff cock. Before he could remove her suit she knelt in front of him, taking his member into her mouth. She spit it out laughing. "Uggghhh. Sand! Let's get you washed off."

One hand on his cock, pulling him into the bathroom, she used the other hand to peel her suit off as best she could. He helped when it was obvious she couldn't do it alone. They turned on the shower together, letting the stream get hot. There were two jets, one on each side of the glassed enclosure. She pulled him into it, making sure to thoroughly rinse the sand off his now stiff penis.

"Mmmm, that's better." She said pulling her mouth off of him before swallowing him again. He looked down to see her hair wet from the shower's stream, rivulets of water cascading off his belly onto her cheeks, her mouth full of his cock. He let his hands rest on her head, moving with her but not forcing her one way or the other. Her hands moved from his balls back to his ass cheeks, opening them to let the water run inside his crack. He needed to enter her and tapped her shoulder to get her attention.

"Come on up for a sec."

She looked disappointed wanting to pull an orgasm from him with her mouth. Before she could say anything, he lifted her up and she naturally wrapped her legs around him. Settling her down, his cock pushed at her vagina, but she wasn't wet enough to let it slide in.

"Damn. I guess I'll need to get you a little more ready, hmmm?" He set her down and this time he knelt down in front of her, spreading her legs to give him access to her. She put her hands on the side of the shower to steady herself as his tongue licked her clit, his lips sucking lightly on her cunny. It was heavenly; she closed her eyes and rocked with him as he gently moved back and forth across her.

His fingers worked their magic, moving inside her thighs, building her arousal. She let out a moan.

"That's a little better, I think." He stood back up part of the way, standing in a "chair" position and pulled her onto him. As he straightened his legs, his cock slipped into her easily until he was fully penetrating her up to the hilt.

She felt like a leaf; he lifted her without any effort. He moved inside her, shifting his legs and lifting her slightly with his arms. She embraced him, relaxing against his shoulder letting the droplets hit her back like small pebbles. God I could just leave everything for this man...

She didn't think she could come this way, in spite of how great it felt, but she didn't need him to stop. She just moved with him, rubbing her hands down his back, feeling his tight ass cheeks and imagining a day when he would erupt inside her, sharing the ultimate intimacy he seemed to be withholding.

* - * - * - *

"Tomorrow's dinner will be catered, and even though the chef here is great, a catered dinner for 100 is never as good as a meal for two. There are four restaurants here, each is great, but I would like you to try Chez. Would that be okay?"

They were both lounging in the room, naked after the shower. She was lying face down on the bed, looking at the various throwaway magazines describing all of the local events and so on. She looked over at him, standing at the closet, his nearly hairless body like a Greek statue and she just sighed.

"Okay? Uhhh, yes. That would be 'Okay.'" She couldn't think of a nicer place to eat, given the menu she'd just read. She knew he was staring at her, her legs spread open, her pussy exposed to him. She moved subtly, to give him a better view, but not to let him know she knew he was staring.

He had moved to the bed before she realized it, spreading her open further, forcing a laugh and a protest from her. "Monty! We just did it. You can't be serious!" His tongue was deep inside her, his strong hands on her thighs keeping her open. She couldn't stop him, and she didn't want to, but the "attack" took her by surprise. And then...and then he did something, she didn't know what, but all of a sudden her entire core was lit up and she groaned from whatever he was doing.

"Oh god, Monty. Don't stop...whatever...don't stop...god...god...god..." and she found herself climaxing on his face, the pent up frustration from the shower released in an intense flood. She gripped the bedcovers and rode the waves as they passed through her.

At dinner, he introduced her to several other couples who had arrived early. Their names didn't mean anything to her, but when they were seated he explained who each were. CEO of that company, lead scientist of another, head of security for a small nation...he rattled them off as much to watch her reaction as to underscore the insanity of the weekend.

"Do you actually talk to these people or are you...I don't know...just a vendor?" She wasn't sure what she was trying to say, but she didn't know him in this situation and couldn't imagine what he actually did all day. The fact he was worth 11 billion dollars echoed in her brain.

He looked at her amused. "Yes...I actually talk to them, and they actually like to hear what I have to say." He smiled, teasing her.

"That was stupid, I know. If I'm going to keep dating you, I think I'll need to take some classes on proper etiquette...the air is a little rare up here." She fanned her face exaggerating her point.

"That can be arranged, if you really need it. But I only told you half of the stories." He caught her eye in a meaningful way and she quieted. "She," pointing subtly with his nose and eyebrow to the dinner partner of a military man, "enjoys being naked in public whenever she gets the chance." She looked up at him sharply trying to detect any hidden motive. "Seriously, she is quite open about it. She has enough presence of mind to be properly dressed in here, but I have seen her with far more abandon in far more formal contexts....But wait, there's more.

"She, " nodding to a gorgeous middle-aged woman who was likely a model, "will be fucking three different men tonight, and possibly their dates as well."

She giggled at the thought, feeling a jolt of arousal. "How do you know all of this?"

"I need to know as much about my partners and competition as I can if I'm going to trust them in business. It's part of the cost of doing business."

She ate her salad, quietly chewing on his words. What did he know about her? What had he known about her all along? She stopped and looked up at him. "Monty...please tell me that you really did just bump into me that day...that it wasn't some artificial ruse..."

"It wasn't an accident, and it wasn't planned. I knew nothing about you before we ran into each other, and I never spent a single resource learning more about you than what you've told me. Let me ask you...is there something I should know you haven't already told me?"

Her immediate thought was that there wasn't. Not now that he knew about her situation. He knew everything she was most worried about. And then she remembered her step-mother. She wasn't ready to share that with him yet. The thought of the impending "therapy" surfaced.

"Probably," she gave him a wicked smile. "Seriously, you know my biggest secret now. Something I've never told anyone outside my therapist and the thousands of others who've..." she quieted her voice, "seen me." She took another forkful of lettuce.

"Are you willing to face your demons with me? We've not discussed your conversation with Patti. Would now be a good time?"

She wasn't certain it was a good time. She had been so relaxed and enjoying the evening. The thought of her immersion as she understood it cramped her stomach a little. "Actually, if it's okay with you, I'd prefer to enjoy the good food and company. Your plans for me can wait a little, yeah?" The way she said it made it sound as if she'd relinquished control of her destiny to him, a prospect she wasn't entirely opposed to but was surprised by, nonetheless. The thought of being his prostitute came up again. There's something changing here...

"I've no interest in rushing things. We'll take them at whatever pace feels best." He took a sip of wine, studying her over the glass.

Later, much later, lying in bed after making love, she luxuriated in the feel of the sheets against her legs, the humid beach air flowing in from the open doors leading onto the balcony. It was a moonless night, she could barely see the stars through the glass. He was out there, asking her to join him.

"Come on," he poked his head in the room, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's beautiful."

She loved to look at him -- the muscles in his legs, the way his cock hung down, the dark patch of pubic hair framing it. He was leaning against the door jamb, looking like a naked James Dean. She got up and joined him.

"Feel this air." He wrapped his arm around her waist and walked her out onto the balcony. They were on the top floor, facing the beach. Except for a few lights in the landscaping below, the place was in total darkness. She figured it was almost 2 AM. Even so, she felt exposed, the ocean breeze brushing past her nipples a constant reminder of how naked she was. She looked down, tentatively. Who could see her up here? Was there someone awake, just sitting in their room, out of sight of her, able to see her clearly? She wasn't cold, but she felt the need to wrap her arms around her breasts.

"Come over here and look." He brought her all the way to the balustrade and pointed out over the ocean. She put her hands down to steady herself, realizing she was now exposed completely. A shiver went through her at the thought of someone seeing her. This is so wrong. In spite of her mental admonitions, her body wasn't listening. She could feel her arousal growing.

The ocean was shimmering with phosphorescent waves. She gasped as she watched the slivery green light wind through the surf and out towards the horizon. For the moment she forgot she was naked and marveled at a phenomenon she had only read about.   

"It's beautiful!" She looked at him to share the wonder and saw he was staring at her.

His right hand came down to her cheeks, pulling her closer to him, his left hand moved behind her neck as he leaned into a kiss. She didn't resist even as she realized he was going to make love to her out in the open. She wrestled with his tongue, darting into and out of his mouth as she felt his hand begin to play with her, opening her up, stroking her. She moaned, frightened for a moment where this might lead but too excited to protest. Slut!

He brought his left hand between them to stroke her breasts, pinching her nipples slightly. She moaned again into his mouth and he pulled away.

"Hold onto the rail," he turned her to face the ocean, her body now on view to whomever might be looking. "Tell me to fuck you. I love it when you tell me to fuck you."

She had never heard him like this. She opened her mouth to say something, but he had spread her legs, forcing his fingers into her, his thumb grazing her asshole.

"Please...Monty...not...ohhh...not...please...." She held onto the rail as he stroked her.

"Ask me to fuck you." He continued to force himself into her with his fingers, his thumb threatening to push into her rectum. She was pressed against the handrail looking out over the darkened beach and knew what it looked like to anyone who might see them. A bubble of arousal exploded inside her.

"Monty...please...noo..oohh..god....yes..yesss...please. Fuck me. Monty, please fuck me!" She hissed it out, not wanting to be heard.

He spread her legs open and she could feel his dick against her cheeks.

"Yes, put your hard cock in me, Monty. Fuck me in front of everyone. Fuck me! Agrghh....yessss."

He slipped his cock into her, pushing hard until she was almost lifted off the ground. He held her there, wrapping his arms under hers, pulling her back to expose her completely to the elements and to anyone who might be up. She couldn't control her moaning; the sound of it sending waves of humiliation through her even as the motion of his cock inside her stoked her arousal.

He held her like this for what seemed like an eternity and then slowly let her down, pumping her in a rhythm that raised her to the brink and brought her back. Minutes passed, his hands stroking her breasts, his lips kissing her neck and cheeks. She was a limp rag doll, a fuck toy for him, even though she knew she wouldn't feel his come, that he could do this all night, that it wasn't for him but for her. She gripped the rail as a wave passed through her almost bringing her over the top, forcing another moan from her.

"Please, Monty. Make me come. Bring it on, baby. I need to feel it...yes, that's it, fuck me with your hard cock." She knew the words were more for her than for him, but she could feel him get harder when she said them. She kept up the stream, humiliating herself, exposing herself, making her the cunt she knew she was secretly inside. The cunt she knew he knew she was. And then it erupted inside her -- a shower, a fountain of an orgasm, flowing up and into her head, down and into her toes and she cried out, loud enough she knew the neighbors could hear (if there were any) and she gripped the rail as it coursed through her. Fuck...how does he do this? Why do I let him do this to me?

As the waves receded she came to her senses, a sense of shame flowing to take its place. "Please, Monty. Let me go back inside."

He lifted her up, his cock still hard and deep inside her, and carried her back to the bed where he maneuvered her under him. He slowly pumped in and out of her, gently rocking her back into a warm glow, the semi-security of the hotel room shielding her from her shame and humiliation. Within a few moments she felt his shuddering and longed once again for him to truly come inside her.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 07



She hugged him tightly to her, trying to melt into his spasming body to take as much of his orgasm as she could and she went over the top, just a little.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 08



She awoke the next morning, alone in the bed, the sheets a mess around her. She looked out to see a gorgeous day, the sun was up, the balcony was empty. She shuddered at the memory of the night's escapade and suppressed the growing sense of shame and arousal.

Voices outside the bedroom door sparked a reaction to cover herself up. Feeling vulnerable she raced out of bed to grab a robe before listening more closely.

Realizing it was Monty, likely talking to a hotel staff, she opened the door quietly and saw a breakfast cart laid out in the front room.

"I just love hotel rooms. I don't know why...I guess because they have such anonymity...they give you license to do things you'd never do at home." He was smiling at her even as he untied his robe and let it fall. "Let's eat naked!"

She smiled at his boyish enthusiasm and let him remove her robe, feeling the tingling of exposure even if it was just for him. He invited her to sit with him.

"I've got to pee first, sweetie...I'll be right there." She realized the term of endearment was the first she'd uttered, hiding her self-consciousness by turning back to the bathroom.

Aren't we getting domestic? She thought about her comfort with announcing "I've got to pee," and her discomfort at calling him sweetie, and then her further discomfort at the stinging of her urine flowing across her labia. How much did we do it last night? And then the memory of being exposed on the balcony, but more importantly, the way he had forced himself into her, forced her to shout out and beg him to fuck her. It all came rushing back along with her urine. She dabbed lightly at herself, feeling the intensity of their lovemaking echoing through her.

You are turning into his slut. The thought appeared in her mind for the umpteenth time in two days and it frightened her a little. It must be true. She still felt their relationship was so unbalanced; she'd never wanted to be dependent on a man and here she was moving within circles she couldn't have even imagined two months ago.

It could still be innocent. She tried to argue against the idea of being his mistress. She'd had lovers ask her to talk dirty before, but this was so different. Monty hadn't been like that until last night...and his playfulness just now with the robes off for breakfast. Maybe there was something about being in a hotel room...Maybe it had something to do with the therapy...and maybe she was just his little whore.

He prepared his coffee and toast, looking out over the ocean and thoroughly enjoying himself. When she returned he let his eyes travel over her, soaking in her beauty, the way her hips curved to meet her waist, the perfect proportion of her breasts and that wonderful, gorgeous neck.

"I could look at you all my life," he said, welcoming her to the table.

She blushed at the idea of him staring at her, and at his complement, or was it at sitting naked in a hotel room performing a normal daily activity like sipping coffee? She couldn't meet his gaze for a moment, overcome with a sense of shame...and damn arousal. What's he doing to me? Is this going to go on all weekend?

"So," he said between sips, "Do you have anything you really want to do this morning before we have to go our separate ways?" Their knees touched under the table, reminding her of being exposed.

"I was hoping we could hit the beach before it got too hot...what time is it, anyway?"

"Excellent. This place has the best beaches in the cove. 8:30."

"Do you think it'll be warm enough to go right after breakfast? When do you need to get back?"

"I got a text that the meeting at 2PM got moved up to a lunch, so I'm afraid I'm going to abandon you a little earlier than I had hoped. And yes, it's already pretty warm out there."

They quickly finished, threw on their suits and headed out.

"What should I do, do you think?" She walked beside him, her feet sinking beneath the warm surface of the beach to the cooler wet sand below.

"Hell, there's so much to do...oh you knew that, you read the literature....well, I've only ever been here for meals and meetings. I have had a massage at the spa -- I'd highly recommend that -- and there's always the possibility of renting a boat and going fishing or sailing..."

He was leading them away from the area demarked by the hotel to a narrow strip of beach abutting the cliffs. She was curious why they weren't just plunking down in front of the hotel -- it wasn't as if there crowds.

"Look at that," he pointed excitedly out to the horizon. "I think I saw a whale spout."

She turned to look even as she kept walking, trying to avoid the rocks from the cliff and the waves coming on shore. The strip continued for several dozen yards, eventually broadening into a crescent shaped cove completely separate from the hotel side. As they passed the strip she saw a sign just off to her right but it was already out of her field of vision before she could read it.

She looked out to sea again and saw a faint wisp of mist off to the...south, she figured, based on the sun. She pointed and confirmed she had seen it too.

He had gotten a little ahead of her, choosing a spot up from the waves and tucked a little back from the neck of beach they'd just crossed.

She trudged up and laid her towel down next to his. Looking back she couldn't even see the strip where they had just come from. It looked like the waves had already come up to the rocks.

"Are we going to be able to get back okay?" She sat down on the towel and got out her lotion.

"No problem. High tide is in about 20 minutes and that strip will open up again in about 2 hours. You could still walk it if you needed to, but it should be nice and quiet in the meantime. Here, let me help you."

He took the bottle and poured a generous amount in his palm, rubbing it into her shoulders, and that neck. As he moved the lotion around, he came to the strap of her bathing suit, moving it aside, until finally tiring of dealing with it, unsnapped it.

She giggled and shrieked a little at the surprise, reaching her hands up to stop it from falling from her breasts. "Monty!"

"It's okay," he laughed, stroking her bare back with the excess lotion. "Let it drop. There's no one here, and there won't be anyone for a few hours."

She hesitated for a moment, holding her top against her breasts. "Monty, I...I'm not..." She turned her head to look at him.

He continued to rub lotion down her back, along her sides and up her ribs. "Come on. Help me get you oiled up."

He put down the lotion and gently pulled on her hands, pulling her top away. She looked down to see her nipples harden, whether from the light breeze, the exposure itself, or the feeling of submission that briefly registered. A pulse of arousal pinched at her groin.

His hands came around, the lotion cold to her skin. He rubbed his palms on her small breasts and by the way he was circling his hands, she knew he was enjoying feeling her hard nipples. His hands worked their way down her stomach, like last night pulling her back into him, exposing her to the air. Even though she knew they were alone, she couldn't stop the feeling of being watched. And the growing itch it was causing between her legs. Again, the idea she was his slut raced across her mind.

When his hands came down to her bikini bottoms she stopped him and turned to face him.

"Monty. I...I really need to talk with you."

He looked at her, as usual his face betrayed little emotion, but his eyes were curious.

"I...Haven't you wondered what's been going on this week? I mean...we haven't seen each other and then, last night..." She hoped he would fill in the blanks and help her.

He just shook his head slightly, looking confused, prompting her to continue.

"I mean...the way we...what we did on the balcony. It was..." She flapped her hands trying to get it out..."It was...intense." She cursed herself silently for being so stupid.

He raised his eyebrows and looked down at her breasts, his hands wiping the remnant of lotion on the skin just under her nipples. He unsnapped his trunks and slid them down to his knees, performing a complex maneuver getting them off.

She looked at his cock -- it was getting stiff again and she couldn't help but lick her lips.

"Intense." He said, laying his trunks aside and facing her again on his knees.

"You know," she kept looking between his erection and his face. "When you...forced yourself into me..."

"Wait a sec. Forced myself into you? I don't remember forcing anything into you. Didn't you want to make love last night? Weren't you the one who was practically shouting at me to fuck her?" He didn't say it accusingly, he seemed sincerely confused.

It was true, she realized. She had practically begged him to fuck her...he had been teasing her so long she needed him to bring her over the top...but that was later..."I just felt...feel...I just feel like I'm...like you're expecting me to...shit...I feel like I'm a whore." She practically whispered the last phrase, looking down at the sand.

"My whore." He let out a sigh and sank back onto his heels, his hands draping down her sides to her bikini. He worked it down until she was practically exposed, the material bunching up against her heels, stretched across her hips.

She felt even more cheap than if she were naked --the material like a cotton handcuff across her legs, but covering nothing. She rose up and helped him push it down, lifting one knee and then the other sliding it off her feet.

"I'll make a deal," he said, applying more lotion to her hips and buns, his fingers beginning to ply inside her crevices. "I won't bore you with lectures about tantric sex, and you won't get your head all messed up about being anyone's whore. How about," he spread her legs a little making a triangle from her crotch and knees against the towel, "you pretend we are here together on a date, and you are here to have fun?"

"But...really...Monty. What can I give you? You have everything. You're richer than god, you can have anyone in the world. Why me?" She reached up to touch his nipple, lightly stroking him, searching his face for some kind of clue of his feelings. Something flickered in his eyes. Annoyance? Malice? It was there and then it was gone, too fleeting to be sure.

He smiled. "There are a thousand things you can give me -- the pleasure of your company, your laugh, a child." He said the last so quietly she wasn't sure she'd heard it correctly, and his mouth was bent down onto her nipples, sucking at them, sending pulses of electricity into her chest. She pulled on his nipples in frustration trying to keep his attention on the conversation. She moaned.

"Please...Monty. Please....just stop for a second. I'm serious." She managed to push him back up and held his face in front of hers. "What is happening?"

"What do you want to happen?" His fingers reached between her legs, sliding them between her lips, her moisture betraying her. "Is it too difficult to imagine having a wonderful time at a great resort -- no worries, nothing to do but relax, get a tan, have a spa..." He pulled his fingers through her once more and then brought them up between them, sliding them into his mouth. "Mmmmmm, you taste wonderful."

She shuddered at the thought of him eating her and of taking him into her throat. Slut! She couldn't keep her eyes off his erection -- its head was purple, pointing straight up at her, it would only be a small movement to take him deep into her throat.

"But..."she continued to resist the urge...she had to know. "Did...you say child?"

He smiled again, licking his lips. "Child, laughter, your company...a thousand things you can give me. The future is full of promise. But right now, in this present, can't we just enjoy ourselves and not worry about what future we'll become?" He reached over and kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth before she could stop him, his hands holding her shoulders. She could taste herself faintly on his lips.

She wanted him to take her, right then, force himself on her again, like he had last night, and she wanted him to admit that she wasn't anything but a fuck toy, but she wanted to believe it was just here and now, and to just let go of her insanity and enjoy the present. She pushed herself against him, letting her nipples press into his chest, offering herself to him, even as the force of his kiss pushed her head backward.

She could feel herself falling backward and panicked at the thought of breaking her legs. She reached back with her hands onto the towel behind her and stopped their backward motion in a precarious balance. He broke the kiss and tumbled off her, laughing.

She gasped for breath, realizing once again she was stripped naked, exposed to him, exposed to the elements, to anyone who might walk by and she couldn't stop the arousal building inside her.

"Here," he said, reaching for her. "let me help you." He pulled her up gently, letting her get her legs unbent from under her, laying her down onto the towel. Before she could say anything further, he had turned himself around and began kissing her from her navel down towards her slit.

"Monty...wait...please..."

He pulled her legs apart enough to give him access to her cunny and slowly kissed his way between her lips, lingering on her clit with his tongue until she stopped protesting.

"God...Monty...please....no...not out here...someone will...oh god...yes...no...Monty...please...oh yes...shit that feels so great...right there...yes...god...yes."

She looked up to see his erection just over her head and she reached for it, pulling it into her mouth. She wanted it deep inside her throat but she knew she couldn't from this angle. She ran her tongue along the shaft, feeling his warmth, its head pushing against the back of her mouth. She sucked the air out, moving the inside of her cheeks against the sides of it, making a wet velvety pocket. Her orgasm was building from his tongue and fingers; she moved her hands to his ass, pulling it towards her, forcing his cock as deep into her mouth as she could manage.

He pulled away and she moaned, her disappointment muffled by his penis. And then he was back, starting again at the top of her slit and working down until his tongue was deep inside her, his fingers spreading her open. She could feel the budding of her orgasm and she wanted to turn it back onto his cock, moving with the same rhythm, and then he pulled away again.

She pulled him out of her. "Shit! Monty..please...don't stop. Please, baby, you feel so good. Your tongue is like...fuck...it's like magic..." As she rambled, she kissed the tip of his purple head, licking at the hole. She pushed herself down towards his mouth, bending her back a little to give her more room and bent her head back, stretching her neck. She felt his lips against her cunny again and reached for his cock.

She guided it past her lips, along her tongue until she felt it at the top of her throat. Focusing on her breath, she slipped it down, the gagging erupting outside her control, until her throat opened to accept his erection. She moved slowly, using her throat as a substitute vagina, breathing through the gagging, the intensity of his lips against her clit sending bursts of orange arousal up her spine.

Once again he pulled his mouth away, but kept his cock deep in her throat. Slowly he fucked her in and out, pulling it to the top of her throat and then pushing it in. She held his ass cheeks tightly, gagging and drooling around his meat, moaning for him to reciprocate. She could feel him resting on his elbows, his head nowhere near her cunt, as he slowly fucked her throat, leaving her unsatisfied.

She couldn't push him away. She didn't want to push him away. She knew she was his slut and she accepted her role. She wanted nothing more in the world at that moment than to feel him come, to feel his seed burst from him into her throat, but she knew she would be denied even that satisfaction.

In a small part of her brain she also knew he could keep this up all day; that she was at his mercy when he would let her go, and this only added to her certainty that she was nothing more than his fuck toy, his slut for the weekend, and she felt herself getting even more aroused at the thought.

She left her body, floating above them on the sand, watching as he fucked her throat, her legs spread open beneath his face as he drifted back and forth over her, her breasts brushing against his stomach and she didn't fight him; it was her fate to be here, to be his slut, to be the slut she knew she was.

And she realized the voice in her head wasn't hers. She let him fuck her as the realization blossomed around her. Fucking cunt. Fuck-ing cunt. His cock moved slowly in and out with each syllable, and she heard her step-mother abusing her. Slut! FuckIngCunt FuckIngCunt. She lay there, the orgasm ebbing and flowing as his cock fucked her throat, his breath the only force against her swollen lips. God, just let me come...please!

As he pushed into her on the next beat she held him with her hands, the pounding of her heart in rhythm with the sounds of her step-mother's screaming. And as she held him there, something clicked! and her stepmother's voice was gone, replaced by the crashing of the waves and the sound of her blood rushing in her ears. And at that moment, he stiffened and she held him tightly against her as he trembled against her mouth and throat.

He gently pulled out of her, careful not to move too quickly. She could feel tears running down her cheeks and she was surprised.

He lay down next to her, his fingers wiping the tears from her cheeks. "What's going on?" His voice was tender. She could feel his erection against her thigh.

She didn't know. For the second time in a week she'd faced the echo of her stepmother's anger and this time she had silenced it. She was crying as much from relief -- the quiet in her head was like waking up fresh in the morning -- as from the frustration in not coming. Without her stepmother's screaming, she reflected on the idea of being his whore, if not forever at least for the weekend and again she felt a rush of arousal.

Why not? No one knows me here. I could be his $1000 a day escort. What would be the harm? She smiled at the image of her stepmother screaming behind a glass wall, receding into the distance. I am not a slut! But I can play one on T.V. Why not play this up for as long as it lasts? Fuck him if he can't see me for what I'm really worth. If he thinks I'm just his plaything, fuck it, I'll be his plaything!

She turned to him and kissed him, inhaling the aroma of her cunny painted on his face. She wanted to roll over on top of him and slip his hard cock into her, but the memory of how tender she was stopped her. It was one thing to have him licking her; she'd have to wait a little longer to have his dick inside her.

"Are you okay?" He pulled back a little to look at her, his hands slowly rubbing her ribs and breasts.

"I'm great," she said with a sleepy smile. "I love it when you fuck my throat." She kissed him again, the taste of herself sending another jolt up her spine. "I just wish I could have gone over the top."

"I...stopped," he kissed her cheek and eyelids. "It didn't seem like you were ready." He said it with a strange tone.

She looked at him trying to decipher his meaning. "Ready?"

"It just seemed like you were distracted."

"It's okay. I just...well, with how much we've been doing it, I'm feeling a little rough down there, but your tongue...your tongue is so great...I guess I couldn't quite manage to come when I had you so deep in my throat." She kissed him again, pushing her tongue into his mouth tasting herself.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 08



As the intensity passed and her heart beat calmed, the feeling of being watched returned. She sat up, looking around to see if anyone had joined them. Relieved to see the beach was still deserted, she quickly scanned the cliffs.

He sat up and studied her: her breasts dusted with sand, her beautiful neck and stomach, the tiny strip of hair pointing to that beautiful pussy. He was as entranced by her beauty and her sexuality, as he was confused by her fears about being "his whore." He shook his head slightly and got up.

"Come on. Let's get washed off in the ocean."

She took his hand and got up, the feelings of exposure flashing through her. He expected her to walk along the beach, naked. What if someone came? What if a boat could see us? She reluctantly walked next to him, looking at the small strip of beach for any sign of the tide receding.

But even as she was nervous, being naked turned her on. The breeze against her skin, the sun warming her body, the...freedom...of being exposed kept up the back beat of her arousal. As she walked, she felt her lips rubbing slightly, the moisture from his tongue and her juices leaking out a little. It tickled and made her self-conscious, adding to her nakedness.

He put his arm around her as they approached the surf. Before she could protest, he grabbed her and waded into the waves. She pounded against him, trying to stop him, but he was too strong, and in a flash he had dived in with her, the cold salt spray washing over them.

She came up sputtering and laughing, splashing him as soon as she got her balance. She watched his erection, even in the cold of the surf, pointing out from his thicket of hair. Amazingly weird.

They explored the tide pools, tiny octopus spidering out of crevices; crabs scuttling across miniature coves. The sun felt great, drying her skin and permeating her with a sense of calm.

"I have to get back." He brushed her shoulder with his fingers, leaning in for a kiss. "I've got to take a shower and get ready for my meetings. Did you want to stay out here, or come back in?"

They pulled on their suits, gathered their things, and headed back to the hotel. When they crossed the spit of sand, she made a note to look at the sign she'd missed earlier: "Bright's Beach: Clothing optional"

* - * - * - *

As they entered the beach lobby, Monty greeted a woman crossing in front of them.

"Antoinelle! How are you doing?"

Marcie realized it was one of the women he had mentioned the night before at dinner.

"Montee, how nize to tsee you." Her accent, French? was charming.

"Antoinelle, Marcie, Marcie, Antoinelle."

The two women exchanged pleasantries. Marcie quickly realized the other woman was far older than she first appeared -- she had preserved herself incredibly. Although she didn't see any signs of surgery, she had a feeling Antoinelle worked very hard at maintaining her youthful appearance.

"I've really got to go, Marcie. Feel free to visit you two. I'll see you back in the room around 5 to get ready for dinner, yeah?" He kissed her and made his way to the elevators.

"Vere are you going, now?"

"I...I'm not sure. I'm all covered with sand and salt. I had thought I'd take a shower before getting some lunch, and I'll need to buy some shoes for this evening."

"Hmmm..I vas just 'eadingk to zhe spa for a nize massage. Vould you like to join me?"

She had read about the spa and had been thinking about going later in the day. "Is it possible to get lunch there?"

"Uv course, darlingk girl. It iz a full service spa. Come vith me, I vould like zhe company."

"But...ummm. I'm quite a mess." Marcie waved at herself, implying she was covered with sand, and thinking about how she must smell...she realized she hadn't showered in a day and had practically nothing but sex the entire time.

"Darlingk child! Zhat is zhe point, n'est pas?" The woman took her hand and led her toward a marble staircase leading down to the spa area.

"Good morning Ms. Gaudont. How have you been?" The receptionist greeted her companion warmly. "It has been several months, I think."

"Yesz, Zhjulie. I believe I 'ave an appointment, no? I 'ope zhere is a space for my friend?"

Julie looked up with a smile. "I'm sure we can find someone. What is your name, please?"

"Marcie Adams...Room 452...under Green?"

The woman tapped into the terminal and made a note. "Of course. Not a problem. Will you be joining Ms. Gaundot?"

She looked over at Antoinelle eyebrows raised in a question.

"Of course, Marcie. I wvill be 'ere for zhe full treatment. You too." She patted her arm and nodded to the receptionist.

"I see this is your first time, Ms. Adams. We can arrange for a quick tour, or perhaps accompanying Ms. Gaundot will suffice?"

Antoinelle assured her she didn't need the guide and they entered through frosted glass doors to the left of the desk.

They entered an open area with several doors and a short hallway. It appeared deserted; Marcie assumed it was the time of day. Antoinelle walked confidently toward a door marked lockers and held it open for her.

"You can put your zhings in zhere," she said, pointing to one of the full height lockers facing a wooden bench. They were alone here as well.

Marcie sat on the bench putting the robes and towels she had been carrying into the locker and looked around to see whether other robes were available. Antoinelle looked at her.

"Oh, don't vworry about your modesty, child. Wve are all vwomen on zhis side. Zhe men are not allowed in 'ere." As she spoke she untied her robe and hung it in her locker. She had nothing on underneath.

Marcie stared at the woman's body, resisting the urge to gasp. She had guessed Antoinelle was in her 40s, but the body she saw confused her further. The woman's breasts didn't sag, but her upper arms drooped a little. As she scanned down, she noted her belly was wrinkled but she had a full bush and tight buns.

Not wanting to be caught staring, she turned back to her locker and pulled off her top, letting the sand shake onto the floor. She stood and peeled her bottoms off as well, smelling her musk and blushing from self-consciousness. She realized she had to pee.

"Is there a bathroom in here?" She looked around and thought she saw a promising exit.

"Yesz. You've got it -- jhust over zhere." Antoinelle pointed to the doorway. "Do not forget your key. I will meet you jhust past zhe toilet."

Marsee sat in the stall, her thoughts returning to her experience on the beach. What would a prostitute do in this situation? As her pee flowed, she realized she needed to do more than just pee, emptying her bowels, self-conscious again that Antoinelle was waiting for her. She would look her best for the man she was with. She wiped herself. She would shine like a jewel, making everyone else in the room either jealous or covet her.

She washed her hands and joined her companion at another pair of frosted doors. She mentally mapped the floor plan and realized they were parallel to the outer room and hallway, a private entrance to the rest of the spa.

The background feelings of arousal returned, enhanced by standing naked with this other woman, not even a towel to cover herself.

"It eez quite a process," Antoinelle said, as she pushed open the doors. "It will take perhapz...four hoursz?"

Marcie gasped quietly at the room opening up before her. They were at the edge of a circular area, like a flower, she realized, each of the "petals" a separate station -- a raised dais with lights, mirrors, a reclining chair, cabinets and...an attendant. She counted ten stations in all, only two of which were occupied. Antoinelle walked her across the center of the room to a pair of stations.

"Good morning, ladies," an attendant named Christy greeted them. "Ms. Gaudont, Ms. Adams. Please take a chair and we can discuss your needs."

Christy, and all of the other attendants, was dressed in a light cotton pants suit, her hair in a bun, her face nicely made up.

Antoinelle took the adjacent seat and began chatting with her attendant.

"What can we do for you today, Ms. Adams? I see you have signed up for the full spa today. Do you have something special planned for the evening?" She arranged Marcie's arms on the chair arms, moving her legs onto the padded foot rest, adjusting the chair's height and angle. "Is this comfortable?"

"Yes. To the first and second question." Marcie giggled a little, closing her eyes and breathing through her intense self-consciousness. She was sure Christy would be able to smell her musk with her legs spread open. She focused on calming her heart and breathing.

"Well, to begin, we'll get you cleaned up outside and in, and then we'll proceed to a wax, skin treatments, a full facial, manicure, pedicure and a massage. I see you've schedule a hair styling as well, but no make-up. Is that what you had in mind?"

Marcie had no idea what she should have had in mind; she'd been to a spa only once in her life -- as a wedding shower gift from her friends. It was downtown and she wasn't certain it had been the best in the world. Already, this place seemed far better equipped and...upscale.

"Are you ready, Marcie?" Antoinelle was standing next to her. Marcie opened her eyes to see the woman's breasts and then her face.

"Uhmm.. Yes. I guess."

"You'll be back here after the cleansing," Christy assured her. "This will be 'home base.' Have a relaxing time."

She joined Antoinelle who had already started walking toward an exit opposite the side they'd come in.

"First, a quick shower to wash zhat sand off you, and zhen vwe do the coloneecs."

Marcie looked anxiously at her companion as they turned the corner into a shower room. Each shower was a separate stall facing a common tiled floor. "What...colonics?" She hadn't been sure she had heard her correctly.

"Yesz. Of course." Antoinelle started her shower.

Marcie turned on the water, grateful she could at least wash away some of the smell from her sex. Spreading a generous amount of liquid soap on her body she fought the urge to run...the thought of her stepmother's enema rushed back - it had been the only she'd ever had in her life. How could Antoinelle be so blasé about it?

She soaped her underarms, feeling the stubble growing there, and rubbed the suds down her breasts, her ribs and across her abdomen, washing the grains of sand with the shower head. Reloading her hand with soap, she scrubbed her vagina, feeling the sensations of Monty's tongue returning, her frustration at not coming jumping her arousal level back up. She knew she didn't have time to do anything about it, but she lingered awhile on her clit trying to balance her frustration with some kind of satisfaction.

"It iz time, child." Antoinelle had opened the curtain, looking at Marcie fingering herself.

She jumped, her hand and vagina covered in suds; she turned quickly to rinse herself off in the spray.

"You have meessed much szand, zhere."

Marcie turned to see where Antoinelle was pointing and realized she had a band of sand across her cheeks. She reddened further in embarrassment and turned back to face the stall entrance, rubbing her butt under the stream of water, and under the stare of Antoinelle.

"Come, come. Zhere iz much to do."

She turned off the water and took the towel Antoinelle proferred her. She dried herself as she walked, following the older woman out of the room.

"Did you say 'colonics?'"

"Yez. Zhey are wonderful!" Antoinelle saw Marcie's look of doubt. "You've never had one?"

Marcie shook her head.

"'ow old do you zhink I am?"

She hesitated. She didn't want to offend. The more she looked at the woman, the less certain she was. "40?"

"You are too sweet, child. Zhank you!" Antoinelle patted her arm. "Do not tell anyone..I 'ave 63 yearz zhis year!"

Marcie tried not to look shocked. "But...but...how?"

"Oh...I 'ave 'ad a little beet of surgery...'ere...and 'ere..." she pointed to her breasts and butt, "but zhe rest of me is 100% from zhe colonics."

They turned again into a room off the hall, Marcie's self-consciousness returning at the sight of several young women, all dressed in medical garb, standing at separate doorways.

"Ms. Gaundot, Ms. Adams. Please, come in." A lead attendant greeted them, gesturing for them to take a room. "Ms.Gaundot, you are familiar with the procedure. Ms Adams, I see this is your first time here. Are you familiar with the procedure?"

Marcie found herself in a small room, furnished with a cabinet, the walls painted a warm color with bright photographs of wildlife, but almost entirely consumed by a medical exam bed. The lead patted the bed and asked her to sit on it. Again, she blushed at being naked while everyone else was clothed.

"I'm sorry, we don't have any gowns at the moment. The laundry hasn't arrived this morning yet. Are you warm enough?" The woman bent to turn on a space heater. Although the room was quite warm already, Marcie appreciated the extra heat on her ankles and legs. "Now, do you have any questions?"

"I've...never had this procedure before..." She once again didn't know what to do with her hands. They fluttered around her navel and then she tried to fold them on her lap, but that only brought attention back to her nakedness and she finally rested them on the bed, crinkling the paper.

"I understand. It's fairly simple, although there are some rare cases of complications. We have a doctor on staff at all times who can assist in case of any issues." The woman walked Marcie through the procedure, providing a simple written checklist for her to follow along. At the bottom, she asked Marcie to sign it and then asked if she had any further questions.

"Does it...hurt?" All she could think of was the horrible cramping from her nightmare with Jane.

"Well, some people do say the initial insertion of the tube is uncomfortable, not unlike anything being put inside your rectum, and some say there is discomfort with cramping from the solution, but everyone I've worked with has said these are passing and the benefits far outweigh the discomfort. Any thing else?" The woman began to prepare a small cart of instruments.

Marcie shook her head and watched. There was a long black hose the woman hooked up to a faucet, along with a thin wire and a flat panel television.

"This is the camera," the lead said. "We use it to make sure we are inserting the tube correctly, and if there are any issues we see along the way to be certain there isn't a problem. You said you haven't a history with Crohn's, Colitis, Diverticulitis or the like, right?"

Marcie wasn't sure what any of those were, but given she hadn't heard of them before, she was pretty certain she didn't have a history of them.

A second attendant joined them. "Okay, we're almost ready. I'd like to start you on your right side. Go ahead and lie down on your right thigh, relax your head on the pillow and put her left foot just behind your knee."

Marcie took a deep breath and did as the woman instructed, realizing again she was now exposed in a way she had never been before, even at her doctors. At least there she had a gown. Here, she had two women staring at her privates and about to insert a tube up her rectum. She focused on calming herself.

"That's great. I see you don't have any hemorrhoids. That will make this much less uncomfortable. I'm going to put some goop on you now. It will be a bit cold and a little uncomfortable at first."

Marcie felt the woman's gloved finger spread lubricant on her anus and then plunge gently into her, forcing a gasp. She remembered the first night with Monty, when he had pushed his thumb into her unexpectedly, and it relit the smoldering arousal. She blushed at the thought she was getting aroused in this situation and tried to suppress it.

"That's it, Ms. Adams. Just relax. The lubricant has a small amount of surface anesthetic in it to make the next part easier."

She could feel the woman pushing her finger deeper into her, spreading the jelly along her rectum and she involuntarily squeezed down on it. She tried to relax, letting the woman twist her finger around in one direction and then the other.

"Okay, we're ready to go if you are."

She nodded and closed her eyes, trying to relax. She heard the two women picking up the tube and then felt the metal against her anus.

"We're going to go in slowly. It shouldn't be too bad."

She felt the invasion of her rectum, but it was more pressure than pain, the tube filling her up, like a shit sliding in smoothly. It grossed her out a little, even as she could feel the budding of arousal in her vagina.

"Good. Can you spread your legs just a little? Draw your foot a little further up the table toward your vagina."

Blushing, she did as she was told, feeling the angle of the tube change a little.

"Your lower colon looks very healthy, Marcie. Did you eliminate recently?"

She nodded.

"Okay, we're going to introduce a little solution now. You will feel a little more pressure and the need to make a bowel movement. Don't worry. It is normal, and it is exactly what you should do. You won't make a mess; the tube has both a supply and a vacuum to it. We'll help you get the stuff out of there."

She felt the fluid flooding into her, filling her colon. It was uncomfortable, like she had gas, but not painful. The sound of a pump kicked on and she could hear a sucking sound, the pressure changing, reducing and then filling her up again.

"That's it. You're doing fine. We're along the transverse colon now. We won't go any further in with the tube -- we'll let the solution do its trick, but you look very healthy in there."

The pressure increased in a place that wasn't comfortable and she moaned a little. She could feel the fluid moving across her abdomen, like she had a bad case of diarrhea bubbling into her gut. The sound of the pumps changed, the pressure increasing momentarily and then releasing.

"You doing okay?" The other attendant patted her thigh.

"Umm hmmm" It was all she could do to mutter something. The cramping was more intense than she could handle, but she couldn't say anything, hoping it would end soon.

"Just a little bit more, sweetheart," the lead encouraged her. "You're doing fine. We'll start evacuating you now."

The sound changed again, the gurgling increased and the pressure suddenly dropped; the feeling of relief spread through her. In moments she felt completely emptied, the sound of the pump stabilizing.

"We're going to pull it out, slowly. You might feel like pushing on it. That's completely normal."

The feeling of the tube moving through her insides and pulling on her anus was a further relief. Before she knew it, the tip popped out and she felt a gush of liquid.

"How do you feel?" The attendant was wiping her leg with a warm cloth, rubbing along her crease, pushing into her rectum a little.

"Weird, I guess." She felt empty, emptier than she'd felt since she'd had the flu a few years back.

"You'll need to rest a few minutes. Let me get you cleaned up, and then I want you to lay back to let your system settle." She continued to wipe her, every once in awhile letting the rag drift across her vagina as she pulled it down to her crack. She closed her eyes, hoping she'd be done soon, the feelings of arousal brewing even as she was dealing with the grossness of the procedure.

"Okay...all done. Now. Let's get you nice and relaxed and let everything settle." She turned her on her back, resting her legs in stirrups and elevating her pelvis slightly. Monty's "ritual cleansing" came to mind and she breathed through the emerging feelings in her groin. "In a few minutes you might feel the need to pass gas. We tried to get as much out as we could, but there's always some left in there. If you need to, you might want to tuck your knees into your chest to help it out....Okay?"




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 08



She nodded, hoping the woman would leave her for a few minutes to collect her thoughts.

"I'll be back in a few." She deposited the tube in the sink, pulled off her gloves and left the room.

Marcie lay there wondering why she had agreed to this. Exposed to complete strangers, with instruments shoved inside her. She shivered for a moment, not from the cold, but from the conflicting feelings of invasion and horniness. Why does this even remotely turn me on? She felt her gut gurgle and knew she had to fart. Pulling her legs up, she felt the bubble travel through her and pass out of her sphincter in a long slow raspberry, like air out of a balloon. The feeling was so fantastic and embarrassing at the same time.

She held her legs there, relishing the emptiness and lack of pressure.

"That's it. You're ready to go."

She hadn't heard the woman come in, and realized she was lying with her anus and vagina completely exposed to the door. She dropped her legs and closed her eyes, dying from embarrassment. Oddly, she didn't feel shame, or humiliation. Something had happened on the beach with Monty that morning -- a change. Embarrassed at being exposed to a stranger, but not shame. She let the woman help her up as she considered the difference in her feelings.

"Ms. Gaundot is waiting for you. I hope you are feeling better. Let us know immediately if you notice any bleeding, bloating or feeling anything other than calm in your gut. Too, you might want to fast or drink only liquids for a few hours to make the most of the colonic."

She approached Antoinelle feeling a little awkward. She was getting hungry and the last bit of news annoyed her.

"Szo, you are ready for zhe next zhing?" She got up from a lounge, putting her magazine down. Marcie stared at her amazing body and thought again about whether high colonics had anything to do with it.

"Umm...yes...Antoinelle...I'm getting a little hungry..."

"Of course. Zhe colonics always make me ravenous. Zhey say to 'ave only liquids, but I say bosh. Bosh iz right, yes?"

Marcie laughed. "Yes. Bosh is just fine. How do we order?"

But Antoinelle had already approached an attendant suggesting they needed to see a menu. The woman scurried away assuring them she'd be back momentarily.

"Now. The Brazillian, yes?"

Not yet completely recovered from the injury of the last procedure, Marcie braced herself for the next ordeal. Waxing she'd had plenty of experience with, and while she expected this spa to have only the best skilled practitioners, wax on one's privates was wax and there was no getting away from it.

"Yes. I suppose we should do that before eating, hmmm?"

"Defeenitely, child. I vwant zhe uncomfortable done before I eat."

She led them to a room across from the colonics, where again several chairs were placed in a semi-circle around the room's edge. Marcie was welcomed into one of them where the young woman inspected her and inquired what she wanted.

"I just shaved," Marcie explained tentatively, not comfortable with discussing the topic in too much detail. The feeling of being exposed was particularly strong as the woman had turned her to face the center of the room while she looked at her body. In this position, Marcie's vagina was exposed and open to anyone walking in, not to mention the others in the room, many of whom took a casual interest in her specific needs.

"Yes. I can see where we may be able to get you a cleaner result. We have a special treatment we use. It isn't nearly as painful as you might have experienced in the past and results in an excellent and smooth finish." As the woman explained, she ran her fingers down Marcie's legs, and back up, to touch the spaces just outside her labia. "Here, for example," she paused to tease her lips back, "it is difficult to get these spaces with a razor, but this particular treatment is quite effective here, and here." The woman continued to lightly touch her lips, moving them aside, and traveling further down to her anus.

Marcie felt some residual numbness from the colonic and her head was swimming from all of the attention she'd received in her groin the past 12 hours. As the woman touched her, she could feel her lips swelling slightly, as if she wanted her to rub her, to play with her and give her relief. Stop it! You are forgetting where you are! She squelched the growing arousal as best she could, resisting the urge to shift in the chair until the woman had finished with her.

"Yes...if you think you can help me with that, I would like it very much."

"Super. Let's get started." The woman left her facing the room, dropping the back of the chair down a little increasing Marcie's sense of exposure. She closed her eyes, yet again, and focused on her breathing, hoping her arousal wouldn't get out of hand.

She could hear the attendant preparing the wax, along with the other conversations in the room. The woman helping Antoinelle was speaking French, only snippets of which Marcie could make out. Some of the others, who had no clients chatted amongst themselves about recent dates, a movie one of them had found particularly foul and other nothings.

"Here we go," her attendant said. Marcie snapped her eyes open but in her position couldn't see anything except the ceiling.

"Could you tip me up a bit? I think the blood is rushing to my head."

"Oh! Of course. I'm so sorry!" The woman pressed a lever and the seat reclined back up, letting Marcie look at what was about to happen to her.

The woman had a hot pot with a plastic paddle. She carefully held Marcie's labia, applying the hot wax into the crevice where her hip joined her groin. She slathered the waxy substance all around, coating her entire area, from the edge of her landing strip down to her wrinkled hole and then back up the other side. It was just this side of uncomfortably hot, the smell was pleasant -- gardenias or some other floral perfume. The woman complemented her on her figure and made small talk, as if waxing vaginas was a regular sort of job. Which, Marcie realized, it was for this woman.

She continued waxing her legs from her knees down, until Marcie looked like an Italian restaurant centerpiece, the colored wax encasing her legs, her groin and her mons.

She made small talk with her, waiting for the wax to cool. The heat around her vagina added to the internal heat smoldering from the morning's activities and she could feel herself getting turned on again. Not so that the woman would notice, but enough she could begin to feel moisture gathering inside her. She hoped the process would be done before she embarrassed herself any further.

To add to her self-consciousness, she could feel a gas bubble moving through her, a small remnant of the colonic, and she didn't want to pass it while the woman was working on her. She distracted herself by engaging in the woman's small talk.

Her attendant kept checking on the wax by pushing it. With each test, Marcie felt a pulse of arousal move through her.

"I think it is ready. You know the drill, yes? I think you will be surprised at how much easier this is than what you've been through before." And before Marcie knew it, the woman took a pull on the wax, zipping it away from her vagina.

She was surprised at how quickly she did it and how little it burned compared to her last experience, but in a few heartbeats the pain increased slightly. By then, the woman had moved to the other side and zipped it off. Focusing on her breath, she let the wave of pain move through her. All in all it was considerably less than she had expected.

"That was the hard part. The legs won't be nearly as sensitive." The woman continued to rip the wax off her legs, and in a few moments had stripped Marcie clean of any hair. She looked down and saw the pinkness around her vagina and legs.

"That will go away soon, right?" She knew the answer, but needed to say something.

"Yes. That is normal. By the time you leave here, the redness will be completely gone. Shall I do your under arms?" She saw a look of alarm on Marcie's face. "Oh not with wax! I'm sorry," smiling, "the usual way, with a razor?"

Marcie let the woman raise her arms over her head to place then on an extension of the chair and again felt completely overwhelmed by her exposure. Now, in this position she was on display to the entire room, her vagina throbbing from the zip; her insides throbbing from the constant state of arousal. With the woman momentarily turned away, she shifted slightly, letting the gas bubble emerge. Thankfully it was silent and dry.

The woman brushed shaving cream on her and taking a straight razor, cleanly scraped away what little hair there was. In moments, Marcie was nearly clean shaven from her neck down -- the only bit of hair remaining the dark black dense landing strip only inches long from the top of her cunny to below her waist line.

The woman turned the chair around, Finally!, and let Marcie admire herself in the three-part mirrors.

"Is that good?" She raised her arms to let her see the effect, and Marcie was very pleased. She would feel very comfortable at the party tonight as clean as she looked now.

She nodded and looked over to see Antoinelle was also finishing up.

"Are you ready?"

"Whenever you are. What's next?"

"Now...now vwe 'ave a most pleasant time. Zhe facial, zhe manicure, zhe pedicure, zhe steam bazh and zhen zhe massazhge. Ahh, the menus have arrived!"

Up until the steam bath everything went as she expected it, the only peculiarity being their complete nakedness the entire time. She'd never heard of such a thing. Before they began their facial, she ordered and ate a light meal. Antoinelle had ordered a bottle of Pinot Blanc; her head was swimming a little from the lack of food.

As the facial proceeded, the cucumbers on her eyes, the avocado on her skin, she felt so out of control of her destiny. Eyes closed, unable to move, her feet and hands being worked on, her legs spread a little too wide for her modesty's comfort, the sense of exposure and arousal kept its steady beat. She wasn't dripping by the time they were done, but it was adding to her frustration from the morning with Monty.

"'ow are you doing, Marcie?" Antoinelle asked as they finished washing her face. Her nails were done, heated and dry; her face felt like a baby's bottom, so soft and pliable, and her skin from her underarms down to her toes was clean of hair.

"This has been fantastic. I would love that massage."

"Ahhh, not so soon. First zhe steam bazh. Let's go!" She motioned for Marcie to take their wine glasses while she grabbed the bottle of wine. Taking Marcie's hand she led her to yet another frosted door off the central area.

By now there were more women in the spa, some with towels, but most naked as the two of them had been. Marcie followed her into the bath, the wall of steam hit her like a pillow; she felt a little faint. She quickly found a seat next to her companion and rested her head against the tile wall.

"'ow is zhe zip area?" Antoinelle asked.

"Ummm, it hurts a little still, but mostly it's better than I expected."

"And zhe colonic. You are feeling better?" Antoinelle reached over and stroked Marcie's belly, pushing on it a little. "You feel 'ow flat your are now? 'ow empty you are?."

Marcie didn't mind her touching her stomach. She'd had people touching her all day, but she was conflicted by her feelings: her exposure to strangers all day, the constant touching, the embarrassment but lack of shame...the arousal that had been lurking flared for a moment.

The two women sat in the room for nearly a half hour, letting the steam relax them, the sweat pouring from their skin.

"A leettle shower and zhen zhe massazghe!"

The heat from the steam, the wine and the lack of a full meal all were going to her head. She let her friend lead her to the showers, careful not to move too quickly for fear of getting dizzy. The cool spray washed the steam and sweat from her and she recovered slightly. A massage would be such a wonderful thing.

The two women shared a room; the masseuse laid her down on the table and before she had finished working on her shoulders Marcie had dozed off. Only when the woman helped her roll over did she realize she had been asleep. "How long was I sleeping?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. I get that all the time. About 25 minutes. Let's get your front and then you're almost done."

The woman was gentle but firm, her fingers working the muscles below the skin, starting from her forehead down to her collarbone. She gently manipulated her breasts; Marcie blushed slightly when her nipples hardened, but the woman either chose not to notice or truly didn't care. She worked her way down, stopping at her waist after a deep cleansing massage of her abdomen.

"You had a colonic, I see. Is this tender?"

Marcie shook her head. She felt wonderful -- light headed a little -- but mostly relaxed. The undercurrent of arousal flared slightly as the woman was about to proceed downward.

"And you had a brazillian. I will be careful around there. I have some moisturizing lotion I can give you for later, if you'd like."

She continued her massage, pushing Marcie's legs open to get access to her inner thighs. Every once in awhile her knuckles would brush against her labia, sending a pulse up her spine. The near constant touching distracted her. She thought about Monty's tongue and his hard cock and forced herself to breath and feel the woman's touch on her legs.

"VWasn't zhat fantasteec?" Antoinelle regrouped with her at the locker rooms after the final pat down. "Vwe have a hair appointment een a few hourzs...szo vwe can go back to my room eef you like?"

Marcie wasn't sure what to wear -- her suit was a mess and she couldn't parade around naked. Antoinelle noticed her confusion.

"Uv coursze, child. I'm zsorry. Zhere -- a closet of robesz for you."

Gratefully she put one on and collected her things into a net bag, following Antoinelle out.

"But...I would love to join you, but... I have to get my dress and shoes and..."

"Ahh! I completely forgot. Of coursze. Let's go togetzher, yes?"

Not wanting to offend, and actually a little appreciative for the company she returned to the dress shop to look for shoes.

"But you must try eet on, no?"

Antoinelle accompanied her to the dressing room and watched as Marcie disrobed and slipped the dress over her. It looked fantastic -- sleek and black, showing her thin waist and hips.

"Hmmm....I don't zhink thees iz quite zhe zhing..." Antoinelle looked disapprovingly at the dress.

Marcie was crushed. She thought it looked great. "Really? Doesn't it show me off so nicely?"

"Ahhh....zhis is a dress for zhe wife, yes? You are not Monty'sz wife...you are heez...girl fiend?" The way Antoinelle said it, Marcie had thought she was going to say: 'hooker.'

Regardless, she got the message. If she was going to play the part of prostitute, she would need to have the right costume.

"I see what you are saying," she agreed, turning in front of the mirror. "But I love this dress..."

"You should keep zhisz dress, child, but vwe need to find you anozher."

They returned to the racks to find a suitable substitute. In a few moments Antoinelle pulled a short Chanel number for Marcie to consider. It was a simple black dress with a low cut neck. Marcie held it up and looked in the mirror. It was short. It fell to about her mid-thigh. A jolt pulsed through her.

"Zhat looks very nize. Try eet on."

They returned to the dressing room where Marcie suddenly felt self-conscious stripping in front of the older woman. What are you worried about? You've been naked in front of her all day! Still, as she pulled the long dress off, the moment when her head was buried in the fabric and her cunny and breasts were exposed she had a fleeting feeling of Antoinelle taking advantage of her. She imagined her pushing her against the wall, Marcie's arms trapped in the dress while she kissed her breasts and fondled her naked pussy. She clamped her thighs together unconsciously sending small fireworks of arousal into her pelvis. You've got to do something about this, it's getting out of control.

She slipped the smaller dress over her head and when she looked in the mirror sucked a sharp intake of breath. It was spectacular. The neckline cut down between her breasts exposing their sides but teasingly hiding her nipples. The hemline stopped just inches below the junction of her thighs. It was the perfect costume for a whore. She looked over at Antoinelle curious at her reaction.

"Eet is lovely, Marcie. Perfect, no? I zhink a small strand of pearls would complement eet very wvell, yes?"

Marcie imagined the necklace she'd seen in the case: a length of grey-silver pearls that would blend nicely between her pale skin and the black dress.

"But, I will need stockings and shoes...I'm not sure what would work..."

"Nonsense, child. You are at a resort. I saw a beautiful pair of sandals. Your legs do not need stockings! Zhey are so beautiful naked." She whispered conspiratorially, "Monty will be hard all night looking at you."

Marcie blushed. It was the first sexual reference she had made the entire day, and yet it was exactly what she had been thinking.

Dressed in their robes, they left the store, with both dresses, the sandals and the necklace. Marcie couldn't believe she was charging it all to Monty's account; it came to over $2400, but Antoinelle assured her it was the exact right thing to do. If I'm his slut, then he gets to pay for it.

"Vwe have an 'our or so before our styling. Please come to my room -- vwe can do our make-up zhere."

As the passed the concierge on their way to the elevators, Antoinelle stopped to request some champagne and oysters. "You like zhe oysters, yes?" Marcie assured her she did.

Once in the room, they settled in front of the vanity. The woman had a wide array of rouge, eye liner, lipstick and foundation. Marcie almost made a joke about opening a cosmetic counter when she realized how expensive an assortment Antoinelle had.

"Szit," she directed, pulling a chair back. "Let me help you make your face up. Eet will be dazzling." She pulled the robe off Marcie, exposing her once again. "Zhe zip...I see it iz not as red, yes?" Marcie blushed at the inspection but agreed that the redness had subsided.

Antoinelle looked at her face and touched it lightly, noting the shadow of her cheekbone, the way her eyes set into their sockets and other details Marcie never paid much attention to. As she was listening to what the woman was suggesting, a knock on the door startled her.

"Eet is just room service wizh zhe champagne. Pleaze, don't move."

She had reached for the robe, but the woman patted her arms and told her to sit still. From where she was sitting, someone at the door couldn't see her, but what if he came in? She sat nervously, wondering why she didn't just put on the robe, and then she heard Antoinelle inviting the steward in. She covered her breasts with her arms and leaned towards the vanity.

"You may put eet right over zhere. Zhat's fine."

The two of them had passed in front of the doorway leading to the bedroom, exposing Marcie to the young man. He hadn't noticed her yet, but any moment he might look up and see her. She sat very still, fearing even the smallest motion might attract his attention. He focused on the champagne bottle, not ten steps from her, framed in the doorway, and then he turned to point the cork to the side. With his attention distracted, she whipped the robe on and stood up to turn away.

She was vibrating: a mixture of excitement and fear -- her heart was pounding. Here she had been naked almost the entire day, but now, in the presence of a complete stranger, a young man, her arousal erupted.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 08



"Why did you do that?" She confronted Antoinelle after he had gone. "You put me in a very compromising position!"

"Oh, pleaze, child. Really. 'e was nozhing. What would 'e 'ave seen. Your beautiful breasts and pussy. Eet would 'ave been a wonderful tip for 'eem. Zomezhing for 'eem to talk about, hmmm?" As she discounted Marcie's concerns, she offered her a champagne.

Antoinelle took a sip from her glass and slurped one of the oysters. "'ave one," she proffered another shell to Marcie, "zhey are fantastique!" When Marcie didn't respond, she continued. "Marcie. Pleaze. Grow up. You are very beautiful. 'e vwould have been excited. Pleaze. Sit. 'ave a sip and an oyster. Look. You zsee? 'e couldn't keep 'iz eyez off me."

She took a seat at the table and looked up to see that Antoinelle had left her robe untied. Her breasts peeked out as did her bush. Marcie blushed involuntarily, her groin responding as well. She giggled. "You didn't!" She whispered.

"But uv courze. It iz only natural. 'e iz a young man, and you are a beautiful woman. You zhould zhow it off, yes?"

They sipped and ate the oysters, Antoinelle refilling Marcie's glass more times than Marcie could remember. Her head was spinning again and she could feel the heat building inside her.

"It iz time," Antoinelle said, standing up. "Let us get you made up, yes?" She offered her hand to Marcie and as she stood, the older woman reached for her robe. "Do not keep zhis on. It 'ides your beauty." She removed the robe off Marcie's shoulders, taking the glass from her momentarily. "Your body, Marcie. Eet eez a beautiful zhing. You zhould neverh 'ide eet."

A rush of emotions sped through her: she blushed at the compliment, she was terrified at where this might be leading and on top of it all, she could feel her moisture growing, her body's reaction belying her mind's protest.

She let Antoinelle lead her back to the vanity where the older woman sat her down.

"You are Monty's girlfriend, yes?" It seemed to Marcie the woman might have been a little drunk.

"Yes..."

"For 'ow long?" She held back Marcie's hair, looking at her face and neck. Marcie stared at herself in the mirror, her breasts rising and falling, the woman's naked body behind her.

"About two months....or so."

"You want to make 'im very 'ard tonight?" Her fingers drifted down her neck to her shoulders sending shivers up her spine and igniting the smoldering in her belly.

"Please. What are you...what does this have to do with our make-up?" She sounded so small and vulnerable, but she didn't know how to stop what was happening. She could feel her labia swelling, the heat and juice beginning to flow. All day she had been teased, first by Monty who left her hanging, and then the colonic, the zip, the touching and caressing. She shifted uncomfortably, trying to close her legs. The pressure on her clit only made matters worse.

"Your breasts. 'e will want to suckle on your nipples, yes?" Antoinelle pulled up a chair and turned Marcie to face her. "We will start wizh your breasts. We will finish wizh your face."

Marcie took a sip of champagne hoping more alcohol would reduce her fear. What was she talking about? She watched as Antoinelle reached for various vials, tubes and powders, sifting through the skyline of cosmetics until she had chosen a few.

"Never, never paint your breasts, child. At least, never wizh somezhing 'e would not want to taste, yes?" She opened a small tub, and dipped a brush into the powder. "Zhis is a completely organic, vegetable bazed rouge. 'e vwill like eet's taste."

Antoinelle took the brush and began to lightly paint around Marcie's nipples, first at their very edge and gradually working out to the outer edge of her aureolae. "Zhis part, the aureola, yes? Yours eez very light...eet eez quite nize, by zhe way, but zhis rouge...eet vwill enhance eet, hmm?"

Her touch was feather light and as she painted, Marcie felt her nipples tighten and harden, the aureloa wrinkling. "I'm sorry..." she whispered, embarrassed at her body's reaction. Her hands fluttered, wanting to cover herself but knowing that would be stupid.

"Eet eez not a problem, child. Eet eez natural. Jhust relax and let me make you up."

The brush tickled, but even more it frustrated. As she brushed lightly over her crinkled skin, the hairs sent little explosions into her chest. The growing ember in her groin licked up and after a few moments they joined.

Antoinelle stopped to admire her work and then began again, painting another layer with frustrating, painstaking care.

"Please," she moaned, holding up her hands. "It...is...tickles...it is too much."

"Shhh....jhust try to relax...zhere, zhere. Put your 'ands on your knees. I still 'ave much more to do."

She sat back and closed her eyes, hoping the room would stay still. Antoinelle brushed lightly across her nipples, forcing them to stiffen further. Slowly, from the tip to the base, and then again, ten strokes on one nipple, and then ten on the other. Marcie's breathing deepened and she opened her legs, pushing herself deeper into the chair. She moaned again as Antoinelle started over again. "Please...stop...it...I'm...I can't....please?"

"Zhat is beautiful. Look at yourself! You are the picture of eroticism!" Antoinelle turned her chair to face the mirror and Marcie saw her face, her eyes burning with passion, her mouth slack, her tongue glistening. She looked down to see her breasts -- and her eyes opened wider. Where before she had slightly pink nipples against a very pale aureola, the nipples were now a deeper brown, the aureola two shades darker. They stood out against her porcelain white breasts, exaggerating the extremes of both.

"You see? Now when 'e strips you tonight, 'e vwill see somezhing 'e doesn't expect."

Antoinelle dipped down and kissed her on the neck just above her collarbone, sending a drop of arousal down her back.

"I...I've never...I don't think I should..."

"Shh...do not zhink...jhust feel." She moved her fingers to Marcie's nipples and pinched them, twisting them lightly, causing them to harden further drawing a moan from her. "Zhat eez eet, Marcie. Let me 'elp you..."

She kissed her neck, her cheek and then her lips, pushing her tongue into the young woman's mouth, forcing her head back slightly. Now with both hands on her breasts she continued to lightly kneed her nipples, sending sparks into her chest and spine.

"Taste vhat Monty vwill be tasting." She brought her fingers up to Marcie's mouth and waited for her to lick them. She pulled her fingers away as Marcie's tongue tried to find them, baiting her, causing her to lean forward. "Come. Eet vwill be more comfortable on zhe bed."

Marcie wanted to just run. To leave the room and wait for Monty, but her body was on fire, the alcohol fanning the flames that had erupted. She let the woman lead her to the bed, her tongue almost touching her fingers but never quite making contact. She could barely taste the rouge -- it had a slight taste of rose, but she couldn't be sure.

Antoinelle laid her down on her back, her knee pushing gently between Marcie's legs until she pressed against her sex. "I am goingk to eat you...to eat your beautiful pussy. I 'ave wanted to all day, and now, you vwill relax and let me taste you." She leaned down and pushed Marcie's hands over her head, her lips on hers again, her tongue inside her.

She worked her way down her chin, her neck, between her breasts, her nipples now ignored pulsed with the memory of the pinching and the teasing from the brush. She continued to kiss her way to her navel, her hands now on her waist, her legs moved down to push Marcie's ankles further apart. And then her mouth was on the strip of pubic hair, her teeth dragging through the thicket forcing Marcie to curl her pelvis up, to push herself at the woman's mouth.

God! What am I doing? What is happening to me? In spite of her inner protest, her body was on fire and she submitted to the experience. You want to be a slut, right? Well, here's your chance. She moaned again as Antoinelle lightly ran her fingers across her open lips, the juices now freely flowing. She felt the woman's fingernails drag down the perineum to her asshole and she feebly protested, a sound that could easily have been a moan of delight.

Antoinelle lightly traced her tongue in Marcie's slit, tasting the salty lubricants. "You are liking zhis. Zhat is nize."

Marcie couldn't deny it felt wonderful. Antoinelle had unsheathed her clit with her tongue, lightly swirling around it, forcing a moan from her. "Yes...oh yessss, yesss, god I needed that...yess..."

Around and around she danced her tongue, stiffening her bud until she could purse her lips around it. Sucking softly on it, she pushed against Marcie's cunny, her chin opening her labia to coat her face with her juices.

"Oh. My. God. Please. Please. Please." She'd never felt anything like it and she writhed under the woman's mouth trying to pull away or push in harder she didn't know which. Antoinelle kept up the pressure, sending waves of pleasure up through her groin, up her spine, to behind her eyes. She could feel an orgasm building and she began to moan in an unending stream of encouragement. And then, Antoinelle pulled away, sitting back on her heels.

"No. No. Nooooo. Please. Don't stop. Please. Please. What can I do? Please..." She had been so close. So close. She brought her hands down and reached for the woman's head to pull her back down. She moved her hands to her cunny to finger herself. She was so close.

"No, no, no, non!" Antoinelle took her hands away. "You mustn't ever ever do zhis. Not before you are vwizh your man. No!"

Marcie looked up at her, tears filling her eyes. Her frustration was more than she'd ever felt. She had been soooo close, god damnit.

"Shhh....shhh, now calm down, child. Calm." Antoinelle petted her cheeks, wiping the tears away, but carefully avoided her breasts or her groin. "Eet eez very important not to come vwith anozher person...you may 'ave zhe sex, but not zhe orgasm. Zhe orgasm eez zhe zhing between you and your lover. Vwe are not loverz, yes?"

Marcie wasn't sure what they were, but it was one of the strangest philosophies she'd ever heard. It didn't help her calm down one bit; her vagina was ablaze, the skin from the brazillian suddenly reminding her of how sensitive she was down there.

"Zhis might 'elp you. Shhh. Zjhust lie zhere." Antoinelle got up, lithe like a cat and rummaged around in her cosmetic collection, returning with a small bottle. "I vwas afraid zhe brazillian might not be calm....zhis will 'elp." She poured some lotion onto her hand and lightly rubbed it into the skin around her vagina, massaging it in until it had disappeared.

Marcie wasn't sure if she was purposely avoiding touching her to prevent her from going over the top or to frustrate her more, but the effect was to drive her crazy. Antoinelle repeated the process on the other side and then slowly pulled her lips out, rubbing lotion on the outside and along their edges. With each stroke, Marcie raised her pelvis up, hoping to have her push her fingers or hands against her.

"Now...shh...relax...eet vwill feel better very soon. Shhh...." She patted her on her pubic mound, pushing her down onto the bed. Leaning over her, she put the bottle on the night stand and then lay down on top of her, her breasts lining up with Marcie's. Antoinelle took her lips in hers and gently kissed her, moving her arms again over her head. "Zhis is nize, no? You like zhis." She continued to kiss her softly and then rose up onto her elbows and then on her knees. "Please, you vwill 'elp me?"

Before Marcie knew what she meant, Antoinelle had wriggled herself up her body until her vagina was just over her mouth. She had never eaten a woman before and she wasn't sure she wanted to right now, given how frustrated she was. But before she could move, Antoinelle held her face and slowly lowered herself onto Marcie's mouth. Gently, very gently, she brushed her lips against Marcie's, her full bush tickled her nose. She couldn't make out the words, but she understood the woman's meaning as she tucked her pelvis slightly, opening her labia.

Marcie darted her tongue out to taste her and was pleasantly surprised. She tasted much different than her own musk, fresher than she expected. She pushed her tongue into the woman's channel as deeply as she could, dragging it back out. In again, pushing her head as tightly against the woman's crotch as she could and then out. In...deep...out. She repeated the rhythm until Antoinelle was pushing with her, riding her like a small pony.

Marcie wanted to tease her clit to force her to moan like Antoinelle had done to her. She lifted her tongue slightly, finding the sheath and was surprised again at the size of the woman's clit. It was like the small joint of her pinky finger, erect and exposed. She reached up and sucked on it lightly and grinned when Antoinelle shrieked out slightly from the intensity. Her legs squeezed her head as Marcie continued to lick her, returning her tongue to dip into her channel and out again.

And then, just as suddenly as she had stopped before, Antoinelle pulled away, her face flushed. "I' vwill need anozher shower if vwe keep zhis up!" She rolled off the bed and wiped her face with a towel. "Eet eez getting late. Come, vwe must finish zhe make-up."

Marcie felt spent. The glow in her lower spine was bright yellow, her breasts were on fire and there was a tingling around her vagina that she'd never felt before. Antoinelle sat her down in the chair again, and spent the next 30 minutes painting her face, touching up her breasts and finishing with more lotion on her crotch. The tingling had increased until she felt the need to push her legs together or rub herself with her hands.

"Zhe tingling, yes? Eet vwill go away soon. Eet feels good, hmmm?"

Eet does not feel good, no! But she couldn't bring herself to say it. She was horny. More horny than she'd been in years and the lotion, she was beginning to suspect, was not helping one bit. But she wasn't angry at Antoinelle. It wasn't her fault, completely at least, she hadn't climaxed today. She was oddly intrigued by how the afternoon had gone -- an experience she never would have predicted, nor her reaction to it -- again, no shame, no humiliation, just a little fear and embarrassment. The fear she kind of understood -- she was concerned about her relationship with Monty, but apparently, because she hadn't cum, their relationship was safe. She smiled and tried to ignore the mounting tingling around her cunny.

She watched as Antoinelle expertly made up her own face. In only minutes she had transformed herself into a woman 20 years younger.

"Our 'air appointments, mon dieu, only five minutes. Quckly!"

They threw on their robes, refilled their glasses and raced to the salon. Marcie agreed she would return to the room to retrieve the packages.

Later, back in her room waiting for Monty, she admired herself in the mirror: her hair looked fantastic, her cheeks and eyes highlighted by Antoinelle's expert work, the dress practically exposed her without showing anything and the pearls accentuated her neck. She hoped Monty would be pleased. The woman staring at her from the mirror looked like her, if that's what a million bucks looked like.

She turned at the sound of the door opening and Monty talking to someone.

"That's the right plan. Excellent. Yes. Let me know next week how that turns out. Thanks, Mike. Okay. You too." He hung up and closed the door.

She stood waiting for him nervously. Would he like what she'd done? Would he be disappointed in the change of dress?

He looked up, saw her and the look of joy on his face settled any of her concerns. He crossed the distance between them, putting his briefcase down on the way and opened his arms for an embrace.

"You look spectacular!" He practically shouted the words before he closed on her mouth with a kiss. "What did you do? You went to the spa, right!" He stood back to look at her and noticed the dress. "That isn't what we picked out, is it? It's soooo much better."

She twirled a little to show him the whole package. "Do you like the ensemble," she said coquettishly looking over her shoulder, biting her lower lip.

"Yes. Yes I do. You certainly are playing the part!" He reached over and flipped up the hem of her dress to see her panties. "Hmmm...I think you might be a little overdressed, though, don't you?"

She blushed and breathed through the rush of arousal his suggestion raised in her. He can't be serious. No underwear tonight? But she realized that was what a prostitute would do, wouldn't she?

He undid his tie and removed his coat. "I've got to take a shower." As he peeled off his clothes she noticed his erection and giggled.

"You haven't had that all day, have you?"

"All fucking day," he said grinning. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. About you on the beach, about you naked in the sun. Look," he pointed to his hard on, "I couldn't get up out of my chair most of the time."

He came back to her and hugged her, pressing his erection against her leg.

"Would you mind, terribly, if we had a quickie? I really don't know if I can go tonight like this."

Without waiting for a response, he turned her around to face the back of the chair and peeled off her panties. Before she could protest he had spread her legs and run his fingers along her slit.

"Hmmm, I see you haven't been idle today, eh?" He showed her the moisture on her fingers and she blushed.

They were standing sideways in front of the vanity mirror, as he pushed she planted her hands on the back of the chair. From this vantage point she could see the two of them -- he naked, his shaft hard and angry, and her dressed, with her hem flipped up behind her. He grabbed her waist and slipped his cock into her, pushing in easily. She moaned at the sensation, the flickerings of her arousal fanned by his motions.

She looked at them in the mirror as he began to fuck her, pummeling his shaft into her and pulling out. With each cycle she gasped, in and out, urging him to make her come. But she knew she couldn't do it in this position -- she'd never been able to orgasm when she was taken from behind, and she couldn't finger herself; she needed her hands to keep from falling over.

She stared at the couple in the mirror: his animal need slamming into her, the bouncing of her small breasts visible beneath the neckline of the dress, her face, expertly made up. She really did look the part and the sensation of his cock moving in her only helped convince her she was his slut. She couldn't stop her body from jiggling, the force of his body blurring her vision.

He groaned and then she could feel the climax building. "Nooooo, nooo," he protested. It was the first time she'd heard him act this way and again thought about hotel rooms and how they changed things. She watched him clench his teeth, the climax passing through him like a shock wave and then he was done.

'I'm sorry..." he said breathlessly. "I almost lost it there....I haven't felt that way in years..." He was muttering, stroking her and kissing her neck.

"What are you sorry about. It felt fantastic." She reached behind to feel him, turning her head to kiss his face.

"I almost came," he confessed. "I could feel the pre-cum starting to ejaculate and had to clamp down.

She stood still, feeling him pull out of her and looked at the woman in the mirror. A cat-eating-canary grin spread across her face and she silently gave herself a high-five. There's hope yet!

"I think it's okay," he mumbled, putting her dress back down. "I really think it would be best if you kept those off," pointing to the underwear on the floor, "but naturally it's up to you. I've got to take a shower." And just like that, his normal self-confidence had returned. "Come in with me; tell me about your day."




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 08



She watched him walk into the marble shower, his muscular thighs and tight butt, his erection still higher than half-mast. Her frustration was even greater now, and she wanted nothing more than to find a nice dark corner of the room where she could finger herself to some kind of satisfaction. But he had started the shower and was peppering her with questions.

She looked at her face in the mirror, hoping they hadn't messed up Antoinelle's make-up job. She had given Marcie a tube of lip gloss to touch up during the evening. She did just that, listening to him and trying to maintain a conversation over the splashing of the shower.

"It's no good, Monty!" She was practically shouting. "Let's just wait til you're out."

She stared at him, the fires licking at her insides, wishing they'd just cancel the evening and fuck their brains out all night, but then she saw how knock-down gorgeous she was and she didn't want to miss the opportunity to flaunt a little. She peeked at herself in the mirror, lifting the hem of her dress to expose her landing strip, her legs and groin -- much calmer now, in spite of the recent assault. Letting the dress drop, she glanced at him to see if he had seen her, but he was busy washing his own privates. She stopped and stared for a minute as he soaped up his shaft, stroking it with one hand while he fondled his balls with the other. He looked up at her and smiled, exaggerating his gestures and making a lewd thrust with his hips.

"You want to come in and have some?"

"And ruin this hair do and make-up, no way buster. Unless you want to cancel the party and just stay in...?"

"Not tonight, sweetheart. Tonight is a command performance. And I have to say, I couldn't ask for a more stunning co-star."

He shut off the water and dried off, smiling at her the entire time. She suddenly was overcome with a small panic attack -- she was about to go to a party, with his business associates, without anything on except this short dress. She shivered and took a deep breath.

* - * - * - *

"Ohhh, god, Monty...yesss, yesss, mmmm..." His cock slid into her easily pushing through the sticky outer coating of her juices to reach her moist core.

He had her on her knees, her head down on the bed between her elbows, her hands gripping the sheets above her head. If she wanted she could watch him penetrating her, but she was happier to relax her neck and let him do the work.

As he pushed into her, the sense of relief washed through her. He pushed in slowly, coating his shaft with her lubricants and pulled out, pulling from her a moan. In again, feeding the flames that had been quietly burning all day since the beach early that morning.

The events of the day suddenly rushed into her alcohol-muddled head: the dancing at the dinner just minutes ago, the way he took her in front of the vanity, her mini-epiphany on the beach, and most of all, most troubling of all she reflected as he pulled his cock out of her momentarily, Antoinelle's seduction of her this afternoon.

The memory of her day-long set of frustrations fanned the flame in her gut. "Yes....fuck ME, please, Monty. I've been so frUSTrated..." His thrusts into her made her grunt the words; hearing herself only aroused her further.

She knew she wouldn't cum in this position. Just like earlier in the evening when he fucked her from behind, like two animals rutting, she was left with a hot glow in her groin but no satisfaction. Eventually, though, she knew he could turn her over and push his cock against that spot she had come to enjoy.

He raised up on his knees, changing the angle of his cock to push harder against the back of her channel, freeing up his hands. He slipped one around her waist to cup her vagina, pushing her lips against his erection, his thumb against her clit. She moaned louder, feeling the flames licking up her spine.

Her breasts were just barely touching the sheets, her nipples erect and lightly rubbing with each thrust. The pulses he sent from his thumb joined the weaker sparks coming from her nipples. Her head was lost in the fog of alcohol and arousal.

The dinner had gone as well as she could have expected. She caught everyone's eyes as she had hoped, but she was a little off-balance. The lotion Antoinelle had applied to her legs and crotch, along with the fucking Monty had given her, had left her distracted. Her groin tingled and continued to call attention to itself, made all the more evident by being exposed just inches above her dress.

When she sat, she carefully tucked her legs under the white tablecloth to avoid any possibility of being exposed. When she got up she was careful not to bend over, lest her neckline reveal her nipples just an inch away.

He had invited her to dance. She had had a couple of drinks and was more relaxed, her arousal a constant nag at her consciousness. During a slow number he put his arm around her waist and she had to stop him as he slowly dragged her dress up, the hem just even with the curve of her bottom. She knew everyone could see but she didn't want to draw further attention to her nudity. She hissed in his ear to stop, but he just smiled, moving them to a corner of the dance floor where there was no one seated behind her. He raised her dress completely, exposing her cheeks to the wall and she blushed, even as she was flooded with arousal. She could feel her moisture seeping out of her and she hissed in his ear again to stop.

During a fast number, a couple of drinks later, she pogo-sticked to the music, the dance floor filled with other couples. This was familiar territory -- her college days came back to her. She unconsciously scanned the crowd and realized the two of them were surrounded by other dancers oblivious to them. She bounced up and down, causing her dress to bounce up revealing her naked coifed cunny to him, and she noted with a wicked grin, a young man facing her whose expression said everything. When they had turned so that only he could see her, she fanned her dress up, completely exposing herself to him for several heartbeats.

She was exhilarated, not feeling the shame and regret that had always been part of her routine years ago. He wanted her to play the part and she was. To her delight he was turned on by it: his face remained impassive but the fire in his eyes, and the bulge in his trousers was all she needed to know he didn't disapprove.

Antoinelle approached them smiling and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and grinned, giving Marcie a thumbs up and a wink.

She groaned as his cock filled her up again. He began pistoning in and out of her more quickly now. Her juices made loud squishing noises; a backdrop to her moans as he pumped his thick shaft into her.

And now he focused more intently on her, his thumb rubbing her clit as he moved more quickly, shaking and jiggling her body. With each push the squish of her cunt and the grunt of her air being expelled only turned her on more. She was starting to crest, to finally climax from a day of frustration. He took his hand and spread her cheeks, exposing her anus and she closed her eyes in anticipation of where he might put his thumb.

She was so close, just a few strokes away and she could feel the waves crashing together to push her into that white light. And then he pulled out, removing his hands and sitting back on his heels.

"Noooooo! Please....god...please Monty! I'm so close! Why?! What! Please!" She turned to look at him, her face blotchy. She knew she must look like a complete slut, her ass in the air, her pussy dripping, exposed. "Monty! Don't be cruel! I've been left on the edge all day!"

"What do you want," he asked calmly, returning his hand to cup her cunny, rubbing the base of his fingers against her dripping lips.

"What do you mean!? Please, don't tease me. What are you saying?" She wriggled her legs and ass on his hand trying to stimulate herself against him. Does he want me to beg for it? To dominate me? What is he doing?

"What do you want?"

She took a breath. "Please Monty, make me come, sweety. I need to come. I've been held off all day and I'm going crazy. Please? Fuck me?" She wasn't sure what he wanted from her.

"Do you want to wade into the river, or do you just want to climax?"

The memory of the ritual cleansing came back to her -- the intensity of that experience, the pure joy she felt at not orgasming. The sense of being one with a universe. And then the sequence of events during the day came crashing together -- he had engineered the whole thing: the beach, Antoinelle, the rutting before the dance, and now this. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Still, the thought of 'wading in the river' was very attractive.

"How...how can I?" She moved slowly on his hand, coating it with her juice.

"We're going to go there together, Marcie. I need you to focus with me. You know you mustn't come. This will be your second trip; it will be a little easier each time. Are you ready?"

She turned and looked at him, feeling even more exposed than on the dance floor with people all around her, and nodded.

As he had done before, in her condo, he slipped two fingers into her, coating them with her spendings. Slowly he pushed them in, resting his thumb on her clit. Deeper he pushed them until the knuckles of his other fingers were pushed against her lips.

"Oh. Oh god. Monty. God. Please." The thought of where he was taking her, of not coming, of not coming all day, carried her away for a moment.

"Shhhhh....relax. Put her forehead down and give yourself to me. We're entering the river together. You came last time. It was intense. It will be intense again tonight, but it is very important to me you don't come." He pulled his fingers out, letting her juice dribble across her lips. He painted the liquid on her clit, feeling it pulse.

He took his left hand and spread her open, pushing her thickening lips out from her channel. Slowly he inserted three fingers into her pussy; they slid easily into her forcing another moan. She pushed back helping him impale them into her. Buried up to his third knuckle he wiggled them slightly, again pushing his thumb against her clit.

The sweet honey of arousal flowed from her cunt up into her spine, her anus puckering. "Yes. Shit. Yes. Oh god, Monty, yes. Please. Stroke me. Uhhhhhhmmmm...." He continued to push firmly on her button, rubbing it in small circles. Fountains of pleasure flowed up to the base of her head.

He pulled his fingers out and she protested softly but didn't move, leaving herself open to him. She felt as if her hole were wide open, a gaping cave exposed for him to insert whatever he had in mind. She concentrated on her breathing, her heart beat, the blood throbbing in her labia a constant reminder of her submission. Whatever he needs. Just do me. Bring me to the edge.

He returned his hand to her open hole: four fingers slid slowly into her and she knew it was too much. He stretched her gently, firmly moving up to the hilt. He couldn't wriggle his fingers; she was too tight, but he continued to open her, now sliding his thumb into a crevice he had made.

There was pain; the first pain she'd ever felt with him, but it was feeding her pleasure and she urged him to fuck her with his fist, to push his hand into her womb and let her take him in. She cried out as he stretched her and then, with a small *pop* he was buried up to his wrist inside her.

She groaned and the molten honey-sweet fire burst out, threatening to take her over the top.

"Focus with me Marcie," he directed quietly. He turned his hand, her outer lips slipping across his wrist bones. Her eyes were rolling back into her head, her breathing a set of moans and sighs as he twisted his hand one way and then the other. "You feel the life force. It has been building in you all day. At the beach, you pushed your cunny onto my tongue -- you wanted to come. Remember."

She moaned at the memory of him fucking her throat, his erection so hot, so stiff; his tongue swirling on her clit. She moaned again, the waves of pleasure rippling first up to her head and then down her spine, only to meet with a new ripple erupting from his hand.

He moved his free hand to her asshole, spreading her cheeks; she knew where he was going. "Oh god, Monty...please. Yes. Fuck me in my asshole. Yes." She urged him with quiet whispers opening herself to him.

"You had a colonic today. Remember how the attendants paid attention to you; how you exposed your most private parts to those strangers..."

"God. Yes. Yes. Shove your thumb in me. Yes...."

"...and how you let them see you naked all day. Antoinelle told me all about your adventures at the spa, Marcie. I'm so very proud of you. You are entering the river."

He pushed his thumb into her and twisted his hand just so and she almost lost it. Three waves of pleasure burst out of her groin, the yellow orange fire now consuming her entire pelvis, from hip to her the small of her back to hip.

She couldn't move for fear she would lose it. She focused on her breathing, letting him manipulate her in ways she'd never let anyone do before. She was an extension of his hands, an instrument he was playing. She could see his cock in her mind's eye, feel it entering her from behind as he fucked her in front of the vanity, and then...and then...he moved slightly, pushing on that spot and she let out a long low guttural growl. She was on a knife's edge.

"Here we go, Marcie. We're going into the river. Let it flow."

And a small tendril of fire, orangeish-yellow pulled along her spine, the pleasure was so intense it threatened to tip her over. The small tongue enveloped her spine until it melted into her brain and she gasped. He moved so minutely; she was frozen, her ass pointing up at him, her cunt split open; and the tendril became thicker, brightening until it was a blinding white swirl -- a filament between her brain and her pleasure.

She barely breathed not wanting to break the equilibrium. The pleasure was moving out to her fingertips and toes, her nipples felt like hot sparks, but the need to climax had passed. Instead she was melted into a larger place; she had no names for anything, no name for her...self. She was one with ...everything else.

And then it broke, the hot white filament snapped back to her ass and cunt, but a remnant remained in her brain, suffusing it with a warmth and safety, and she sucked in air as if she'd been holding her breath, and then she laughed, the convulsions moving her against his hand and thumb, cascading through her, her juices gushing around his wrist and flowing down his arm. 



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 09



"Why didn't you let yourself come this afternoon?" She was sitting up in the bed, a pool of her come staining the sheets. She had her knees up under her chin looking at his erection and wishing she could do for him what he had just done for her. Or maybe that's what he feels every time! OHMYGOD. The realization made her eyes grow.

"You're not ready." He was drying his hands and arms. He had been coated by her release.

She looked at him confused. The glow in her head held her in a gentle embrace. She wasn't sleepy. Just the opposite: she was ready to go dancing again. She could get addicted to this drug. It was unlike any high she'd ever been on and she understood why he was always still hard after "climaxing." She could do it again.

"It would be dangerous for you. You aren't prepared." He saw she wasn't buying it. "It's different for men and women. I don't know why, but every female novitiate would come and still reach the desired....state...but men can never do it and release. We have to keep it in."

"But that must pass after awhile, right? I mean Tantric gurus, or yogis or whatever...they have kids, right?"

The reference wasn't lost on him. He joined her on the bed, stroking her thigh and calf. She shivered from the remnants of her orgasm...if that's what it was.

"When the time is right – and with the right partner." He saw she didn't take it the way he meant it. "A partner who's prepared to accept it." 

"But what happened to you today? You said you almost lost it..." She wanted to feel his cock in her, even if he wasn't going to ejaculate; maybe she could take another dip in that river.

She pushed down his knees and rolled her leg over his. Facing him, she pushed her mound against his erection. Looking down it was almost impossible to tell whose cock it was. He stroked her back, his eyes staring at her. She loved seeing those eyes. She inched forward, pushing his shaft against her clit and then slowly, slowly she moved her cunny up to the tip, coating him with her juice. 

She slid over the top and carefully pushed him into her. She didn't know what to expect: he'd just had his fist inside her and she was sore, but she was worried she wouldn't feel him; that she would be too stretched out. She settled down on his lap, feeling his cock pulse inside her and challenged him to go on.

"There's a purpose to it after all. It isn't just about abstinence. So, from a medical perspective we know pretty much what semen is composed of, right? Sperm, of course. A few lubricants, some sugars and some salt – it primarily is meant to make the environment safe for the sperm to get to their target. We know when a man orgasms small amounts of hormones are released through the limbic system, along with several other elements, nitrous oxide to relax the blood vessels of the penis, adrenaline and so forth."

She ran her hands on his nipples moving herself back and forth in tiny motions, feeling his head push against that spot, her clit rubbing on his pubic bone.

"We also know that when men don't ejaculate frequently, the sperm can be malformed, the semen clumpy. But what happens when a man orgasms and doesn't ejaculate, for 25 years? Western medicine has never studied that because it's so outrageous. The Hindi's have, however. Not with a Western medical model of course, so its apples and oranges, but they have seen what results from withholding semen time after time after time, for years on end."

She shifted a little more, now ducking her head to taste his nipples. She loved how tiny they were, how erect they got when she sucked them.

"There is a story of a village deep inside India that had been threatened by a rival tribe. This was centuries ago, when conquering armies swept across the Indian plains almost as frequently as monsoons. The guru there had been studying Tantric practices for several years and had a glimmer of an idea of what might be coming in the months ahead. With his novitiates, he carefully devised a plan such that each member of the village – man, woman and child – would partake of his semen. He had hoped that in providing them with it, he would bond them all together into a unit more cohesive than any words could do."

She had closed her eyes and now she opened them, her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Is this for real?"

"It's how the story goes. Weird, yeah? But wait, it gets weirder. The plan worked. At least with respect to the warring tribes. The village was hard hit, but they fought with a ferocity none of the attackers had seen anywhere else in the region. So many were killed, on both sides, that the village's reputation spread to other would be conquerors, and for hundreds of years it was avoided.

"But the villagers weren't spared completely. Even with just the small amount the guru had provided, they were all hooked. They were like addicts from that moment on, praying to him, begging him to provide them more. After the marauders had left, the town was as if it were haunted, its inhabitants moving like ghosts in a fog."

"And that's it? He comes, the villagers are hooked, and now I don't get to taste you because you're afraid it's addicting?" The residual white glow in her head was wafting away, made more apparent to her by the growing arousal from his cock in her pussy. It's not the same. It's not going to happen. 

"That's not the only story of its kind. Just last year a similar story came through the grapevine. It's not something I want to trifle with."

"Is it just eating it, or does it have the same effect in other mucous membranes?" She tucked her knees under her, spread her legs to feel the air against her lips and rose up to pull him out almost all the way. She looked down at his cock, licking her lips.

"Apparently it's the same effect no matter how it's transferred or where," he was aroused by her efforts. He loved seeing her this way, but it was a far cry from what she would need to do to get any of his cum inside her.

"I want to do it again." As if what she'd been doing hadn't made that desire obvious.

"Not tonight. It won't happen." He leaned into her and nuzzled her breasts, his fingers kneading her buns.

"But you do it all the time. Why can't I?" There was only a hint of whining; mostly she was frustrated.

"When I first started, months into my training, I had to go weeks between sessions to make sure I bathed in the river rather than climaxing. It took years before I was able to do it more than once in an evening." He bounced her up and down a little, hoping to at least reduce some of the disappointment by impaling his cock as deeply in her as possible.

She groaned. The stimulation was wonderful, but it wasn't the same.

"We haven't done it for a week. You were teased all day today. It takes that kind of situation to set the stage for it."

She looked at him, frustrated and a little angry: her suspicions after Antoinelle had whispered during the dance were well founded. He's playing me. Again.

He held her down, forcing himself into her deeper and pulled on her right nipple with his lips, forcing a cry of pain/pleasure from her. He could feel her getting moist again, the liquid beginning to drench his balls. It would be best to not bring her over the top so soon. It would be so anti-climatic. He smiled at the play on words.

She didn't stop him; it felt too good in spite of feeling duped. Another part of her brain told her to shut up and enjoy all he'd done for her: he'd set up the day to give her a gift she'd never have experienced otherwise. She let him continue to fuck her, his lips on her nipples felt fantastic.

She pushed him back against the head board and rode his cock in earnest. She was a little sore from the fisting, and she felt a little stretched, but pushing against him, from the base of his cock all the way inside her, it more than made up for any discomfort. She realized they'd never done it this way before and she was enjoying the power-play position.

"But..." He continued, pulsing his cock on her down-stroke, "I think I might have a way of accelerating the process." He moaned a little as she tweaked his nipples with her fingers. "Remind me to tell you about it tomorrow."

As hard as she tried, she knew she wasn't going to climax again. It felt so good, but the more she rubbed, the white glow only dissipated faster; the orange glow grew, but it wasn't the same. 

"Shit." Her frustration differed from the teasing she'd had all day, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

"You're trying to come, aren't you." He was breathing heavily; her movements were intensifying. "Maybe...maybe... you...should... just...enjoy... the...ahhhhhh.... the...god that feels good...the...moment." 

She felt him stiffen and shudder and knew she had brought him over the edge. She kissed his face, watching his eyes roll back. She covered his cheeks and eyelids with her lips, lightly peppering his skin, the triumph of her power to make him climax winning over her own frustration. She leaned forward, pushing her breasts against his chest, resting her chin in the crook of his neck. She felt his cock pulsing and imagined he was cumming inside her; that she was ready to accept it. For a fleeting second, she entertained the idea of being his slave if that's what it would take to feel him flood her with his seed.

* - * - * - *

"So, tell me all about it!" 

"Hey Carole." She was tired. It was late and she had to get to up early for work, the Friday leftovers were waiting on her desk. "It was amazing."

"Grey's Point. I've only ever been there for a wedding reception. Man that looked sweet. Whadja do?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm dead tired. We got back just a little while ago..."

"...and he's still there? Oooh, did you get over the slut-thing?"

"No, he's not here. He dropped me off at my office, I've just gotten home. I've got to get to bed. Yes, I mean, no...shit. Don't be so crude, Carole. Yes, we came to an understanding. It was a great weekend. How about drinks tomorrow?"

"Can't make it tomorrow. Tuesday? Hey! When are we going to meet this mystery man, this cock's so hard it doesn't quit, gazillionaire? You guys have been dating for like a year now, right?"

She winced. Carole could be such an ass sometimes. "It hasn't even been 10 weeks, Carole. Please don't be such an ass. I don't know. Our schedules are really busy."

"Busy. Yeah, fucking your brains out every night, when you aren't taking off to Grey's Point. Thursday. A bunch of us are going out for drinks and dinner on Thursday. See if all high and mighty can join you. Yeah? See you Tuesday – Chips?"

"Chips. No problem. After work. I'll call you. And about Thursday. I'll see. Gotta go, I'm beat."

She dumped open her luggage and admired the two dresses he'd bought her, thinking about Carole's comment. She hadn't really come to terms with their relationship, although she felt better about it. She had acted foolishly, exposing herself at the dance, but it only seemed to turn him on. She didn't feel nearly as ashamed or humiliated as she had in the past and that was curious to her.

And then there was the incredible sex...well, not just the sex, but the epiphany, the near-religious experience; 'wading in the river' as he put it so poetically. She had been on fire and desperately wanted to do it again. If he was her ticket to that, she would do almost anything. How would she explain that to Carole. Crack whores had nothing on her.

She stripped off her clothes, thinking about the day, the weekend, her recent revelations about herself and her step-mother. Admiring herself in the mirror she debated whether to shower before bed or wait. Remembering she had to be at work early she started the water.

The morning had been lazy, packing and eating in the room. Over breakfast she made him tell her the details of whatever it was he and Patti had in store for her, and hopefully explain the mysterious comments he'd made as they made love the night before.

The water felt great thrumming on her head, washing away the sweat from the trip home. She ran her hands behind her neck, massaging the muscles, and moved so the spray could stimulate her nipples. They had felt so good last night, the memory of his lips on them as she whited out sent echoes of tingling through her.

"Alright, here's what I realized as soon as I learned about your struggle with exhibitionism..."

She squirmed a little at how forthright he was in talking about a problem she'd been keeping so private for so long. She looked around to be sure they were really alone and then hid her discomfort by taking a sip of coffee.

"...and the challenge of you being prepared if I'm going to ever release my semen into you."

She almost choked at where the conversation had turned, but swallowed it silently. She reached for an English muffin and began buttering it, not looking at his eyes.

"And the nature of the technology I've been working with. They're all intertwined; incredibly there is yet another application for this thing...I think. I've discussed it with Patti, and she is appropriately skeptical of any widget that purports to solve psychological problems, but she was willing to help monitor you...if you wanted to give it a shot."

She still had no idea what he was talking about. 

Remembering his face when she finally did look up from her toast sent a rush through her body. The water cascading down between her legs brought her focus back to the prior evening: his cock impaling her as she held onto the chair, her face in the mirror, filled with lust. Slut. Lust. She mused on the anagram letting her fingers trail between her legs to "wash" herself.

"You look confused. Of course. Sorry. I hadn't recalled what we'd discussed and what we hadn't. The other night – when you tried out the gizmo – we ran through several alternative pasts, right?"

She nodded, remembering how bizarre it was to see her behaving in such radical ways from what she remembered as the true sequence of events. She shifted a little uncomfortably again at the image of her walking naked through his living room filled with his friends – strangers to her.

"You recall how you felt? Think carefully about the differences between the various pasts. Did you feel differently about one vs. another?"

As she played with herself she reflected that she had already known the answer, but even now, slipping her finger inside her lips, feeling her clit harden, she wasn't prepared to say it out loud any more comfortably than this morning.

"Not really. I guess...I guess when I said those things to you, perfectly dressed and prim and proper, I actually felt a little sick to my stomach...like something was wrong with me; but, " she paused to sip some juice to stall for time. She knew what she had felt seeing herself walking naked across the grass and up the stairs, her cunny exposed to the camera and to anyone who passed by. "I was...turned on...a little...seeing myself exposed like that." She blushed at the confession.

She closed her eyes at the memory of the alternative past, at the memory of him fucking her like an animal, at the memory of the colonic, her legs spread open for the attendants to fiddle with her, the memory of Antionelle slipping her pussy over her lips, her taste. She cramped a little around her fingers and pushed more firmly against her erect button.

"I thought I had detected that difference, but it's not for me to say. Okay. So let's say for argument's sake that when you see yourself being an exhibitionist you actually find that a turn-on, and when you see yourself 'under control' it makes you uncomfortable."

"But that's not reasonable!" She interrupted, alarmed at the leap he had made. "Just because I happened to see a couple of alternate pasts doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean I should just be an exhibitionist!" 

"Hold on, hold on. You're jumping too far ahead. No one is saying you should be anything. Criminy, Marcie, you've got to know me better than that by now. And surely you don't think Patti would agree to anything that had that kind of presumption behind it, right? Let me continue a little before you jump down my throat." He was a little annoyed with her and it stung.

"I had suggested to Patti a novel form of an age-old technique: immersive therapy. Most recently it's been used to help people with certain kinds of phobias, let's say arachnophobia – a common fear of spiders."

She shuddered. She didn't care for spiders all that much. The thought of them made her itch a little.

"Most recently, they've been using virtual reality setups – putting goggles on people and having them view scenes as if they were in them. The therapy introduces the phobic item – in this case a spider – slowly over time getting the person accustomed to being near the critter. After several sessions individuals report a significant reduction in their fears. I can see you're getting the picture."

"Okay, so you set up alternate pasts in which I look at myself being naked in front of a bunch of people until I get comfortable with the idea...is that what you want?"

He smiled. "It's funny that's the direction you think I'd take it. It could just as easily been: 'So, I look at alternate pasts in which I'm not taking my clothes off in front of strangers until I get over the discomfort I feel.' It's not my choice – it's what you want. That's where Patti comes in. She can be present, if you want, or she can hang out in the other room and come in when we've completed a session to help debrief you."

She thought about the suggestion. She needed to kick this thing – it was taking way too much control of her life. But in spite of the past 24 hours, in which she'd spent most of it naked...in front of strangers...she still wasn't convinced it was a sickness she needed to overcome. It had felt great, hotel rooms really do let you do things you otherwise wouldn't, but part of her brain, the part that might still be imprinted from her step-mother, kept telling her she needed to stop.

She thought about her memory of her step-mother's abuse, even as her fingers danced inside her, building her arousal. There was a chance she could actually come: the remnants of the past days' activities were still floating around her spine. The horrible scenes she'd only recently recovered were like fresh scars: not yet scabbed over and still sensitive. Whichever direction this thing took, she needed to be rid of it. Maybe...maybe she had a way out.

"Okay...let's say I agree. When would you...and Patti...be able to do it?"

"She said she would make herself available any night, except Thursdays. I'm in town the rest of the month. It really depends on your schedule."

Their ride home had been practically silent. He was moody, focused on some paperwork. She thought she'd done something to set him off. She'd never seen him like this.

"Are you okay?" The silent treatment only increased her sense of being his plaything that he could put away when he didn't want her around anymore.

"Mmm. Fine. It's just work. I hate the thought of going back to it right now. It's been such a great weekend. I had a great time at least. Did you?" He looked up at her and she realized he was being sincere. He really didn't want the weekend to end. But...he had to get back to that reality.

"Monty. I had one of the best times of my life. Last night was incredible. The whole day. And Friday too. I wish we could do it all over again. Every weekend." She leaned over and kissed him. "Hey!" She realized while she had him she wouldn't let him off the hook this time. "You've still never told me about the phone! I won't let you get back to work until you tell me."

"Marcie, I already gave you a huge hint: how did people manage without cell phones?" He gave her a mischievous grin. When she didn't respond he continued. "You're going to kick yourself when you find out."




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 09



She didn't budge, waiting for him to finally tell him.

"Give up? Okay. It's really pretty simple, sweetheart. I have a personal assistant – actually several of them – who monitor my incoming calls. They have a known roster of numbers that are always screened, a known roster of numbers that are always let through, and others that are situation based." He shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his paper work.

She thought about it for a moment – it was an alternative she had considered, but it seemed too simple. And then it struck her. "Hey, hold on! Which one am I? Always through, situational?"

He grinned and pulled her into a kiss. 

They didn't talk the rest of the way home, and hadn't discussed the therapy any further until he kissed her goodnight, just an hour or so ago. 

"I'll let you know." The flickering of lust in his eyes almost made her suggest he come home with her, but she wanted to be alone. She'd spent the entire weekend as his toy – it had been fun, but the normalcy of her life had slammed into her as she approached the entrance to her office. She kissed him, turned to retrieve her car and face the drive home alone.

Her fingers were slippery and not from soap. It wouldn't be a big orgasm, but it would help take the edge off. She sat on the edge of the tub replaying the scenes from the moment they'd arrived until the sweet explosion doused her brain.

* - * - * - * - *

"Take the control," he handed her the player and sat back.

They were alone in the theater. She had told Patti to wait; she didn't want her to be there. Not for the first time...well, technically the second time.

"How do I tell it to show me a past where I'm naked in front of strangers?"

He nodded and closed his eyes briefly. A few heartbeats later the adjusted a few settings and handed it back to her. 

"You see the Gaussian curve there?"

She nodded, noticing a set of vertical lines slicing the display on either side of the bell curve.

"You see the reddish marker there?" He pointed. She nodded. "That's where we'll find a likely candidate. It may take a few tries."

He showed her how to initiate the sequence and she sat back.

The scene opened in Monty's dining room, with at least a dozen people around the table. She recognized a couple of them from the party and one gentleman from the weekend at Grey's Point. She turned up the volume a little.

"And how long have you and Monty been dating?" The voice came from a woman at Marcie's left – young and quite beautiful, apparently a partner of one of the men across the table.

"Only a few weeks. We met by accident...literally, although he would correct me if he heard me say it." She smiled and took a sip from her cocktail.

The meal was sit down, served by staff who came and went as the guests chatted.

"Is this going anywhere?" She turned to Monty, wondering if they should try again.

"Hold on. It's too soon to tell. We may have started a little early. You can fast-forward if you'd like." He pointed to a control and she watched as the figures moved rapidly around the room, serving dishes, food moving from plate to mouth, wine disappearing from glasses. She slowed it down when she thought she noticed something odd. She moved the point of view to frame her and her companion.

"Really? You don't think Monty would mind?" The woman put her hand to her mouth and smiled. "I'd really like to see that. It would make this party so entertaining."

Marcie could see the effect the woman's words had on her past-self. The anger and...pride...and slight drunkenness on her face. She knew what that meant. She sat and stared, her fingers gripping the control, her legs pressed together against the love seat. She held her breath.

Her past-self casually reached behind her and unzipped her dress, the sound drowned out by the conversation. Except for her companion, no one else seemed to notice. And then she peeled it off of her, letting her breasts come free. Without missing a beat, she lifted slightly off her chair and peeled it down, backing away from the table slightly. While she was bent over, Marcie could tell she was removing her underwear as well.

She exhaled and realized she had become aroused: her nipples were erect, pushing against her shirt, her clit was erect, pushing against its hood, and she could feel her moisture building. Monty looked over at her.

"Do you want to go on?"

"No. Yes. Shit. No. I can't believe I'm this turned on by a fantasy past!"

"A) it's not a 'fantasy' past – it really happened, and B) we can stop it if you want."

She wanted to see an alternate when she didn't peel off her clothes. "Yes. Can we try and find its opposite?"

He nodded and stopped the sequence, her breasts frozen in place on the screen; all eyes at the table had turned toward her. She wondered whether she had been right. "Wait. I want to see your face."

He turned the viewpoint around to face the other end of the table, and there, framed in the picture was Monty, his face lit up with joy, his hands just about to clap together. She blushed a deep crimson, realizing he really did enjoy her stripping; he wasn't embarrassed, he seemed to be cheering her on.

"God..." she whispered, her juices now soaking her panties. She couldn't believe what was happening to her. "Okay. Let's try the other side of the coin."

He fiddled with the display and the scene blurred.

Same table; different guests she noticed. The woman to her left was the same. They were having a conversation, but Marcie could see her past-self was not enjoying it.

"Well, I think it's wrong. People just peeling off their clothes at the slightest suggestion. It might be okay for college kids – they're just experimenting after all – but grown adults. It's just...not right."

Marcie put her hand to her mouth, her jaw dropped. She sounded just like her step-mother. She blinked and shook her head, pausing the scene. Her head was throbbing.

"I...I can't do this." The feeling was so intense, the disgust at seeing her behave this way. The difference between the two pasts, and more importantly differences in her visceral reactions to them made her a little dizzy.

"Okay. Just breathe. Maybe it would be best to chat with Patti, yeah?" Monty stood up and held out her hand. "I'll make some tea."

"But...but I could become that person..." She waved her hand vaguely at the screen not wanting to look at herself.

"You could," he paused, waiting for her to get up, "but you wouldn't. That's the point of this. Remember the premise behind this therapy: belief systems change us. Just by watching this, you are changing yourself. The question is, in what way do you want to change?"

She sat with her therapist in the living room, trying to regain a sense of balance.

"Are you okay?" Patti saw how drained she looked. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She sat there with her eyes closed, revisiting the two scenes, alternately turned on and disgusted. Suddenly a torrent of words came from her, Patti taking notes and acknowledging what she'd heard.

They talked for an hour, all of the pain of Marcie's adolescence spilling out: her step-mother's domination and value judgments, the freedom of being naked, and the rebellion. So much of what she'd been doing for the past 10 years suddenly came into focus in a way she'd never discussed. In just a few minutes of immersion into a past that was so real, so life-like, Marcie had stripped away the false-fronts she had worked so hard to build. 

"This is a little overwhelming, Marcie. I have to say. You weren't in there for more than 15 minutes. I've never experienced anything like this. It's quite a breakthrough." Patti was more than a little worried – the power of the technology seemed overwhelming, and breathtaking. She wasn't sure what to advise: whether her client should continue or not. "How are you feeling?"

She took a breath and thought about it. "I feel...lighter. A little light-headed actually, but I think that's from all the talking. Lighter. Like a load has been lifted. I've been carrying all of this guilt for so many years. From that woman. I...I'm not sure what to do about it. She's been in my head so long, I'm not sure what I'll do if she's gone. But I don't want her anymore. She's not healthy. She's been making me sick."

Patti couldn't have agreed more, but she kept her mouth closed. This was a huge breakthrough and the bigger question was how Monty would fit into the picture. Marcie could just as easily decide exhibitionism wasn't her thing now that the rebellion facet was revealed, or she might conclude she'd been having fun all along, and now could enjoy it even more, without the guilt. Either way, their relationship would change. Patti was keenly interested to see whether Monty was ready.

"I don't have any advice for you, except to suggest these things take time to work themselves out. You've made huge progress tonight...this past week – whether it was because of the gizmo or your hard work these past several months, I can't say, but there's no question you're asking the right questions. Are you okay? Do you want me to follow you home?" She felt a little awkward being in his house – she wasn't certain she should leave yet.

"I'm...I'm not sure what I'm going to do just yet. You don't have to stay. I'm feeling so much better now. Do we still have an appointment this week? I think I'd like to see you in a couple of days after I've slept on this for a little bit. Yeah?"

"Perhaps we should see when Monty is available for another session with the gizmo?"

"Oh! Of course. I think he must be in the kitchen."

She led her out of the living room.

"Monty! Monty, I can't believe this! It's fantastic!" She walked quickly through the dining room on her way to the kitchen and stopped short, seeing the table with its empty chairs, her two selves momentarily overlaid and then she continued on, laughing at the complete ludicrousness of it all.

Patti had stopped and now followed her patient again; she look confused.

"You look exhausted," he looked up from his laptop. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I am feeling fantastic! But yeah, I'm pretty worn out. It's just...I feel so relieved, like a weight's been taken off me." She sat down at the peninsula stool next to him. "I can't believe what's happened from this one session...and last week's, of course"

"Thank you," he turned to Patti, "for participating. I hope you didn't find anything to prevent this from going on?"

"It sounds pretty incredible, actually." The therapist stood on the other side of the counter. "10 minutes with you and 60 with me. That's a pretty good ratio....I really should be going, but I thought we should schedule the next session." She opened her date book. "Thursday's out, as I mentioned..."

"Oh, Monty." She turned to him and then back to her.... "Sorry Patti."...and then back to him. "I just remembered, do you have Thursday night open?"

He looked at her, confused by the rapid shifts in conversation and clicked through his laptop. "Yes...what time?"

"Some friends invited us out, and, well, since you've never met any of them, I thought it would be nice to get together with them. 7?"

"Sorry, Patti," nodding to her. "One second. Depending on where it is, I can meet you by 7:30, 8 at the latest."

"Sorry Patti." She realized she had been rude and interrupted, but she was feeling so great! "Go ahead. Would Wednesday be too soon?" She was anxious to try it again; it seemed like she was so close to working through the issue that had been plaguing for so long.

Patti pursed her lips and looked at Monty. "I...have it open, but I'm wondering if it's too soon...You should probably take some time to work through what we discussed."

"I don't want to wait. I want to keep doing this until I get this shit out of me!" She was more excited than petulant. Her obvious enthusiasm was infectious.

"Wednesday it is then. Monty?"

"Yes. But again, if it's possible to do it around 7:30 that would help."

"Not a problem." Marcie shut down the conversation. "Patti, if you want to catch a light dinner, I'd be happy to meet you somewhere..."

They walked Patti to the door, both thanking her for taking her time and being so understanding.

As he closed the door, he turned to her. "Well, I'm no professional in these matters, but I've been through enough change in my life to suggest one thing: it's like removing a tooth. The initial trauma is a little exhilarating, but then the reality sets in. This isn't over, that much I'm pretty confident about. I'm really pleased though that it was such a breakthrough." He opened his arms to embrace her, kissing her lightly.

"Hey! What's up? I'm not made of glass, you know." She was feeling great, all lightness and airy. She might even be persuaded to spend the night, even though she didn't have a change of clothes for the office.

He smiled. "Do you want to have a cup of tea? It's getting late and I don't want you to have to drive home if you're getting tired."

 "I'd be happy to spend the night here." She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his chin, working her way down his neck.

"I just don't want to take advantage. You're in a vulnerable place, whether you feel it right now or not. Even if you were ready to strip your clothes off for me right here and now, I'm not sure I'd be so willing."

The dare spiked arousal in her gut; the thought of stripping in front of his door and having him fuck her just inches from the view of the street started her heart beating, but the rest of his sentence sunk in and it stung.

"Well, that's a buzz-kill if there ever was one." She knew he was probably right, but the deflation felt far worse than the initial burst of electricity. "I suppose I should be going."

"You're welcome to stay; I would love it. But I have a feeling you would be better off not having sex tonight s'all." He continued to hug her waist, looking straight into her face.

She couldn't argue with him. Exhaustion suddenly came over her like a tsunami and she yawned. "Shit. You're right. I'm beat. I probably should get home." She pulled away and looked around the living room for her coat and purse. 

"I love you Monty." She came up to him and gave him a long passionate kiss. "I can't wait til Wednesday."

As he closed the door behind her, all he could think about was how many times she'd walked out, and how many different feelings he'd had looking at her.

* - * - * - * - *

"Let's do it again, just like Monday." She had been obsessing about it for two days. Her drinks with Carole were a mere blip in her consciousness, completely eclipsed by her desire to experience the 'two Marcies' as she'd come to think about it. 

She had caravanned with Patti from dinner; they had sipped some tea with Monty in the living room and now the two of them sans Patti were back in the theater. 

He crooked his head a little and smiled, reaching for the controls. "Okay; I haven't changed anything so we can easily get back to those pasts if you'd like. The same ones?"

She nodded. She wanted to see if the same feelings came up with the exact same sequences.

The first sequence blurred onto the screen – her youthful companion to the left. As she watched, the anticipation of seeing her strip in front of the other guests already started a cascade of responses in her body. She could feel herself heating up, her nipples stiffening, her cunny getting loose.

He watched as her breathing deepened. Her past-self stripped; she continued to make conversation; Marcie turned the point of view to pan the rest of the guests' faces, a mixture of shock, arousal and amusement. Monty quietly cheering her on, supporting her.

"Perhaps some of the rest of you would like to join my lovely friend?" He grinned at the other guests. 

She turned the viewfinder back to her past self and watched as she ate her soup, conversing with the young woman as if people did this all the time. She could see the other woman blushing a little, her nipples clearly obvious through her blouse. Marcie turned it to look across the table at the woman's companion, a young man who couldn't keep his eyes off of Marcie's breasts. He shifted uncomfortably and she realized he had an erection.

The effect on her was instantaneous: she wanted to strip off her clothes and feel the air on her naked skin, to open the drapes and let whoever could see in, see in. There was no shame, no humiliation, for herself, but every time she looked at her past-self she felt a pang of embarrassment – as if that woman was emotionally disabled and needed help.

"Where do you suppose this will lead?" She asked him, thinking he may have a suspicion.

"I have no idea; each moment is a platform for infinite possibilities. Do you want to continue?"

She did, but she couldn't see what value it was going to have – she had already absorbed the feeling from this sequence and in spite of being turned on, was mostly uncomfortable with seeing herself just strip like that.

"No. I think I get it. Let's try the other one again." The feelings were different tonight. She could tell this might end up being a mistake. Maybe she should have waited a little longer, or picked a different scene.

Once again, the sequence blurred and then stabilized. She heard her past-self's comment; her step-mother's voice grating at her. Almost immediately she felt dried up; her nipples sank and her breathing was shallow.

"Amazing," she commented, reflecting on how different it felt. She watched, growing bored with the sheer normalcy of the scene. Well, at least boredom is an improvement over what you felt last time. It was true, another part of her mind agreed. Perhaps that is a sign of growth: rather than disgust or disdain, you're simply bored.

There was something more than boredom, though, as she sat and watched a little while longer. In the first sequence her libido had turned on immediately; in this sequence she was beginning to feel frustrated. Was her past-self feeling frustrated as well? Was she in-synch with her screen self's feelings?

"I think I'm not getting anything out of this," she confessed, looking at Monty. "It doesn't feel at all the same."

"Perhaps it would be interesting to fast forward this one. We could do the other one as well, but I think you and I both know where that one is likely to lead. I'm curious though. I can't quite figure out what the two of us are going to do."

She looked at him, curious as well. Was he sincerely confused or did he really have a clue. Why can't you just trust him and take it at face value?

She pushed the fast forward and watched as the evening finished in 10x time. All the guests had first moved to the living room and then they filtered out, leaving just the two of them. The staff exited and then they were alone. She watched her past-self carefully, slowing the sequence down to real time; something crossed her face – an emotion or a quick smile.

"Monty. I...I think I'm ready." She cast her eyes down, as if she were seeking his permission.

"If you're ready, I'm ready. Come on downstairs." He had changed his tone slightly. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it sounded similar to how he had spoken to her on the balcony at Grey's Point.

They followed the two of them downstairs, not to the Master bedroom, but to a second bedroom just next to the theater.

Marcie stopped the sequence. "I didn't know there was another bedroom here. Is there?"

He nodded. "Did you want to see it? I keep it for any visitors I might get. You're welcome to stay there anytime." He smiled, disarming her.

She let the sequence continue. The two of them approached the bedroom and stopped. She turned to him, looking at his feet.

"Please, may I enter your room?"

Marcie couldn't understand what was happening; in her head it felt all wrong, but more perplexing the feelings it provoked in her gut were intensely arousing. She looked over at him and he screwed up his face, his lips pressed together, as confused as she was.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 09



"Not that way, you can't."

She kept her eyes down and began to unzip her dress, peeling it off revealing her bra. Still not looking at him, she unsnapped and removed it, dropping it to the floor. Her dress slipped to her feet, and she slipped her panties and stockings down. Stepping out of her shoes she stood before him, naked, her eyes still looking at the floor.

Marcie's eyes widened, her hand moving to her mouth to cover it as her jaw dropped. The way her past-self was behaving was foreign, and disturbing, but even more shocking to her was the dark black triangle of hair covering her mound. She hadn't seen her muff as thick since she her step-mother had forced her to shave. She moved her legs a little and realized how wet she was getting.

"May I enter your room, Monty?"

He answered by opening the door. It wasn't locked. She could have done it herself, but it was obviously a ritual they had worked out. He slid his hand on a light switch; the room was bathed in a dim yellowish light. 

Marcie gasped at what the sequence revealed; her heart practically jumped out of her chest: The room was set up as a small theater – a stage facing rows of seats, and on the stage was the "dungeon" she had hallucinated about in the basement.

"God, Monty. NO! That isn't really in your bedroom next door, is it?" She stopped the sequence, the view of the manacles bolted into a rock wall frozen in front of them. As alarming as the image was, the feelings erupting inside her were even more so.

"No. Would you like to see how I've decorated it?" 

She couldn't understand how he could be...amused...by what they were seeing. Her gut was boiling, her panties were soaked and her bra was irritating her nipples they were so stiff.

"I...I...I don't understand..." She wanted to turn away, but from what? Her own body?

"Should we stop? I can see how this could be disturbing to you. Is this similar to the 'dungeon' you had imagined when we were downstairs?"

She nodded. "No! I mean, yes – it is similar to the hallucinations I had, but I'm not sure I want to stop. This is just so weird...but what's weirder is...is how it's making me feel." She grabbed his hand and moved it between her legs where he could feel how wet her panties were. He looked up at her, his eyebrows furrowed a little in confusion.

"This is turning you on? Hmmm...that's interesting." He left his hand there, pushing on her slightly. She moaned.

"Why is this turning me on so much? I'm not like this. I...I'm not a pervert this way...Shit, how sick am I?"

He turned to her, putting his other arm around her, pulling her into a kiss. "You haven't learned anything yet, have you? If it isn't exhibitionism it's submission. If it isn't submission, it's a fetish. If not that, it's something else. What difference does it make what you do to seek pleasure? There are no rules when you wade in the river. It is about the life force and what you do with it. It is about being a human being." He held her, staring into her face. He moved his hand away from her vagina and sat back. 

She could tell he was slightly annoyed with her, but that was overshadowed by the intensity of her arousal.

"Shall we continue?"

She looked down and saw his erection bulging in his trousers and smiled weakly. If this was turning him on half as much as it was her, it was enough for her to force the both of them to watch it. She took perverse pleasure in sharing her discomfort. "No...I mean, yes...let's see where this goes for another minute or so."

He started the sequence again, and they watched as she entered the room, stepping onto the stage. She stood with her back to the wall, clamping her left hand into iron manacle with her right and holding her right hand up to the other, waiting. "Please, Monty, could you help me?"

Marcie's eyes were glued to the black triangle of hair: it stretched practically from her waist down into a black slit between her legs. The hairs were so long she could see individual strands hanging in the gap at the juncture of her thighs. She thought she could see beads of moisture matting them together. Her own moisture seeped out of her.

He stood next to her, imprisoning her right hand and then spreading her legs wide, wider than looked comfortable, attaching matching bracelets to her ankles. He let his hand drift up her leg, his finger sliding into her slit. She moaned.

Marcie moaned, her eyes glued to the sequence. 

He got up from the couch, freezing the image of her past-self imprisoned and exposed to an empty set of seats, lights shining on her, Monty's past-self standing close by, not threatening but ...dominating.

She moaned again. "God...what am I doing? What are you doing?"

He had moved behind the couch, directly behind her. "Would you mind if I tried a small experiment?"

She bent her head back to look up at him. From her angle she couldn't really interpret his expression, but she didn't feel threatened. "What do you want to do?"

"I just realized something about you, just this minute. You are not just concerned about being an exhibitionist, are you?" It was a rhetorical question, but he didn't say it as if he was psycho-analyzing her either. It was a statement of fact. "I think you are troubled by any sexuality you may be feeling that isn't 'plain vanilla.'" Again, he said it as a statement of fact without any invitation for her to discuss it.

A small annoyance at being dissected without her permission began to compete with the arousal: a bluish vapor subduing the orange glow.

"I don't know any of this as a fact, but let me explore this with you for a second. Patti is just upstairs; you can discuss my observations, or your annoyance with them with her. But I would like to explore something just for a second. May I?"

She wasn't so ticked off to stop him, the glow was still strong up and down her spine. She nodded, turning her eyes back to the screen, back to her black triangle, her body spread open, his screen image's hand just reaching for a part of her body. She felt cool air on her panties and realized she'd opened her legs wider. 

He reached down with both hands and pulled her shoulders back, gently, slowly, but firmly. She didn't fight him – it was like a small massage, but it resulted in her pushing her breasts forward, her back slightly arched. He held her there for several breaths. She pulsed the muscles in her pelvic floor, pinching her labia together. She imagined her clit pushing out of its hood and mewled slightly.

He reached his left arm across her collar bone, below her neck, his mouth coming down as he bent forward slightly. With his right hand he began to unbutton her shirt. She knew she could stop him, either with words or with her hands, but she let him continue. She imagined she was imprisoned, his left arm holding her against the couch, her own arms held back.

"Sit on your hands for a second."

She lifted herself off the couch, one side and then the other, slipping her hands under her buns. Now she really was trapped. He had undone her blouse and pulled it aside, exposing her bra. He slipped his hand up to the clasp and twisted it, releasing the fabric from her breasts.

The air against her nipples was a relief, at the same time the exposure heightened her arousal further. She wasn't sure what he was driving at, but she was starting to wish Patti wasn't upstairs. She opened her legs further.

He reached across her for the control, momentarily releasing her. She didn't move, she didn't want to move. She wanted him to kiss her, to caress her, to use her, as he had used her the past weekend, as he was using her on stage.

"Let's continue to watch, until you can't take it anymore."

She wasn't sure what he was referring to: the images on screen or what he was planning for her on the couch, but she looked at him and nodded.

Her past-self stood, splayed open as his past-self reached behind the screen. He pulled out a bin that he placed at her feet. She looked down at it, licking her lips.

"What do you need tonight?" He asked her, pulling various objects out for her to look at.

Monty held her tight against the couch with one arm, his free hand first slipping into her mouth, then pinching her nipples, then sliding down to her navel, teasing at her waist band. His chest kept her head from falling backward; she just wanted to have him make love to her. She looked at the "toys" his past-self was presenting to her in the scene.

She saw the ball-gag she had been wearing in her hallucinations, and the riding crop, and the huge dildo. With each object she contracted her groin muscles and felt her panties soaking up her juices. He pulled out a long silver chain with clips on the end, a leather harness she couldn't begin to understand and a leather mask.

"The mask, please. But not the gag. I want to hear myself scream." She said it with a sense of need as if he was doing her a favor, like preparing a needle of her favorite drug.

Marcie wasn't sure how much longer she could stand where the sequence was obviously going. If his past-self was going to whip her, or make her scream for any reason, she knew she would have to stop. But it was like watching a train-wreck in slow-motion. She wanted to turn away but was fixed to the spot, hoping it wouldn't happen exactly as she predicted.

He reached down further, using both hands briefly to unsnap the hook on her skirt. She turned her lips to kiss his neck, lifting herself briefly to let him strip the skirt and panties down a little. Now her legs were cuffed, her cunny trapped even as it was exposed to the air. She could smell her musk wafting up.

He returned his arm across her collarbone, holding her back, his hand now playing up and down the front of her body. She moaned as much because of him as for him.

Her past-self's face was now hidden by the mask; it made her body look more vulnerable and exposed. Just the image of it forced her to push against his fingers as they made their way to her slit.

"Hmmm....please....could you....?" She didn't want to say anything, but the intensity of the feelings were stronger than her desire to avoid begging.

He held off, forcing a small cry of frustration from her. Her past-self was now moaning as well: he had taken the silver chain and clipped each end to her nipples, letting the heavy links drop. The loop was nearly to the floor suggesting he could do creative things with it.

He pulled the leather harness behind her, snapping it together in front. It was obvious to her now what it was used for: running up between her legs was a belt with a hole in it. Using a small strap, he inserted a vibrator through the hole and into her vagina, strapping it in place. As it entered her, she moaned, apparently as much from anticipation as the feeling of the dildo penetrating her. 

He adjusted the remaining straps and pulled up a stool to sit next to her. "Let's see how long you can hold out tonight." He picked up a small remote control and played with some settings. The effect on her was immediate: she let a long keening sound as if he was playing her like an instrument. He sat and studied her eyes through the mask, lightly pulling on the chain. Her moans changed, now sounding like a small coyote yipping. Each time he tugged she let out a small clipped sound, when he stopped she issued a string of "thank-yous" and jerked her pelvis in obvious rhythm to the vibrator.

Marcie couldn't stand it any longer. "Please...Monty...please...I can't take it...please...make me come. Make me come. I need you to fuck me. Anything. Your finger inside me. Anything. I need to feel you rubbing me." She wanted to pull out her hands and pull down his neck to force his mouth on her cunt and gush him with her juices.

"Can you hold out a little longer?" He pulled his fingers up to her nipples, stretching them slightly, rubbing them between his thumb and index, feeling their silky knobbiness.

"I...I'm not...sure...I can take it...oh god, oh god, oh god." She was looking at her past-self, the intensity of the vibrator obvious in how she was moving and the sounds she was making. The images from the past, of being used in front of an audience came rushing back to her and she just wanted to tear her clothes off and feel the sweet release of an orgasm. "Please. Please. Please." Each word was exhaled after a long intake of breath as she tried to calm herself.

"Thank you." He said, letting her go and standing back up. "I can stop it now, if you want." 

"Stop it? Stop it? No...can't you see how turned on I am? Please...don't stop!"

"It's your choice again. Perhaps we should stop and continue this after Patti is gone?" 

She weighed his suggestion against her need. Her body was on fire, she was sure she was dripping onto the love seat, her nipples ached. But she wanted to 'wade in the river' again – the feeling was so utterly fantastic – and she wasn't sure she could do it without taking it slow. The thought of being on the edge of an orgasm only added to her excitement, sending a vibration up her spine. She closed her eyes and nodded agreement.

"We've been in here a long time. Maybe you should go talk with her and come back."

She was a mess – looking at her face in the mirror in the bathroom the reflection was flushed, her makeup smeared. She reclasped her bra and buttoned her shirt; her panties would be a completely different problem. They were soaked and she was certain Patti would smell her. She slipped them off and left them on the sink. Soaking a washcloth she gave herself a quick douche, hoping to at least remove the most obvious odors. She took a moment to refresh her makeup but she knew it was obvious what they'd been doing.

"So," Patti looked up from a magazine she was reading on the couch. "I see you had a very different experience tonight." She took out her notebook and sat up.

"Uhhhm, yes....I...I'm not sure where to begin."

"Well, first off, what did you decide to review?"

"Oh. Right. I thought it would be interesting to see the same two sequences again. It was such a powerful experience the other night, I had hoped to feel it again...."

"And?"

"Well, it was disappointing...on that level. I guess it's like seeing a magic trick the second time: the mystery was gone...but then...then." She stopped and blushed a deep red.

"What happened?" She looked up into Marcie's face to see if there was something else going on other than the obvious embarrassment she was feeling.

"He...Monty...suggested we continue to look at the anti-exhibitionist stream for a little while just to see where it would lead...and..." She couldn't get the words out; she couldn't accept she could be that way.

"And?"

"...and I...I ended up being his submissive...slave?" She blushed at the memory of asking to be attached to the manacles.

"And?"

Marcie couldn't believe she needed to say anything more. "And...it's not me! I've never done those...those things! It's....wrong." She didn't feel the conviction of her words in the last sentence and Patti picked up on it.

"It's wrong...tell me more."

"It's...not...wrong, exactly. I didn't mean to say that. I mean, it's not right for me. I don't need to do that stuff. Monty and I don't need to behave that way for us to be together." She squirmed again at the memory of the shackles, and then a fleeting image of him fucking her on the balcony, and the two of them reflected in the mirror as he took her from behind. She closed her eyes a moment to collect her thoughts.

"You feel it's not necessary?"

"Okay, shit. Look." Marcie was getting annoyed. "I got really, really turned on by what I saw." She stopped and realized she had confessed out loud what she had hoped to deny. "I...it's kind of upsetting to see yourself...letting go...submitting...I don't know...it was out of control." The sound of her past-self yipping in response to him pulling the chain on her nipples hit her again.

"It? Was out of control?"

"Yeah. It! The situation. I was out of control, I was acting like an animal...it was...embarrassing."

Patti made some notes in her book. "Was Monty embarrassed?"

Marcie thought about it for a few heartbeats. "No. Not that I could see. Neither the past-Monty or the one in the room seemed fazed in any way by what I was doing." She clamped her groin muscles briefly, feeling a pulse of pleasure along with the memory of his caresses.

"So...you submitted to being his 'slave.' What exactly does that mean?"

She decided it wouldn't do any good to beat around the bush, so to speak, and described the sequence. As she was working up to the part with the mask and the dildo she felt herself getting aroused again and she knew Patti knew what was happening. All the time she talked, Patti took notes, acknowledging what she was saying, prompting her to provide more details. 

She wound down having described the intensity of Monty's "experiment," looking up at the other woman. "What is going on?"

Patti just shook her head. "It's...I'm...Hmmm." She paused to collect her thoughts. "Monty's suggestion about your sexual 'hangups' is an interesting idea, but I wouldn't jump to conclusions based on your reaction to what you felt happening in those scenes. Really...it was just one thread of an infinite number of threads, right? More importantly is: what do you feel about what you experienced and how you felt about his 'experiment?'" 

She felt...powerless when he held her that way, when he forced himself on her on the balcony, from behind, when he had his fist inside her. She felt as if she was just an extension of his own power. She felt he was so powerful, so rich, so able to have anything he desired she was insignificant. "Power. It's about power. I feel...powerless." She rattled off a censored version of the stream of consciousness and sat back, exhausted.

"Hmmm. I think that's a remarkable set of insights, Marcie. You said earlier 'it's out of control,' and then a little later 'I was out of control.' It sounds like you are concerned about losing your control over the relationship, or perhaps over your determination to get better?" Patti put down the notebook and looked at her, glancing momentarily at her watch.

"Maybe. Maybe so." Marcie wasn't sure what all that meant, but she knew she wanted to visit the river, to continue her 'training' as she was beginning to think about it, and she needed Patti to leave as soon as practicable.

"Well, last time you spent 15 minutes with him and 60 with me. Tonight it was reversed, but I don't think the time was any less powerful. Whatever is going on in there, the progress you are making is very clear. I want to reiterate, though: Monty isn't a trained therapist – he has an agenda, whether it is in line with your needs or your best interests is hard to know, since he is obviously deeply involved with you. I believe he cares for you very much, but you both are exploring some uncharted ground here – on many different levels." She looked at Marcie piercingly. "I can't say this any more frankly: please be careful and look out for yourself. Call me at any time if you feel you need help. Any time, night or day."

The two of them got up, silently agreeing it was time for Patti to go. As Marcie let her out of the door, she considered the past minutes' discussion, weighing it against what she hadn't told her therapist – dipping into the life force.

Before returning to the theater she made a pot of tea, scrounging through his pantry for a box of cookies. When she re-entered the theater she saw the image of her past-self, splayed open on stage, the mask hiding her expression, still wrapped in the harness, impaled on the dildo. The images slammed into her like a body tackle, her knees wobbled a little forcing her to set the tray down on the bar.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 09



Monty was working at a side table, poring over his laptop. He looked up as she came in and jumped in alarm at her mis-step. He was next to her in a flash, concern on his face.

"It's...I'm okay. It's just that..." she waved her hand at the screen, her face locked onto the image. She couldn't understand how he could be so nonchalant about it. It was such a powerful image. The word triggered an echo of the conversation with Patti.

"Should we stop?" He poured a cup of tea, waiting.

"I...no...I think we shouldn't stop," She put her hand on his, looking into his eyes. "I want to revisit the river tonight. But...I think I should tell you what I talked about with Patti." Just touching his hand triggered a flood of arousal. Suddenly her clothes felt too tight and she knew what she wanted...needed...to do.

They stood sipping tea. She tentatively revealed her thoughts about their power relationship; she wasn't sure how he'd take it. He nodded, completely impassive as she suggested she was powerless, her conflicts about their time together over the weekend and the apparent need she had to 'lose control.' The more she talked about it, the more turned on she got at the idea of watching him ravish her on screen: of using that as a path to the river. She remembered him suggesting it was just part of 'being a human being.' The revulsion she had felt earlier of submitting to him had dulled, worn down by a much stronger need to explore this odd facet of her sexuality she'd never known was there.

She turned to look at herself on the screen and looked back at him, the desire to be that woman winning over the need to stay in control. She looked down at her feet, dropping her hands to her waist.

"I think I need your help, but I don't know how to ask." 

He leaned over, lightly kissing her neck, his hands at her shoulders, sliding down to her wrists. As he continued to plant kisses on her neck and chin he started unbuttoning her blouse, pulling it off her. Moments later he had removed her bra as well, her nipples hard in the cool air, her skin free.

"Here," he said, stepping back and gesturing to the front of the room. "You do it." Holding her arm, he walked with her until she stood next to the larger-than-life image of her on the screen. Half naked she stood looking at him, at his waist not his eyes, waiting. She knew he expected her to strip off the remaining bit of clothing. She wasn't sure what was next until she watched him fiddle with the remote and heard the swish of the curtains opening behind her. Her heart jumped; she unhooked her skirt and let it fall.

Even though she knew no one could see in, the windows were audience enough. She stood naked in front of the seats, her bare backside facing the unseen eyes behind her and she waited for him to help her find her way.

She watched him undress, his cock tenting out his briefs and then springing into view. She wanted it inside her – anywhere he chose would be fine, just so that she could feel it. She pressed her legs together, the liquid electricity shooting up her lower spine.

"Come here. Let's watch this together." She saw his hands gesturing her towards him; she was careful not to look higher than his waist. She walked towards the love seat, not sure where he wanted her.

"Turn around." 

She turned to see herself strapped on the wall, naked, exposed, her face hidden by the mask. His hands came to her waist pulling her back onto him. He slid his cock into her, spreading her legs so that her clit was exposed.

He moved his arms up along her shoulders, trapping her again, forcing her breasts forward, arching her back. He moved his legs inside hers and spread them wide: wide enough her groin muscles and tendons strained. She was trapped in this position, unable to move, getting no stimulation except the cool air on her nipples and against her wet slit.

He wrapped his right arm around the back of her neck, his hand grabbing her left shoulder. In this position her head was forced down further. She saw his cock buried inside her, her mound pushing out from erection. He slipped his left hand down to the remote.

"I found a few similar pasts," he said into her ear, nibbling her lobe. "I hope you like them."

She groaned as he moved his cock inside her. "Fuck me Monty. Please. Fuck me with your cock. Bring me to the river..." She whimpered the last as he brought the control up where he could see it, rubbing its cool plastic against her breasts.

"What do you want?" He asked it like he'd asked before – like he was serving at a cafeteria.

"I want to 'wade in the river' ohhhh, ahhhh...yess....shit....yessss."

He sat back pulling her with him, spreading her legs wider. Both hands returned to her shoulders, letting her head relax back onto his collar bone. Her back melted against his stomach, his cock penetrated her deeply. In spite of being impaled on it, once again she knew unless he fondled her clit she wouldn't orgasm in this position. She knew he knew it.

The scene on the screen shifted, blurring momentarily. When it came back into focus she gasped, pulsing her cunt against his shaft. She was still manacled to the wall; her cunt filled by the dildo strapped by the harness. Her hair was still fully unshaven, a dark mat glistening between her legs. Everything about the scene was almost identical with two exceptions: the mask wasn't on so Marcie could see her face and the room was filled with people, a few of whom she recognized from the weekend and from the dinner party.

"Noooo...oooh goooddddd, nooo, yes. Yes yes. Shit....please. please."

He had begun to shift inside her, moving his hand to her clit and just lightly tapping on it. Her past self was also shouting as the dildo rubbed inside her, the silver chain pulling on her nipples. Their two voice joined together creating a strange duet. 

She felt the white hot fire of her arousal begin to lick up her spine – the memory of her tormentor from the hallucinations almost perfectly overlaid by the fresh images on screen. Monty had changed the point of view from her past-self's perspective looking out onto the audience. It appeared as if the people were looking straight at them, watching her being split open by him on the love seat.

The sounds of her past-self moaning added to the arousal of being exposed so nakedly to these strangers – imaginary, not really seeing her in this room, but definitely watching her on stage – she felt as if she was that woman and the tendril of white arousal thickened and lengthened up to her shoulders.

"Tell them what you want." He moved his pelvis slightly, forcing her open a little wider; at the same time he moved his hands to slip beneath her cheeks. 

She groaned a protest – both at the prospect of his stretching her further and at the suggestion. "No..." she whispered, "No...no....yes...god that feels good. I want you to watch me....watch me...get fucked...watch me...." She grunted the words out as he started lifting her off his cock and dropping her down deeper on it.

He kissed her ear and whispered in it. "You want to tell them. You are there for them. They want to hear you, to open yourself – body and soul – they have come to watch you. Look."

She had dropped her head, her eyes seeing her naked body split open by his cock but her mind not really registering. She was dipping into the water, the white tendrils of arousal wrapping around her lower brain. 

She looked up at his words and saw several people in the audience stripping off their clothes, a young couple kissing passionately as they worked each other's shirts off. She knew it was because of her, even as she knew it wasn't from her now, but the difference didn't matter. Her eyes rolled back into her head as his hands played the front of her body – her nipples, her slit, her clit.

The white flames had engulfed her entire core from slit to tip of her forehead – she was immersed in them, the sweetness of her climax just a hair breadth's away. She floated, submerged in the fiery honey, eyes closed, the sounds of her past-self's passion filling her ears, and then, without warning, the white exploded, passing through her bones, her skin, her eyes. Everything went black and then she was on that stage feeling the dildo pulsing inside her, her hands and feet bound out to the side, her breasts pulled down by their nipples from the silver chain and then she was back.

She gulped for air trying to figure out what had happened. Her body was still on fire, Monty was still inside her, his fingers pulling her nipples, her arms trapped behind his, her legs split open. Her vision was blurry, as if she'd been crying, but she could still see the audience, staring at her, continuing to undress.

"Stop...stop...I've got to stop...." She forced the words out. She was approaching a climax and didn't want to go over the edge – whatever had happened just then wasn't an orgasm and she didn't want to lose the feeling. 

She wriggled her hands free as he stopped playing with her, settling her back onto him. He stayed inside her but didn't move, lightly rubbing her arms, his lips kissing the back of her neck at her hairline.

He took the remote and changed the point of view back to her on stage. She didn't protest – watching her past-self approaching an orgasm wasn't enough to push her over the edge, but it fed the lower flames – the orange/yellow thicker fires burning in her cunt and lower spine.

The white flame had gone, but throughout her body she felt stars – small electric buzzings of little white stars of arousal. Everywhere. They burned her in a way that felt good. Like small suns were warming her everywhere.

She closed her eyes and focused on the white tingles all along her skin warming her from the outside in, while his tiny movements inside her fanned the orange flames, warming her from the inside out. She put her hands on his thighs, rubbing up to the sides of his buns feeling his hairless skin and relaxing into the thing that just happened.

After what seemed like a few minutes she untangled her legs bringing them together in front of her. She pushed with her hands against the seat slowly rocking onto her feet. She could feel his cock slowly sliding from her, pulling her juices with it. When she was completely free of him she stood slowly making sure not to cramp her muscles and then turned to face him. She smiled, spread her legs and re-mounted his cock, embracing his neck, planting kisses on his face and lips.

"That was so fantastic," she whispered into his ear. "I never thought I'd enjoy doing it that way."

The sounds of the sequence continued behind her – her past-self orgasming, the sighs of the audience, buzzing of the dildo. She reached over to the control and handed it to him, her suggestion to turn it off obvious.

Now, with the room finally quiet, she could truly feel the echoes of the experience rippling through her. His cock pulsed against her insides, its beat out of step with her heart. She laid her head on his shoulder and just relaxed, feeling her skin against his, her nipples lightly touching his chest.

The pulsing of his cock, the sparkling of the white fire just under her skin and the memory of the imagery from the sequence all flowed through her like the gentle waves of a sea under a boat's hull. She fell asleep.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 10



She awoke the next morning. It was early -- the sun was not yet up; the sky was a deep blue. She could see a faint star through the skylight above her head. She was disoriented for a moment and then her heart skipped a beat. Shit! She was in his bed -- it was Thursday. She had to get to work!

She turned and saw him sleeping next to her, lightly snoring. Quietly getting up she rubbed her eyes and took a few calming breaths. Go home, change and get to work, or just get cleaned up here and go in with the same clothes as yesterday?

She needed a shower and coffee for sure, either way. It was 5:13. More than enough time to get ready here and go home to get a fresh set of clothes.

She got up slowly, hoping to avoid waking him.

Sitting on the toilet she rubbed her head again. It felt like she had been drinking, but she hadn't had any the night before. The amount of pee coming out of her was a testament to how much tea she had drunk, but no alcohol.

It was at times like this -- early in the morning before her coffee -- she felt the most remorse for her antics the night before. In college, she would cry at times like this, the humiliation and shame replacing the sexual excitement that had driven her. But today there was none of that -- just a mild arousal at the idea of her submissiveness -- neither a strong attraction nor repulsion. Just another way she could have fun with him. He obviously enjoyed it, but she didn't get the feeling he needed it.

She let herself drip dry, thinking more about their relationship. Need. Did she need him? Did she felt he needed her? She rewound the past several weeks. She couldn't recall a single time where she couldn't leave him the moment things didn't work out. She had no doubt he would drop her in a flash if he felt like it. On the other hand, she was falling deeply in love with him -- it scared her a little. She knew it would hurt like hell if he dropped her. He was a fantastic "catch" as Carole would put it, but Marcie didn't want to think that way. It was too mercenary. She refused to make their relationship about wealth and material goods.

She still wasn't certain what it was about her he was attracted to. Obviously he enjoyed the sex and for that she was thankful. She had never thought of herself as a particularly sexy person, even if the boys all liked what she had to show them. Her resolve to overcome her stepmother's abuses was liberating. She hoped it would make sex more interesting. Last night, and last weekend, were good evidence of how she might broaden her horizons.

She needed to take a shower and wake up. Although his setup was a little intimidating, she was determined to figure it out enough to get washed. She left the toilet unflushed, not wanting to wake him, and proceeded into the shower room.

The only light came from the north-facing full-height windows. The room was dark grey, the boulders and tile floor only barely distinguishable from one another. She carefully made her way across the floor to the grotto and ducked inside, hoping there might be a light there. She knew there were controls for the spray but she'd never been inside.

As she entered, lights flicked on, hidden behind the rocks and casting a soft indirect glow similar to the basement. The memory of her "torture" last night pulsed through her spine. The "grotto" was a small shower room outfitted with normal controls, the walls made of the same rocks. In addition to the knobs for hot and cold, she saw there were several controls to direct the water.

The room itself was large enough for two people -- on each side of the main controls were individual shower heads, one for a person's head, and one spraying straight at their body.

Ignoring anything that didn't look like a hot or cold, she turned on the water and was rewarded with a burst of cold water spraying out of the left hand shower head. She screamed a little at the unexpected blast of cold, stepped aside and quickly adjusted the temperature. This must be where he showered -- there was a bar of soap and some shampoo that looked like it would do the trick.

Lathering up she let the hot water play against her shoulders, the warm streams cascading down her breasts. The warmth reminded her of the white flame; she could almost recall the miniature stars that had spread throughout her body when they fucked the night before. She wasn't sure if they were still there, embers banked in her skin, or whether it was just a figment of her memory. Either way, the water re-ignited her feelings from her latest trip "to the river" and she knew she had to have more.

She closed her eyes and let the water wash over her head. She raised her hands up, rinsing the lather from her hair; in this position she would be completely exposed, but buried in the grotto she felt protected, as if in a womb. That was why, when two hands brushed against her nipples, she let out a scream and spluttered from water dribbling into her mouth. Her eyes shot open and she saw Monty's surprised look.

"I'm sorry!" But he was laughing. "I couldn't resist. Your breasts are so...touchable...I had to feel them."

She batted his hands away and shot him an angry look -- more at the embarrassment of screaming than at his invasion, but even that was a little annoying; who did he think he was just pawing at me?

He reached down and kissed her, apologizing again and turned to the controls. Momentarily the other shower head sputtered and he faced her, the water warming his neck and back. She couldn't stay annoyed long -- he was so easy on the eyes and so easy to get along with. She was pleased he enjoyed her body, but he needed to know where she drew the line.

The problem was, she thought further, she wasn't sure where that line was. He stared at her as she soaped up her body, his cock beginning to stiffen slightly. She lathered up her hands and slowly dragged them between her legs, making sure she spent longer than usual on her asshole and cunny. She watched his eyes following her the entire time and she smiled at him when he looked up to see if she saw him watching her.

"Maybe you need to wash yourself a little, hmmm?" She wanted to see him stroke himself -- she'd always liked to see guys getting themselves off, and she realized he'd never done that for her. And then she remembered: even if he did, the thing she loved to watch most -- the stream of gloopy semen shooting from the tip of their cock -- wouldn't happen.

He had begun to lather up and smiled at himself, coating his shaft and balls with foam, but not spending much time there. She watched as he spread soap under his arms, down his rib cage; as he bent to wash his knees and ankles. She imagined the water running into the crack between his cheeks, stimulating his hole. Even these mundane activities were turning her on. This is how she knew she loved him.

"Shouldn't you be getting rinsed?" His question broke into her thoughts and she blinked, letting the water wash away the remaining soap.

As they dried off, she apologized for waking him up.

"You didn't. I usually get up around now. I hope it was okay you slept over here last night?" He had turned to shave, letting his towel drop.

She stared at his body while he went through his routine. She was dry but didn't know where her clothes were. She didn't want to put on dirty underwear in any event. And then she remembered she'd taken them off long before they went to bed. No doubt her skirt and blouse were right where they left them: in the theater.

"I need to get home and change clothes. But I was wondering if I could have a cup of coffee before I go?"

He nodded, his mouth closed as the razor moved over his upper lip.

She hung up her towel and left the room, heading up to gather her clothes and make a quick breakfast. As she walked to the theater, she realized she might as well leave them off as long as possible -- she would enjoy leaving him to start the day with a boner.

Standing in the kitchen orienting herself she saw her naked reflection in the windows. It was getting lighter outside, the last pinks and oranges of the sunrise brushing across the strips of clouds on the northern horizon. After poking around a little she managed to scrape a pot of coffee together, cut a bagel and get it toasting and mix up some frozen juice. She noted his refrigerator wasn't terribly full, but the food that was in it was reasonably well maintained and fresh.

He came in as she poured herself her juice; she offered him some, completely ignoring the fact she was naked. Didn't he always have a cute young naked woman serve him orange juice in the morning? The thought made her smile. He couldn't stop staring and she knew he was starting to get erect.

Popping the bagel out of the toaster she took a seat at the peninsula and buttered it, sipping her coffee. "Did you have a nice time last night?" She looked him directly in the face as he stood across the counter and watched him struggle momentarily to drag his eyes away from her stiffening nipples.

"I had a great time, but I was concerned about you. Did it go okay for you?" He took a sip of coffee and leaned into the other foot.

"As usual. One of the best fucking times I've ever had." It was true. Each time they got together it was better than the last. She was getting a little concerned that eventually they would top out and it would all become humdrum....Of course, with that gizmo it would be possible to call up anything...but then again, would that get tiresome too eventually?

He gulped a little at her reaction and then smiled when he realized she was serious. "You seemed to crest much more quickly and more intensely. Yes?"

She agreed. The intensity and length of the white fire was much more than the prior two times. And it came on without nearly the effort; she hadn't been abstinent for any time at all...

"How do you experience it?"

His question interrupted her memory of him spreading her open, both on stage and in the love seat. She took a moment to gather her thoughts.

"It's not like a wild stallion, and it isn't even like wading in a river, although I try to call it that when I think of it. It's more like a white hot fire that wraps itself around my spine and then gathers my brain in its hands." She stopped, hearing what she was saying. "That's just silly...."

"No...no! Many have described it like that. It's a common metaphor. The gurus have created a small catalog of analogies over the centuries. That is not an uncommon description, but it is not the most frequent one either. White fire. It seemed to do something different last night for you; I noticed you peaked and then something...something happened. Was it different?"

She thought about the explosion and the stars. "I don't know if it was different -- I've only done it two times before, so I don't know what the common experience here is. But yeah, as I was trying to stay on the knife's edge -- not come and not get too self-conscious about not coming, the fire just balled up and then WHAM! It exploded. I could feel the remains of it like small sunbursts all over my skin for the longest time. I even thought I was feeling it in the shower this morning."

He nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. "How long has it been since you had your last orgasm?"

The question stopped her short. She thought back over the days...She hadn't come over the weekend with him at the resort -- it had all been put off until that evening and she didn't come then. Then it came back. "Sunday," she said kind of sheepishly, not wanting to share the fact she'd masturbated in the shower. "night. After I got home I needed to take the edge off..." She felt like apologizing for some reason. "Why?"

"No. Nothing. Sorry I couldn't have been there." He smiled. Then he looked a little serious. "Listen. I would really like to see you able to 'embrace the fire' without so much trouble (that's a better way to describe it, yeah?)."

She nodded, both at the suggested change to the description and the suggestion of making it easier to achieve.

"To do that," he continued, "it really would be best not to have an orgasm for as long as you can stand it." His expression made it clear he was serious -- sort of professorial.

She giggled at his seriousness and at the suggestion. Like it was a challenge for a woman not to have an orgasm. But she understood. With him it was easy for her to come; just thinking about him standing there watching her eat in the nude made her tingle. She nodded and looked at him, a twinkle in her eye but also letting him know she got it.

"Hey!" She suddenly remembered, the coffee hitting her brain. "You're planning on coming tonight, right?"

He looked at her blankly for a second and then remembered. "Of course -- let me know where it is. 8PM, right?"

"Actually, I think it's been called for 7, but if you can't get there that early, I'll make sure we don't have too many without you."

"7. Yeah, that's going to be tough. I'll try and get there before 8, but if I'm running late, I'll call you."

"Shit. Speaking of time, I've got to go." She slipped off the stool, picked up her blouse and skirt and went to the front bathroom to get ready. Moments later she returned, downed her coffee and juice and came over to him.

"Thanks, Monty. I can't tell you how much fun I'm having, and..." she paused trying to find a way to say it without being too glib. "This...experiment you're doing...with Patti? I think it's making a huge difference. I can't tell you why, but these past couple of days, I've felt so different...so much less worried. I can't explain the difference. It just seems to be working."

He put his arms around her waist and leaned in to kiss her. The taste of coffee and juice mingled across their tongues. She could feel the bulge in his pants press against her thigh and she pushed against him, hoping to make it harder.

"Save that for later, yeah?" She motioned with her elbow to his growing erection.

He kissed her again and walked her to the door. Watching her get into her car and leave, he once again felt a wave pass through him -- there was something about her...something she had that he needed, but it wasn't yet clear to him what it was.

* - * - * - *

"Hey! Are you alone? Isn't he coming?" Carole greeted her in typical over-the-top fashion.

"Hi and how are you, too!" She gave her a hug and went around the table greeting everyone who had arrived.

She had purposely come a little later than planned, hoping to reduce the time between their arrivals. She had spoken to him on the way over -- he was running late and would likely be there past 8. She was disappointed, but he assured her he would definitely be there.

"So, you have a great boyfriend, we understand." Cindy's tone was a mixture of sincerity and teasing. "Carole's been telling us all about him."

Marcie glanced at Carole but she avoided her eyes. She smiled back at Cindy. "Well, you'll all have a chance to meet him soon enough. Now, what does it take for a girl to get a drink around here?"

Cindy's husband, Devin waived down a waiter as Marcie settled in.

The conversations continued. She turned to Joanne, a woman she had met several years ago and whose sense of humor she had come to enjoy. "What's going on with you?"

The two chatted about their jobs, recent trips (Marcie shared her adventures, highly censored, at Grey's Pointe) and restaurant reviews. Others around the table joined in, inquired about Marcie's job, caught up on past involvements.

Marcie was sipping her drink, engrossed in a deep discussion with Carole's date, Rob, a guy she'd never met before, when several people looked up at her. Monty leaned down and kissed her, hugging her from behind. As he leaned over her back he stared down her dress briefly and whispered in her ear, "I assume you left the rest off too," kissed her again and pulled out the chair next to her.

She blushed at his remark, unconsciously crossing her legs and thinking about his request when they spoke on her way over. She had left her panties in her glove box, not wanting to risk putting them in her purse in case she was joined in the ladies' room.

"Monty," she looked up at him and the table of faces, "everyone. Everyone. Monty." She listed off the names: "Cindy -- one of my best friends from college, and her sweet husband, Devin. Mary-Anne and Jamie -- former co-workers at Samuelson's. Carole, one of my oldest friends, and I do mean old, and her date, Rob, who I just met tonight. Joanne and Jim, although Jim's in the bathroom at the moment, and to your right Jocko and Donna, excellent poker players, both."

He nodded and smiled. "Jocko? There's a name I haven't heard in a while."

"You've heard it before?"

The two began talking and the group again returned to their respective conversations.

The night continued, the conversation moving fluidly, Monty answering questions, asking about people's work, their tastes in food and altogether fitting in smoothly.

At one point Marcie had stopped her discussion with Joanne, a stupid plot twist in a novel they had both been reading, to hear everyone talking about chickens.

"Excuse me. Devin -- did I just hear you say something about a chicken coop? And Rob, you raise chickens? And Mary-Anne were you just talking about chickens too? What's going on here?"

"It's true!" Mary-Anne practically shouted, the alcohol clearly getting to her. "We just started raising chickens! The eggs, oh, Marcie, if you haven't had fresh eggs, you don't know what you're missing."

Marcie turned to Joanne and Monty to make sure she hadn't misheard, shaking her head. "But...all of you...chickens? Did I actually hear you discussing the fine points of building coops?"

They all started in with stories about their adventures with domesticated fowl. It was obvious from their intense passion that joking about it wasn't going to get her anywhere. She leaned over to Monty and whispered something about it; he turned his head and kissed her on the cheek.

With most of the discussion centering on a topic Marcie had no experience with and even less interest in, she turned her attention to the menu, hoping to perhaps eat one of the animals as a sign of her camaraderie. The waiter came around to take more drink orders, the evening continued, and Marcie realized she was getting a little tipsy.

"Are you coming home with me tonight?" She said quietly to Monty. Apparently it wasn't quiet enough, as the entire table stopped its conversation and looked at her. "What? Did I say something?"

"Marcie," Joanne said, smiling. "'Are you going to come with me tonight,' is usually something we hear moments before it happens, not hours in advance."

The rest giggled and joked as she turned beet red with confusion. That's not what she had said! But she didn't want to come off defensive. She looked to him to see if he had heard the same thing, but his face was impossible to read. She could see he was amused, but it wasn't clear if it was because of her Freudian slip or her embarrassment or the mis-understanding by the others.

She smiled to be as good a sport as she could, but she was inwardly concerned at the possibility she had said something so different from what she had been thinking.

"It's okay," he whispered in her ear. "It's not what you said. They're just teasing you. Tell me, how do you feel being naked in front of them?" He pulled back to watch her face and she turned to him again, thinking about how close to naked she really was.

"I...I'm..." She was going to say fine, but decided she'd take a breath and really figure out how she felt. "I actually had forgotten about it." She whispered back.

"Well," he continued, "I'm turned on." He casually moved her hand down to his crotch where she felt his erection through his slacks.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 10



She continued to blush and felt her arousal building. Not now!

"What are you two love birds whispering about?" Carole called from across the table.

She clammed up, now even more embarrassed at the prospect her private conversations would become the source of more jokes.

She smiled, letting them all know it wasn't any of their business, knowing it would only tease them more. She was saved by the waiter who delivered the food.

With the interruption, Marcie had a chance to breathe, remove herself emotionally from the group momentarily, and play with Monty's erection. She experienced a rush of understanding -- a flood that changed her perspective towards her friends. As she watched the plates being delivered, her fingers lightly dancing on her lover's penis under the table, she realized she didn't have the same feelings about them that she'd had even a couple months before.

The thought occurred to her that she was growing apart from them -- that she was changing. Something tugged at her as she thought about it. Am I getting hooked on Monty? Is he so different from my friends I can't put the two together?

She entertained the notion of just not playing along with them anymore. She was tiring of the teasing, of feeling constantly put down by them. With Monty, she realized, she had a way out -- she no longer needed to belong to this group, especially if they weren't going to treat her with respect or as an equal.

Suddenly a second tsunami of realization drenched her: the past 10 years of her life burst in front of her eyes -- all of the times she'd hidden her true feelings at the way they talked to her, judged her. She saw the next 10 years, with Monty, and the idea of never seeing any of them again didn't scare her. Instead she felt a welcomed independence and distance.

And then a third flood of thoughts crashed through her. She was probably getting too drunk and stopped reaching for the glass. She thought about a different future: one in which Monty had dumped her. If she didn't have him, and she had left them behind, she would have to work to build as strong a friendship as she had with them. She had to find a way to stay friends with these people -- they were the only network she had. She took the sip from her drink as she thought about the two extremes -- dump them, or live with them.

Monty pulled her back from inside her head by gently stopping her hand. She had continued to stroke him unconsciously and she realized he was likely getting uncomfortable. She turned to him and smiled wickedly before kissing him.

"Couldn't contain yourself?" She asked under her breath.

He smiled back and returned the kiss. "No. I could do this all night...you know that. It's just I was thinking your friends might be wondering what your hand is doing, s'all."

She looked around nonchalantly to take stock. No one was staring, but she was aware they were monitoring her intimacy with Monty. She could understand why -- this was the first guy they'd seen her with in months, and she was acting like a teenager, something they'd never seen since she'd divorced her ex.

She pulled back her hand and considered her situation. It was clear she was going to have to get her relationship with Monty understood -- if he wasn't willing to commit, at least at some level, she could deal with that, perhaps even move on. If he was, she needed to know what the rules were so she could adjust the other connections she had in her life. It was obvious she needed to either build better bridges with these long-time friends, or burn them, but before she took that step she needed to know where she stood with Monty.

Won't Patti have a field day with this!

As the evening unfolded, she made light conversation and watched as Monty engaged everyone around him with his charm. She enjoyed her meal, the food was tasty and the alcohol felt great, but she didn't stop thinking about how she had changed over the past months and how she no longer felt the same about these people.

As they wished each other good bye, Carole pulled her aside momentarily. "You seemed pretty distracted tonight. Is everything still going well? We didn't have a chance to talk about anything...real..."

"It's all great, Carole. I guess I was a little nervous about Monty and y'all, but I think it worked out great, yeah?"

Carole nodded and smiled, turning back to the group. Marcie looked over at Monty who was engaged in a deep conversation with Jocko about some technical thing or another. Carole was saying her goodbyes to everyone else; Marcie paused to consider how she wanted the evening to end: go home alone or with Monty.

She watched a little while, listening to his easy conversation with someone who had been a complete stranger two hours before. The others were clearly impressed by him -- he was gracious and sincerely interested in their lives, contributing to the topic without monopolizing the conversation. Yet, as she listened more carefully, she realized he revealed almost nothing about himself -- almost exactly the kind of conversations they'd had when they'd first met. He is a master at small talk, but he is so fucking deep! The image of how deep he could go, his fist inside her, his cock just an arm's reach away, her body, naked except for the small dress she had on. Definitely going home with him...

At a pause in the conversation, she turned to him. "So...do you have any plans for the rest of the night?"

"I don't, actually. Would you like to get going?"

They were standing outside, waiting for their cars.

"Would you like to come back to my place, or do you need to get going early?" She wanted to be home for once, in spite of the elegance and luxury of waking up in his house.

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, that would be fine. I'll follow you?"

He paid the valet for both of them and she slipped into her car.

She'd had too much to drink. It was obvious the minute she got behind the wheel. It wouldn't have been the first time she should have had someone else drive, but she realized this was just plain stupid. She stopped the car, opened the door and walked over to him.

"I shouldn't be driving." She shrugged apologetically.

"Glad you said something. Why don't you park it around the corner? This neighborhood isn't so bad. I can get you back here in the morning."

It wasn't really on her way to work but it was better than nothing. He followed her as she parked, opening the passenger door for her.

When she got in and was about to buckle her seat belt he stopped her. "Too drunk to drive, smart move. But too sober to do me a little favor?" His wolfish smile sent shivers up her spine. What did he have in mind?

"It depends." She stopped trying to buckle up.

"You know what I'm thinking, right?"

She had an idea and it made her shiver again. It was 15 minutes to her house, 10:30 at night on a Thursday. What was the risk? His side windows were shaded, so it would only be drivers coming straight at them. The alcohol warmed her to the idea.

"I don't know, Monty, it seems kinda risky, doesn't it?" Her cunny was tingling at the thought. They were out of sight of the restaurant in case any of her friends came out, but still, what if a cop drove by?

"I'd love it. You'd enjoy it. Yes? No?" He started to put the car in gear but wasn't going anywhere.

The thought of riding with him through the streets completely exposed was so frightening, but the terror only added to her arousal. She bit her lower lip and looked at him. She could see a bulge starting in his trousers. She licked her lips and threw caution out the window. In one movement she pulled the dress over her head and off her arms, releasing her breasts and cunny to the night air.

She watched him watching her; he turned a switch and the roof slid back letting the cool air rush across her naked skin. "Lie back," he suggested. She played with the seat controls until she was reclining all the way back, her legs extended, her breasts open to the stars. "Spread your legs a little, I want to smell you."

The idea that he could smell her musk as he drove surprised her, and the intimacy of the suggestion caught her by surprise. She did as he suggested, feeling the car lurch into the road. She quickly pulled the seat belt across her naked skin, the shoulder belt crossing between her breasts.

As they drove he kept up a steady banter, asking her questions about her friends, what she thought of Jocko and the others. She wasn't sure why he had such an interest in him in particular and was about to ask, when his right hand drifted down to her breast, caressing her nipple.

"Uhhhhnnnhhmmm. That's nice....uhhm, why are you interested in....uhhnn, Jocko?"

His fingers trailed down her belly; he leaned forward a little to dip his fingers into her slit.

"Oh," he answered casually, "he has some interesting technical skills. I'm looking for a couple of guys for a project."

She moaned as he painted her lips and landing strip with her moisture. She couldn't believe she was doing this; she couldn't believe he wanted her to do the very thing she wanted to be doing the most. It was too good to be true and that concerned her: I shouldn't be doing this, but the thought was wiped away by his finger dipping into her.

She moved her hand onto his lap, gently coaxing his penis beneath the folds of his pants, working him into an erection she hoped was as distracting to him as her arousal was to her. Each time a car passed, its headlamps shining across the interior she cringed until after a while she relaxed knowing they couldn't really see her. Once, while stopped at a traffic signal, a large truck pulled up beside them, but either the driver wasn't paying attention or couldn't see through the darkened windows. Monty spread her legs a little while they were stopped, fingering her until she moaned loud enough to be heard outside the car.

Eventually they made it back to her condo, her cunny oozing liquid onto his leather seat. She reached for her dress as he turned onto her street, but he stopped her.

"Try and leave it off," he suggested, gently.

"What?" It was then she realized he expected her to stay naked as they entered the building.

She shivered at the idea of being exposed to her neighbors at the same time her pulse increased; her pussy clenched. He pulled into her underground garage and parked in her space. She looked around tentatively -- the garage served four units -- all three of her neighbors were home. She looked at the clock -- 10:47; unlikely they would be coming out. But one never knew -- maybe they were having a night of it, or were planning a quick trip to the ice cream shop.

She looked at herself, splayed out in his car, her slit open and leaking, her breasts highlighted by the ceiling lamps shining through the sun-roof. Other than the seat belt, looking like a restraint in some bizarre S&M movie, the only thing she was wearing was her shoes. Her brain was still enveloped in an alcoholic haze, although she felt more tired than buzzed. He shut off the engine and closed the roof, waiting for her to move. To get to her condo required walking across the garage to the entry, going up to the second floor in the shared elevator and walking the short hall to her unit.

The voices in her head screamed at her to be sensible and throw on the dress, but the feeling in her groin begged her to do it, to give into the temptation and wickedness of it. Each time she imagined being naked in the hall, the elevator, the garage, she clenched a little, leaking more juice out of her.

"Well, are you coming?" He asked it quietly, the double meaning not lost on her.

"You told me not too." She giggled at her little-girl tone of voice.

"Come on. This is turning me on."

He pulled the key from the lock and opened his door, forcing her to make a decision.

She grabbed her dress, took a deep breath and before she could think about it further, threw open the passenger door and eased herself out. She looked back at the garage door and realized anyone coming down the street would see her silhouetted. She quickly closed the door and walked to the entry, pulling her keys from her purse with practiced motions.

"Here, let me help you." He walked up to her and took the dress, leaving her to manage the lock. She quickly opened the door, hoping against hope no one would be on the other side. Once she was through she held it for him and then quickly shut it.

They were alone in an elevator lobby -- the elevator itself was two floors up according to the indicator. She turned to him, looking at this erection through his pants and slipped her hand onto it, moving into him for a kiss.

Melting her lips against his, she pushed her tongue into his mouth, bringing his arms around her. She moaned into him as his hands massaged her buns, opening and closing them, exposing her brown hole over and over again. She pushed on his erection, feeling its hardness and needing to feel it inside her. After what seemed like an eternity, she pulled away, inhaling deeply and sighing.

"We should probably go up, yeah?" He arched an eyebrow like Mr. Spock.

She giggled. "How much more 'up' can you go?"

He pinched her ass and turned her to face the elevator. "Let's find out."

The elevator arrived and she held her breath as the doors opened. Exhaling at the sight of the empty cab, she entered, clutching her purse. As soon as the doors closed, he pulled the emergency stop button.

"What?" She gasped.

"Humor me, okay?" He said it as a directive, but asked it as if she had a choice.

Dropping her dress he used both hands to turn her to face the side wall of the elevator. Running his hands down her waist and in between her legs he asked her to spread them a little more.

"Take your hands and open yourself for me."

She knew what he meant but couldn't believe he wanted to take her this way, here, now. "No, Monty. Not in here. Can't we wait, just 1 minute?" She heard her voice, almost whimpering. Why don't I just say 'No!'?

"We will. Just humor me. You'll see."

She rested her forehead against the wall, spread her legs and using her hands opened her ass cheeks to expose herself to him.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are this way; how much this turns me on." His hand slid between her legs, his index finger slipping into her cunny, and she felt how wet she was as he caressed her. "Pull yourself open, just a little bit more?"   

She stretched her cheeks wider, imagining the wrinkles around her hole spiking out. And then she felt his finger lubricating it, pushing into her. She clamped down and wanted to let go, but he took his other hand and rubbed it on her back, soothingly.

"Just let me in. We'll be inside in a minute."

She tried to relax, to let him penetrate her, and finally he had pushed his finger in to the third knuckle. She saw herself, as if from a camera in the ceiling -- a naked woman, spreading herself for her man as he penetrated her asshole. She breathed deeply, looking down at his shoes between her feet. As his finger wriggled inside her, she suddenly realized she had to pee -- she hadn't gone at the restaurant, and all of the alcohol seemed to have rushed to her bladder all at once.

"Monty...please. I have to...I have to go to the bathroom. Nooooo, oh god, noooo, please..." As she begged him to stop he kept massaging her, pushing up against her bladder until she felt a small stream of urine dripping from her, down her leg onto the floor. "No, please. God, I'm making a mess, please, no...." But in spite of her protests, it felt better to let it flow. She saw the puddle growing between her feet and the smell wrinkled her nose. She battled to keep it from coming out, but the more she fought, the more she wanted to let loose. "Please," she begged again, quietly. "Please don't do this."

Keeping his finger in her, he released the emergency stop and pressed her floor.

Horrified at the thought of what her neighbors would see now -- not just her naked but her naked, impaled on her lover's finger and peeing in their elevator, her mind raced at what she would say, what she could say now, to him, to stop this madness.

The elevator passed the first floor and she realized her stream had stopped. She didn't even want to look down at the mess she had made -- she tried to think how she could clean it up. His finger pushed into her, distracting her again and then the doors opened onto her hall.

She gasped at the realization they had arrived, and then breathed easier when she saw yet again they were alone. She started to move, but he held her, telling her to stay still just for a moment.

Keeping his finger in her, he took her dress and wiped the inside of her legs, then dropped it onto the puddle on the floor. She cringed at how he had transformed one of her favorite outfits into a common rag. Using his foot, he mopped up the puddle, removing the liquid even if the smell remained.

"I'll get the rest of this in a moment," he said softly. "Let's get you inside. I can't pick up your dress, unfortunately. Can you do it?"

She bent, the pressure from his finger pushing further into her, further fanning the orange glow that had begun in the car. She gingerly picked up the dress, trying to avoid the soaked parts and stood back up. His finger was deeper inside her.

As they left the elevator together, he kept his finger in her asshole, pulsing it with each step. She grabbed her keys again and walked as quickly as she could, his finger playing against her insides, his other fingers fondling her cunny.

She opened the door, unconsciously turning on the lights, but immediately she realized her curtains were open and her neighbors were sitting in their living room. Horrified she hit the light switch and stepped all the way in so he could close the door behind her.

"Why don't you go to the bathroom and I'll finish cleaning up the mess." He pulled his finger from her with a small pop, went to the kitchen to wash his hands and grab a rag while she rushed to the toilet.

Sitting down she relaxed her sphincters letting the majority of her bladder empty in a whoosh into the bowl. The feeling of the urine leaving her, of letting her muscles finally relax and the relief of not having to hold it washed over her. What the fuck am I doing? She couldn't believe what she'd just let him do to her -- in her own home! That he was gentleman enough to clean up after her said something, but she couldn't believe she had just let him violate her so...brazenly.

Yet, the effect of being ravished, in public, with the potential of being discovered echoed through her, feeding the orange glow until it started to lick at her internal organs. The image of his cock, so hard inside his pants, how much this turned him on all conspired against her outrage, pushing it aside.

He appeared at the bathroom, as she was still sitting there and smiled at her. "Thank you. That was so amazing. Wasn't that amazing?"

She felt...vulnerable...and...exposed. It made her laugh a little. Exposed. Here. After she'd been about as exposed as one could get out there. "Monty. I...that was...I'm not sure what that was." She took some paper and began wiping herself, a little self-conscious he was staring at her. She looked down momentarily. A noise made her look back up to see him unbuckling his trousers and slipping them off. His cock sprang up, not yet completely erect. He stepped forward, his erection swinging like a small sword toward her face. It was at just the right height for her to take it into her mouth.

She looked up at him to see his face: his eyes were expectant, shifting between hers and her lips.

She reached up and took his member to her lips, softly kissing it, rubbing her fingers across the silky skin to his wrinkled sac. She continued the stroking with both hands, lightly cradling the shaft and his scrotum, handling his balls. She kept the tip in her mouth, swirling her tongue on his hole, hoping again to pull even a small taste of his cum into her. The cinnamony taste was still as she remembered it.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 10



She pulled his head out and looked up. "Here? You want to do it here?" It wasn't terribly romantic; although they were both so aroused it probably didn't make a difference.

He nodded silently, leaning over her to rest his hands on the wall. He moved his growing erection into her mouth deeper.

She reached he lips down over it, swallowing as much as she could into her throat, her hands continuing to stroke his balls. She loved having him fill her up, to be taking his most sensitive parts in her hands. Each time she stroked him, she felt his cock pulse slightly, reinforcing her efforts.

"What do you want?" He asked, looking down at the top of her head, his hands stroking her cheeks.

She wanted this, to have him deep inside her. But what she really wanted was to feel his cum shooting into her, filling her up. She'd been wanting that since their first night together. But she didn't say anything other than "Mmmmphh disds." She forced her throat to take more of him.

"Did you masturbate today?"

She sucked in her cheeks to hold him and shook her head slightly. Remembering last night and the explosion of white light made her clench her legs slightly. Let's do that again! She held his cock still, deep in her throat, pressing her tongue against the bottom of his shaft and breathing carefully through her nose.

"I think," he paused to let the pulse of arousal pass, "if you are very patient....shit that feels good, we might get you into the river...I mean ride the white fire...god...yes...do that again...." He started to buck his hips as she moved more forcefully and then he froze, his legs stiffening, his cock pulsing, and then...

...then she sensed something she hadn't felt before -- a smell, or a taste, she couldn't tell for sure with his cock so deep in her throat. Her nose, shoved into his pubic hair, her tongue trapped beneath his pulsing cock -- the smell of cinnamon intensified and she wondered if possibly, just possibly he had let a small bit of pre-cum ooze out. She quickly pulled him out and ran her tongue over his hole, hoping to taste something, but there wasn't any difference from before.

"Yeaouch!" He held her head tightly. "Stop that!" He laughed; she was being too rough on his sensitive head. "What is that about?"

She pulled him out completely and apologized. "I tasted something...or smelled something...different...I can't explain it. Cinnamon. You taste like cinnamon."

He pulled away to look at her, a little strangely and held out his hand. "Come on. Let's see if you can do it again, two nights in a row, without all that teasing in between."

It was much later, after he had laid her out on her bed, raising her hips with a pillow so she was offering herself to him again. Her head pulled back, as she had done with him before, only without all of the yoga and ritual cleansing. He held her tongue, like he had done, and had painted her liquid all over her body, as he had done before, and now he had his entire hand moving deep inside her. He pulled her tongue forcing her to raise her breasts and arch her back. He cupped his hand, forcing her to tip her pelvis and arch her back. She was like a bow string -- taut and he played her again, and again, each time whispering in her ear to give herself up, to forget her judgments. And each time the fire licked up her spine, as it had done before, a deep orange at its tip, turning to yellow in the middle until the white fire sparked inside her cunt and she relaxed into his hands, bending to his will, becoming his instrument.

She felt a strumming...a thrumming in her core, like a cello string...she became the cello string...she rode the cello string...she could hear his voice faintly...telling her to ride it...ride it...don't go over the top. The string was the white fire, but it was tighter this time, more in tune. It had erupted from her core, pushing through the other flames, running up her spine into her brain. His hands guided her, the waves coming, the feelings cresting and falling, cresting and falling, like harmonics on the primary chord that was the white fire string. She moaned, a guttural, animal sound and when she heard herself she almost fell off...and then...then the world all became one thing...the separation between herself and the rest of everything she had a name for disappeared and she just floated...for an eternity...a split second...and she came back, the world coalescing around her again...the sound of blood pumping in her ears, the pain/pleasure of his fist inside her, his fingers on her tongue, the memory of the thickness of his cock inside her throat. Even as she realized she had again 'ridden the white fire' all she wanted to do was feel him fuck her, hard.

She reached up, the fire still swirling around her brain and pulled him onto her. He released her tongue and pulled his hand slowly from inside her, the gushing sound of her juices only igniting her further.

"Fuck. Me. Monty. Hard. Fuck me hard. I want to feel your hard cock deep, deep inside me. Keep the fire going, keep playing me. Fuck. Me."

And to her immense satisfaction he thrust himself hard and deep into her -- his erection as hard as any dildo she'd ever used. His thighs slammed down on her and she could imagine his butt cheeks tensing as he pushed himself into her to the hilt. She grunted as the air rushed out of her from the force of his attack and then she moaned in anticipation as he pulled out only to rush back in.

She was so wet and loosened from his hand he could have been twice his size before she felt stretched uncomfortably. He rose up on his hands to look at her, her face a mixture of abandon, lust and confusion. How could he do this to me? What have I lucked into?

The white fire swirled and the memory of her eternity in the life force rose up until she peaked and stood on top of it, only to have it shrink down, until the next swell brought her higher. She was lost in the white-out; even though her eyes were closed it was as if she were blinded by the brilliance and then it would recede, like a massive wave.

She rode it with each in-rush of his cock -- she would ride higher, stay longer in the blinding light, and as he pulled out she moaned for him to return, the sound of her voice buoying her up the next wave. It wasn't anything like an orgasm, or at least like any orgasm she'd ever felt. Her arousal wasn't diminishing, nor could she imagine it getting any more intense. Instead, she felt as if she were a leaf or some part of a boat being cast up one wave and down into the valley of the next.

In one small part of her brain, an alarm was going off. He could do this to you all night! The rest of her hoped he would, that if she kept herself immersed in the white fire she would be that much closer to being prepared to accept him completely, to finally feel him flood her with his cum.

He moved his hands to take hers, intertwining their fingers and pushing her arms above her head. Now, spread completely open on her bed, her hips raised by the pillow she was at his mercy, a fuck doll for him to play with. The waves came more frequently, out of rhythm with his hips, the cadence and harmonics were confusing, distracting what was left of her conscious mind. She let go, forgetting again what the names of anything were, where she started and the rest of the world ended. She was lost completely in the sea of white until there was only calm.

He continued to fuck her hard unrelenting, until he sensed her change in consciousness. He didn't stop, but changed his rhythm, just slightly, curving his cock up against the inside of her to stroke that spot she loved so much. He knew she had no idea what was happening to her body, but the new sensation would find its way into wherever she was.

She moaned, beginning to vibrate from her toes up to her fingers.

In her mind, the ocean was below her, a froth of white foam, while she floated in a white fog above. The fire wasn't any cooler, it had just shifted. She felt a change; a warm wind blowing away of the clouds and the brilliance of the sun again blinded her, forcing tears from her...

...and then she was back, under him, feeling his cock thrusting into her, the intensity of the pleasure threatening to push her into an orgasm, until she realized she was completely stiff, as if her muscles had intertwined to be a long band of leather from her toes up her legs to her cunt to her ribs, her breasts rubbing against his chest, to her arms stretched over her head and she moaned a long, breathy, string of fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckgodfuckshit, and she felt him stiffen and she hoped, hoped, hoped, this would be it, and then he melted onto her and she knew he still hadn't released his seed.

She kissed him, pulled her arms down and hugged him fiercely, wrapping her legs around him, her feet brushing against his ass cheeks. She wanted to melt into him, to become one with him.

"God Monty, yes, yes, god...that was so fucking fantastic...shit, shit, shit...shit." She exhaled and took a long breath in. "How the fuck do you do that?" She reached up to kiss him, her question rhetorical and complimentary. Their tongues wrestled as she breathed hard through her nose, her heart beat racing.

She broke the kiss and lay back, looking at his face. "I...fuck...I can't tell you what the fuck that was just now. It was goddamn hallucinogenic..." She kissed his face and held him tight to her. "That was the best fucking thing I've ever felt in my life." She could still feel the white fire flowing through her, radiating from her spine into her blood stream. She hadn't come, that much was clear to her -- it was different from not coming because her lover hadn't been able to bring her over the top -- it was way different from that.

Eventually, as her heart beat and breathing calmed, she lay with him, stroking his back, feeling his ass. His cock was still inside her, still erect, and she wondered if he felt as much intensity as she still did, the fires licking at her. She wasn't going to get much sleep tonight; that was certain.

Finally, perhaps an hour later, or maybe it was only five minutes, she lay next to him, still embracing him with her arms and her pussy, and whispered, "I hope one day I will be ready to accept you completely." She kissed his face and laid back looking at him.

He laughed softly. "You will," he stroked her gently..."you will."



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 11



There was no way she was going to work. She called in sick – something she hardly ever did – but after last night there was no way. In spite of hardly sleeping at all, she was running off the energy from her 'trip to the river.'

Not wanting to disturb him (he never seemed to be bothered by this burst of energy, aside from his near constant erection) she sat in the kitchen sipping tea and reading. Even in the darkest part of the morning when she would usually be filled with dread about her situation, the white light filled her with optimism and calm.

Finally, just as he was getting up she realized how exhausted she truly was. Leaving a message with her admin, she went to her bedroom.

She joined him in the bed as he sat up, the sheets falling away from his chest. She leaned over and kissed his nipples, letting her tongue rub against them. 

"Mmmm, that's nice." His hands stroked her hair. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No fucking way," she sat back up, pulling the sheets away from him to expose his cock. "I don't know how you do it." She cupped the flaccid member in her hands, focusing on his sac and pubic hair. It was so beautiful. She smiled as it stirred from her attentions.

"You hit it pretty hard, didn't you." He lifted her nightgown to see her better, fondling her breasts and pinching her nipples lightly.

"Mmm hmmm." She loved what he was doing.

"It was pretty difficult those first few months at the ashram. Thankfully there wasn't a lot for us to do during the day – the older novitiates were responsible for most of the duties while the newbies were getting trained. I remember those first few times – very intense." He kept stroking her lightly. "What was it like?"

She tried to explain the different feelings, the tastes and the hallucinations, but it was like explaining a dream – more was lost in translation than she could convey. Meanwhile, his fingers had started to heat her up again; the fires rekindling. She didn't have to go anywhere, but she knew he did. "Do you really want to keep going with this, or should we stop?" She pointed to his rapidly stiffening penis to make her point.

"It sounds like you made another breakthrough last night," he continued, ignoring both her question and her hesitancy. "Is the 'white fire' still active or has it quieted?"

She nodded, implying it was very much still going on.

"Tantric doesn't mean withholding pleasure – you know that, right?" He waited for her to nod. She was completely naked now, sitting up against the head board, her legs open to his fingers, her nipples erect. "I've said this before, but maybe you have a better appreciation for its true meaning, given your experience last night:. It truly means 'weave' as in the total weaving of life. Sometimes you have to get outside of the tapestry to really appreciate it. It's not something you should make a habit of, but it definitely is important to do every once in a while."

She knew exactly what he was talking about. The 'rising above' the ocean, the clearing of the white fog – it all felt as if she had broken free of something only to be consumed or...infused...in something much larger. But it was frightening at the same time – to lose one's self. And it was exhausting even as it was exhilarating. 

In spite of her growing arousal, she couldn't stifle a yawn and she felt pressure from her bladder – all of the tea she had drunk was trying to find a way out. As intense as the prior evening's experience in the elevator had been, she wasn't interested in repeating it this morning.

"You're not going in?" He pulled back, bringing his fingers to her mouth for her to lick them off. 

She shook her head, sucking her musk off of them.

"What about your car?"

Shit! She had forgotten about it. Her heart jumped a little at forgetting, the injection of adrenaline woke her up slightly. Several alternatives drifted up: call a cab, call Carole what day was it? Was she working today? Take a bus, she wasn't sure what line it was near; Ride her bike – it was only a few miles...ride her bike. 

"S'all right. I think I can get to it later today. No, I'm too tired – I didn't sleep at all," her yawn underscoring her words. 

She followed him into the bathroom and waited, watching him pee. As he got in the shower, she sat on the toilet musing on the last 12 hours. It seemed every time they got together the sex was more intense than the last time. As she wiped herself she felt a little tender and bruised. He must really have been slamming into me.

She stepped into the shower with him, even though she was just going to go back to bed. She just wanted to be close to him, to feel his skin against hers and let the warm water flow over her. 

He was covered with soap; his skin was silky and smooth, sliding easily against hers. She dropped her hands to feel his tight ass cheeks, so firm and soft. He had fine hairs just below the waistline she liked to play her fingers over. She felt the lather flowing through her fingers as she rubbed her hands up his spine and down into his crack.

She dropped to her knees, the water spraying into her face, and took his member into her mouth. She wanted to give him a nice sending off to work present. 

"You don't have to do this," he said, his hands holding her face.

She mumbled her agreement and continued to suck him into her, trying to get him as stiff as possible, to fuck her throat again. The water drummed on her head as she started pistoning up and down on him.

"You know," he said with a philosophical tone, "I've had more sex with you in the past few months than I've had in the years before?"

She felt herself start to moisten at the idea she had been the source of his pleasure for so long and continued her efforts. She knew from all that experience no matter what she did here, he wouldn't release into her, but the thought occurred to her that maybe just increasing the number of times he'd done it would make it more difficult for him to resist cumming.

In a few moments she felt him begin to stiffen again, but was not rewarded with anything out of the ordinary. Not even the cinnamon smell she'd pulled from him the night before.

She got up, smiled at him and sucked his tongue into her mouth, pressing her lips against his, before she exited the shower with a light giggle.

"Hey," he said, sticking his head out after her. "You're not busy tomorrow night by any chance, are you?"

She dried herself off and laughed. Right. Busy. Like I've got anything else to do in my life. The pile of laundry was only one of the things marking how little time she'd spent on her own lately. "No. Nothing I can think of."

"Good," he said from under the water. "I'd like to take you out on a special date."

* - * - * - * - *

Champs Elysees. She had only read about it the week before. There was no way they were sitting in the restaurant. How could he get a reservation? She mentally kicked herself. Of course he could get a reservation. He probably owns the place.

Muted colors – a soft pastel coral colored theme. White tablecloths, crystal glittering, full place settings. The staff ready but not obsequious. She sat quietly, looking over the menu. The chef, she remembered reading, a protégé of one of the leading lights. She tried to remember the article...which was the signature dish. It didn't matter, it all looked fantastic.

He looked at her, his eyes black and glittering in the candlelight. She looked back down from the intensity of his gaze. The sommelier poured the wine, the waiter came for their orders. It was all a dream. Her life had been turned upside down in a matter of months. What am I doing here? She marveled at her fortune; at this man who cared so deeply for her; for who she truly was. 

"Marcie." 

His voice broke into her thoughts. She put down the wine glass and looked at him.

"I've come to a decision, and I need to ask you something."

Oh god. No! yes. Yes Yes. Yes, It's not possible. He's not going to say it! Her mind raced at the thought of what he was going to say. It couldn't be happening. Of course! Of course I'll say yes! She kept her face calm, raising an eyebrow to signal her question.

He was reaching into his coat pocket. "While I haven't said it to you very often, over the past two months, I've come to realize that I am deeply in love with you." He held open a black box, the lavender velvet inside holding a glittering white ring. "I am going to ask you one of the most difficult questions of your life..." He held up a hand to stop her from interrupting him. "...and if you don't think that's true than you really don't know what I am about to ask of you. Marcie. Will you become my wife?"

He took out the ring and held open his hand, asking for hers. 

Fuck! Yes! Of course! She gave him her hand.

"Before you answer, I need you to think carefully about it. In fact, I would like you to hear me out, and sleep on it before you tell me your answer. I do not want you to make this decision lightly. No....please," he slipped the ring on her finger and stopped her again, "I mean it. I have a few things to say and I really don't want you to tell me your answer until I know you've had a chance to consider it."

What could he be thinking? Of course I'll say yes!

"You know I will be able to take care of all of your material needs. That is not a question. But life with me will be very difficult. I know," he smiled bashfully at her, "you think I'm easy, but the fact is, we've been courting and life is always easy when couples court. There is a lot you don't know about me that I need you to know before you make your decision.

"You know I am very wealthy...and you know that money means very little to me. My lawyers will insist on a ton of paperwork – it's just the nature of having so much – they are paid to protect me. You should consider getting an attorney yourself, given..."

She had stopped paying attention, focusing instead on the ring. It fit her almost perfectly. No diamonds, just a simple band. And then she looked more closely at it and saw it had a complicated and subtle weave of three different colored metals. Damask. Like an antique Arabian sword.

Married. He's asked me to marry him! All of the past two months collapsed like a telescope into a flurry of dinners, new clothes, resorts and sex. Lots of incredible sex. And the Tantra. It meant he was confident she would be prepared enough...to take his semen....to have his child!

She sat back stunned at the conclusion.

"Are you okay?" He was smiling.

"Yes. I mean, 'yes,' I'm okay. I'm more than okay. Monty!" She started to cry, as much from the pure emotion of his asking her as from the reality, or unreality, of the situation suddenly overwhelming her. A thousand thoughts sped through her mind: who would be her bridesmaids? She could quit her job! Paperwork, what paperwork? Lawyer, was Cindy's Dave an attorney? Her condo. She could sell her condo. Pre-nup. He'd want a pre-nup, hence the lawyer. Carole, maid of honor...and so on.

He motioned to a waiter. "Would you like to drink on it?"

She saw the champagne in the cooler, and realized he must have planned this fairly far in advance. The ring – it wasn't something you found in a store. The ring!

"Monty. It's so beautiful. I've never seen anything so intricate." She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger, feeling the engraved and raised patterns, like a miniature landscape painting wrapped around the band.

"So, please. I would of course be devastated if you said 'no', but I really don't want you to jump into it either."

"But, why? Why shouldn't I just say yes? Yes! Of course I will marry you. Give me three reasons I shouldn't?" What she wanted to do was jump out of her chair, kneel in front of him and pledge her unwavering allegiance to him, but a) it was one of the fanciest restaurants in town, b) she didn't want to give up all of her dignity and independence before they'd even tied the knot and c) she was horrified at the image of her bound and naked kneeling before him...horrified and aroused. His response snapped her back.

"Three? I could give you three hundred. Okay, let's see." He was still smiling but she could tell he was taking her seriously. He raised his glass. "But first, regardless of your answer, here's to us." They drank a toast. "Okay, three reasons. 1) I am never at home, I mean, really never. 2) I move in circles you might find extremely uncomfortable. 3) I am deeply opinionated and uncompromising. Should I go on?"

She found all of his statements to be either describing someone she hadn't dated for almost three months, or completely inaccurate. "Hold on. Never home? You and I have seen each other practically every other night for two months! If that's never home, I'm okay with that. Circles. It's funny, I was just thinking about my 'circle of friends' the other night at the restaurant. I wasn't feeling like I had much in common with them...chickens! On the other hand, if by circles you mean the folks we spent some time with last weekend at Grey's Pointe, I could probably get used to some of those folks. Antoinelle was quite nice." She flashed him a wicked smile in case he had forgotten Antoinelle's and her afternoon together. "And, what, deeply opinionated and uncompromising. Hmmm....I haven't found your opinions to be so disturbing or difficult to live with. Nope. Not good enough." 

She swallowed the remainder of her glass and set it down. The waiter immediately poured her another glass. She stared at Monty looking deep into his eyes. Black...dark dark brown at least and she could see the heat in them. His face was lit up; it was obvious to her he wanted her to say yes. On reflection, she knew he would handle whatever she answered, but she couldn't for the life of her figure out why she should say no. 

 "Hmmm. The other night. In the elevator." He waited for her embarrassment to pass. "You like that right? Wait. Wrong question. I liked that. A lot. And Grey's Pointe. I liked that a lot too. I liked taking you to places you haven't been. And I don't just mean fancy resorts." He watched her until she nodded. "I would like to keep exploring new territories with you. I want to marry you to explore places we've never been together...and it may be too much to ask." He took a sip of wine and let the ideas sink in. "Well, naturally I wouldn't have proposed if I thought you would refuse, but I really want you to sleep on it. This will be..." He paused, not sure what to say that wouldn't be insulting. "...huge."

She smiled at her situation. "You're not that big." She hid her face and reactions to his latest challenge behind the champagne glass.

* - * - * - *

It was while sitting in Patti's office Marcie realized a full month had flown by. The flurry of events, decisions and changes made her stop talking for a moment and reflect on all that had happened.

She picked a thought at random from the blizzard in her head. "Do you think it's significant that I didn't call my parents first to tell them?"

As Marcie expected, Patti turned the question around. "Do you?"

"I've been thinking about it a lot. The first thing that occurred to me as soon as he put the ring on my finger was I had to call Carole...and then you. " She paused to think about it a little more. "I guess it isn't that big a deal..." 

It had been a whirlwind: as he suggested, his lawyers dropped a ton of paperwork on her. Thankfully Dave had recommended an excellent attorney. Tom had reviewed all of the agreements and had pushed back on several of the clauses. Neither Marcie nor Monty really cared – she knew he would take care of her no matter what, and while having money was going to give her a lot more free time, how much did she need? The pre-nup figure was more than she had ever expected to make her entire lifetime of working.

She had asked Carole to be her maid-of-honor. Her friend's personality grated on her nerves at times, but she was exceptional at organizing things. The first problem, however, was the date.

He didn't even permit her to talk about details the night he proposed, insisting she sleep on it. The next time they got together, when she officially accepted his proposal, she immediately wanted to discuss the date. She wasn't sure why people waited, except to make sure they got on everyone's personal calendar, and then the reality hit her: venues, caterers, etc. etc. But all of that took a back seat to Monty's request: he didn't care what kind of wedding she wanted to put together – whatever she wanted he would support – they couldn't have any personal ceremony until they were officially married by Sundar in the ashram in India.

"How...uh...when would that happen?"

"I don't think it will take much to get on his calendar. As busy as he is, I think there is always room to marry one of his students." Monty smiled but then grew more serious. "The bigger issues will be travel arrangements and such. Do you have a passport?"

She nodded and then re-considered. How old was it? She wasn't sure it was current.

And so it went. The days continued into weeks, with more details emerging every time she and Carole worked through one.

Her therapy with the gizmo continued, twice a week. Patti came over to Monty's (soon to be the both of theirs!) house for each session and each time Marcie and she debriefed. Marcie didn't think anything new was happening – she had continued to explore different pasts with different characteristics of her personality. What she did begin to notice was her feelings about her alternate pasts: with each session she became more accepting of whatever she saw. Some of the pasts seemed completely out of the realm of possibility.

They had been sitting in the study – she had decided to call the glass room the study – sipping a glass of wine. She had just finished her debrief with Patti and they had seen her to the door. The session had been pretty tame – nothing having to do with nudity, submission or anything overtly sexual at all. She had talked with Patti about her feelings, about her excitement at the changes going on in her life and she was still fairly awake. 

She hadn't yet had the courage to broach the topic Monty had raised during his proposal. Marcie had pondered it over and over – was it a thinly veiled request to be his submissive? Even as he was saying it, she could feel herself moisten – the image of her stripped naked and bound, kneeling at his feet in the restaurant. Was that what he wanted? In spite of her earlier conviction he didn't need her to be any one way or another, the thought of being his...his to do with as he wanted, turned her on. The thought had crept into her head more and more over the last couple of weeks – another in a long line of obsessive thoughts. She knew it was just her being her, but she couldn't shake the thought. 

She felt the eyes of the stars and woods on her; as he puttered around behind her, she unbuttoned her blouse and removed it. He barely took notice. 

She had removed her bra and stopped, her breasts now free to feel the slight breezes in the room, her nipples stiffening. She unsnapped her skirt, shimmied out of it and was in the process of peeling her underwear down her legs when he stopped. She looked up and saw he was getting erect through his trousers, bringing a smile to her face. I love that he gets hard just by watching me

"I hope I'm not distracting you too much..." She pulled her underwear off and sat back looking through the skylight. The room was dimly lit, dark enough for her to see the sliver of the moon.

"I'm not doing anything terribly important...at least not so important I can't take a few moments and ogle you."

She thought back to the last session in the theater and an idea struck her.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 11



"I know you are preparing me for the time when you can release yourself into me, right?"

He stopped whatever he was doing and took a seat next to her; it seemed she was getting serious about something. "Yes, that's part of it. Partly I want to share with you the incredible feelings I and so many others have had."

She realized it was as close to a religion as he believed in, but she wasn't finished – she braced herself to ask him what he had meant, whether he really wanted her to give herself to him...completely. She put her hand on the bulge in his crotch, stroking it absent mindedly. "And I'm only too happy you have. It's been nothing short of fantastic." 

"What's the matter?" He reached over and traced a pattern on her right nipple, watching her aureole pucker in response.

"I...I don't know how to ask this, Monty." She saw herself again, kneeling on the floor, her hands bound behind her, her face looking at his cock and waiting for his command. "I...I'm thinking about what you said the night you proposed...about 'exploring new territories.' That night...right then, when you said it...and now...right now...I...oh shit. I don't know how to say this. I'm being such an idiot."

He stopped and looked at her. Naked, exposed and now shy like any of the employees at his office, too awed by his status to even complete a sentence. He breathed through the growing irritation, waiting for her to come to whatever it was she was struggling with.

"You know how at Grey's Pointe, how you took me before the party, how you forced me across the chair, exposed in front of the vanity mirror? Remember the other night, here, where I needed your help...?" She didn't know how to say it and hoped he could guess what she was thinking. It was no use, he sat there, his face impenetrable. "Shit. There's nothing for it but to just get it out. Monty, do you want me to be your submissive?"

Before she could react, he leaned into her and pressed his lips to her mouth, forcing his tongue against her, his hand gently stoking her breast. She inhaled sharply through her nose, his response startled her. She responded, pushing her lips against his, wrestling his tongue with hers. And just as suddenly, he pulled away, a gleam in his eye.

"Really? That's what's been going on here?" He waited until she nodded. "Before I answer that question, let me ask you a question first. Do you think you are making progress with your therapy?"

It was a fair question; she spent a lot of time considering it herself. "Yes. I do. Why? Do you?" She suddenly felt truly exposed, her inner psyche as open to his inspection as her body was to his eyes.

"It's not for me to say, Marcie. I've enjoyed you since the day we met, before I knew your past, your concerns, the work you've been doing. Do you seem happier to me? Yes, definitely!" He leaned in and kissed her again. "But then, you say shit like this and I either want to laugh or call Patti."

"What...what do you mean?"

"Submissive? You be my submissive? Is that what you want? Is that what exploring new territories means to you? I want to go where you haven't gone before. Why...why did you think I meant you should be my submissive? Why...shit...why didn't you think I should be your submissive?"

The thought of him kneeling before her, naked and bound, asking permission of her for his sexual release was so ridiculous, so foreign to her expectations that she started to laugh. And she kept laughing. The release of weeks of tension, the silliness of the image, the delight at the possibility, the very fact he could even imagine such a scenario tickled her. Her stomach cramped and tears squeezed from her eyes.

"Do you remember the end of that weekend, when I lectured you on pigeonholing? Being my prostitute? The labels, Marcie. The labels don't exist. If being submissive to me is a turn-on for you, let's explore that! If having me tied up and at your mercy is a turn-on for you, let's do that. It isn't what we call it. It's what it is."

His hands reinforced his words. He spread her legs and put her arms on top of the sofa, bending down to lick her nipples. "What do you want me to do?" His fingers played down her belly, teasing her just above her labia. She moved her hips unconsciously, staring at him and trying to recover her breath.

Although they hadn't made love after every session, she had crested the waves at least a few more times since the night before his proposal. That night seemed to be the turning point for her and every time she'd immersed herself it had become easier, less novel, but no less intense. She felt she was getting better control over it, that she needed less stimulation to get there. Now, with him spreading her open to his eyes, she could feel the white flames licking up her spine and she thought she might crest without any further effort. She wanted to go there...but there was another question, an earlier question she had wanted to pursue. She took a breath, closed her eyes and held his hands away from her body for a moment. It was related – the idea of being his submissive....she breathed, concentrating on the prior thought. 

"What if...what if you had slipped up somehow...what if, in some alternate past you hadn't stopped yourself from coming...like a few weeks ago in the hotel room at Grey's Pointe. Do you think there is such a past?"

She could see by his reaction that it was a stupid question. Of course there was such a past – there were infinite possibilities at every moment. Surely, there was such an alternate. She rolled her eyes to let him know she realized how stupid it was to ask that way.

"What I guess I'm asking is, can we see a past where you come?"

He raised his eyebrows and glanced over her shoulder for a moment checking the time. "Would you really like to see one of those?" He seemed uncertain. His eyes returned to her body. She saw his cock pulse slightly inside his slacks.

"I was just curious. Yeah, I guess I would. You don't have to watch with me, but I'm not sure how I would bring it up. Is it something where I can just type it in, like Google?" She reached for his cock, petting him again.

He shifted position and smiled, adjusting his legs to let his erection move inside his pants. He let her play with him for the moment. "That's the hope, but that's far too sophisticated for what we can do at this point. We are working with search companies; some are helping us work through the theory and mechanics. It's another ground breaking opportunity." He shook his head as if to say there were just too many avenues to pursue. 

She shook her head trying to understand how he could get so clinical after being so personal. "So what would I do?"

"Well...are you serious?"

"No, I'm just making conversation. Of course I'm serious. I'm really curious to see what would happen. The stories you've told are really hard to believe. Not that I don't believe you, I do. Let's just say I would be a much stronger believer if I could see it with my own eyes."

"Okay..." he seemed reluctant.

She got up, letting go of his cock and leaving her clothes on the floor, leading the way to the theater. He followed, taking a stack of papers with him, his erection tenting the front of his pants.

"Why don't you just take those off?" She giggled. "It looks terribly uncomfortable."

Settled into the theater, the screen down, the curtains closed, he brought over the remote control and explained a little more about how to use it. He pointed out the date function, the Gaussian curve function and some others.

"We want to look at some of the least probable pasts. Since I'm dead set against ejaculating only very improbable alternatives would be the likely place to start. The date doesn't matter so much, as long as it was one where we were having sex to begin with. Let's set the date for the first time you asked – when I gave you the massage."

She dialed back the date control to their first dinner together at his house, almost six months ago.

"Okay, now the Gaussian curve, like we did in the first session. Move the vertical bar from the high mark part of the curve off to one edge – those are the least likely probability vectors." She moved the graphics around. "It's really a hit or miss thing. Infinite is a lot, right? So we'll see all sorts of bizarre possibilities. You've already seen how even slightly improbable pasts have been radically different from your expectations. But this could be even worse," he took her hands for a moment and made her look at him, "you will see things that may disturb you...you may witness your death, or mine, or any number of other horrifically improbable events – improbable but not impossible. Earthquakes, a water glass exploding and mortally wounding one of us. Whatever your imagination can think of? There's an infinite number of improbable pasts beyond your imagination."

She nodded, determined to satisfy her curiosity. "Is that it, just make the probabilities low?"

"No. We can do something else to better the odds of seeing what swallowing my cum might cause. Although we don't have full semantic coding of the capture, we do have some encoding that will better our chances. For example, if my fears are correct, you will be hooked, right? That means we are looking for pasts in which you are here, with me, a high proportion of the time." He stopped when she giggled. "What?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, first of all, and second of all, it's not like we haven't been together almost the entire time already."

He agreed with a smile. "If I'm right, if you swallowed my cum that night, the likelihood is that you would be with me every moment I'm in this house. Okay, to raise the probabilities, the system knows what your "signature" looks like, and mine, of course, so we're going to eliminate those pasts where one or the other of us is absent. Let me help you with that."

He took the control for a moment and entered a complicated formula on screen.

"I hope you'll be okay with this," he said, pulling her next to him, her naked back brushing his side. "This will likely be unpleasant." She rested her hand again on his erection.

"So unpleasant it hasn't affected your hard-on, I see." She gave it a squeeze.

The first few attempts came up empty, so to speak. The scenes were variations on the one they had experienced together. She was beginning to wonder if it was even possible. 

"There's an infinite number of these, right? I mean, infinity is...well, infinity. We could be here a lifetime." She was losing hope.

"I'll fill you in on infinity sometime, but let me tune this a little and see if I can't improve our odds." He sat back on the couch, closed his eyes and put his fingers together. She watched his face go slack, his breathing deepened. After a minute he opened his eyes and smiled at her, taking the control. "I think I can get us close. It will be worse than I thought. Are you sure you want to go through with this?" He held his fingers over the controls waiting for her.

"Yes. So far so good. If it really upsets me, we can stop." Knowing that watching the past had already changed the way she felt about herself now...would it be dangerous to look at a highly improbable past? Would that actually be harmful?

The scene opened as she remembered it. She was lying on the massage table, he was working her muscles. She could remember the feeling of his hands on her muscles. She nestled into him, rubbing against his skin.

He did that thing to her and she watched as her past self stiffened at the violation, and then moved with him. Over the next few minutes she couldn't contain herself as she watched him bring her to an orgasm. She pulled his hand into her, making him stroke her, coating his fingers.

And then she sat up and she began to suck him off. She watched his face and body as his orgasm moved through him and amazingly, the shock as he realized she had forced cum from his cock. She sat up, a self-satisfied smile on her face, her tongue licking her lips, her eyes sparkling.

"I knew I could do it," she heard herself say softly. "You taste delicious."

He looked devastated and worried. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Marcie. I'm so sorry."

She looked at him funny. "Is there a problem?"

"I don't know how that happened. I haven't ejaculated in almost 25 years. This isn't good." He backed away and then he reached for her, hugging her tightly. 

Marcie adjusted the view to see her expression and was pleased to see her past self looked as confused as she felt watching the scene. Not a bad butt he's got. Nice view.

"I...I don't understand..." 

"You're welcome to spend the night if you'd like," he seemed resigned to the situation. Happy she was there, but clearly troubled. "I would insist on it, but I know it's short notice..." He appeared unsure of himself for the first time.

"No...I mean, I would love to, but I really should get home. What time is it?" 

She used the bathroom and quickly dressed, asking him to help her find her things. Her present self noticed his penis was not erect when they left together – a detail that differed remarkably from what she still remembered from that evening.

The scene blurred and she looked at him. "It's re-organizing – remember we asked for only instances where we're together. You've left. Ah...here it comes."

She looked up to see her approaching the house, clearly having been crying. He greeted her at the door in his robe. She looked disheveled, almost frantic. He looked concerned, but hesitated in welcoming her in.

Her excitement squelched when she saw he was in his kaftan. Shit! He's got someone here. Shit! Shit! She avoided his eyes.

"Marcie. What a pleasant surprise!" He still didn't invite her in and made a movement to join her outside. 

What a stupid shit I am. Shit! Shit!

"What's the matter? Are you okay? Please, come in." He opened the door wider and motioned her in. "I hope you don't mind, I'm not dressed for a proper visit."

She looked at him and realized he didn't have a hard-on. She looked at his face and saw sincere concern and joy at her being there. 

"I had to come over. I'm sorry if I interrupted something. It was stupid of me. I should have called." She didn't move to go inside, confused about what to do.

"It's fine. Really. I'm glad you're here. You've had a little to drink? Would you like something to eat?" He urged her to come in and she finally relented, feeling too stupid to leave. "Are you feeling ill?" He paused a moment and then continued. "I'm still very concerned about what happened last night."

"No. Nothing. I'm fine. I shouldn't be here." She continued to protest as he led her to the living room. The scene last night played through her head, the way he had made her cum, the way she had made him cum. The taste of his cock in her mouth, the electricity of his jism in her throat.

"I have some tea brewing. Please share a cup with me. I'm very concerned. I shouldn't have let that happen."

He left her in the living room with her memories and misery, returning moments later with a tray of cookies, two mugs and a pot of tea.

"I'm sorry. You have someone here and I interrupted." She looked around but saw no evidence of anyone.

"Please stop. I'm glad you're here. No. There's no one else here. I was just meditating." He poured her tea and pushed the mug toward her.

"I guess I'm a little confused," she admitted, trying not to sound needy. Why should I be needy? "But I suppose I shouldn't be...you're an incredibly attractive guy, we've never discussed our relationship..." Shit! Damnit what am I saying?

"It's okay. I can appreciate your confusion. Actually, I'm not surprised. I was afraid this might happen. I'll say it one more time, though, and then you'll forgive me if I get a little annoyed, I'm very happy you're here." He smiled a wide grin dispelling any sense she had imposed on him.

"I had a little to drink with some friends tonight. I happened to mention I was seeing a wonderful guy, and the more I thought about you, the more I had to see you. I'm not sure why I feel so strongly, we've only just met...

"What's going on, Monty? What are we doing here?" She held his hand and looked into his eyes for any sign he might be a complete fuckwad. All she saw was the most handsome, gentlest guy she'd ever met. Her hand didn't budge.

"Marcie. I never thought things should have gone the way they did last night. It's too soon for me to have let you taste me. It's...too...dangerous." He said the last words quietly as he considered the likely outcome. 

She dropped her hands to the couch. "I don't understand anything, Monty. I thought I was giving you a gift. You said you hadn't come in years, I thought you had a physical problem. And then, you came. It was a beautiful thing. I loved it. Your taste has stayed with me ever since. Every time I taste you, I'm reminded of how beautiful your cock is, and how much I loved it. How much I want to feel it inside me." She looked at him, questioningly, searching his face for an answer to her confusion.

Marcie stopped the scene and turned to him. Her stomach was cramping – similar to the feeling she'd had when she first saw her submissive side. Only this was different – more...sinister. She could tell this scene was going to get very very dark and she wasn't certain she wanted to go there. 

Suddenly her stomach turned and she leapt up from the couch. She ran to the bar where she emptied the half-digested remains of her dinner. She could make out the sound of the projection stopping and then she felt his hands on her back.

"Here," he handed her a glass of water. She couldn't take it and motioned him to put it on the counter next to the sink.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. It was a feeling. I could tell something awful was about to happen..."

He rubbed her back and told her not to think about it right then. Her spasming quieted and she took a sip from the glass, spitting the foul remnants of her stomach from her mouth.

He led her back to the couch, the screen dark; they sat in silence for a few moments.

"What just happened? There wasn't anything in that past that was particularly awful – other than my whining" She smiled a little. "Why did that just happen?"

"Remember why we are doing the therapy?" He waited until she decided it was a rhetorical question. "Our beliefs change us. I'm probably sounding like a scratched CD by now, hmmm? The therapy is an approach to changing the way you think about yourself – your belief systems. Seeing yourself immersed in a situation – 'reliving' a past, even if it isn't the one you remember is a powerful agent for change. Now, consider what you were about to see. You saw how far out on the improbability curve it was, right? It might have been benign, but by your reaction we can pretty much assume it wasn't."

"Do you know what was going to happen?" She cuddled into him, the fabric of his shirt sliding against her breasts.

"Not specifically. I can sense it – when I concentrate I can 'see' possible pasts that would be in line with your desires. But beyond that I couldn't imagine the specifics – there are an infinite number of them."

"Marcie?!" Patti's voice pulled her out of her memories. "Where were you?"

She shook her head and blinked. "Shit. Sorry. I got to thinking about the marriage, and then some of the 'sessions.' Sorry. Right. Who I told first. I think I'm okay with it. I think I'm okay with a lot of things I would have been really hung up about before..."

"Before...when?"

"Before these immersion sessions. I was just thinking about some of the times Monty and I looked back, not during the therapies themselves, just to fuck around. There were some really odd ones."




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 11



"Perhaps another time. I see our time is up. Are we still scheduled for next week?"

Marcie nodded.

"Have you guys set a date yet? I don't recall you mentioning it."

They eventually had settled on a date – about five months out, putting it around the Thanksgiving holidays. The cascade of thoughts triggered during the session came back to her as she left Patti's office. 

As a girl, Marcie, like her friends at that age, had planned all sorts of weddings for herself. Bride in white, flowers, beautiful church. As she got older her tastes and focus had changed – she didn't spend much time in churches any longer, a white wedding might be interesting, but if money were no object, what kind of wedding would she plan?

Carole was only too happy to brainstorm with her. They discussed venues – why inside a building? Why even in this city? Why not Paris – charter a flight? Their imaginations brought them to a truly white wedding – Antarctica, for example, and back again. At night, in bed, Marcie fantasized about a completely naked wedding, until she imagined what most of the guests would look like...not to mention the photographs and what she would tell the kids. Kids. She thought about kids a lot since the proposal...but she couldn't go there at the moment.

Monty was completely unfazed by any suggestion Marcie brought to him – no matter how outlandish. As a game, Carole kept pushing the limit to see when he would balk, but he only smiled.

As she drove away, her thoughts returned to the topic of their "improbable pasts." Monty hadn't really considered looking at pasts far outside the 1st standard deviation on the Gaussian curve, but she had suggested they give it a try, not during one of the standard sessions, but instead of watching TV or reading the newspaper.

"What other couple do you know," she asked him, "can use an infinite number of pasts as a form of entertainment...with themselves as the celebrities?"

He tolerated the idea, but was extremely cautious about it. "Look. The couple of times we did it had a profound impact on you...you vomited just last week if I remember correctly, right? And you really want to risk looking at the 'long tail' as an entertainment?"

She scoffed at his attitude, suggesting he was getting old. In spite of her needling, she agreed it was not something she would take lightly. In the end he did it.

"But how do you do it?" She asked, the first night other than a session they had cuddled together in front of the screen. "It seems like the inputs are just one factor, but every time we do this, you concentrate for a moment and then fiddle about."

"You remember when you came back to the house the first time after learning about the gizmo? You remember I mentioned 'Forsight?' How gurus over the years have struggled to achieve it, but with the gizmo we might be able to shorten the time frame? 

"I'm one of the lucky ones who has been able to achieve it to a limited degree. I've noticed the effect has strengthened in the past year or so – a result I attribute to the gizmo as much as 25 years of dedicated study. It's one of the things I use to help isolate the scenes of interest. Kind of in reverse – I can focus my forsight on a date in the past and sift through the highly probable ones. 

"It gets really tricky though, the further out from the center of the curve. I talked with some of the PhDs at my office about it and they think they have an idea why. I'll show you. Pick a date and pick a spot on the curve far away from the center."

She took the control and entered the date of the party he'd thrown – the time she'd first hallucinated about being dominated. He raised an eyebrow when he saw it, but didn't say a word. She moved the red line way off to the right – as far as the display would let her.

"Okay," he said, shuddering slightly. "Now – we are so far outside the realm of probabilities that we really are playing with Schrödinger's cat. Out here, you have an infinite set of possibilities. For example, out here it's possible all of the molecules in the house's air are isolated to one corner of the living room." He saw her reaction. "Seriously – it's those kinds of unlikelinesses you're trying to watch. We might be having a party with aliens. You might have won the lottery. The problem out here, is that I don't have any good way of telling what is more or less appropriate – everything is so topsy turvy it all 'looks' like noise to me. In other words, forsight doesn't do much good when the outcomes all look...impossible."

She wasn't sure whether he was asking her to move the needle back or was still just explaining how he could help isolate the more relevant pasts. She kept still, waiting.

"Still want to see what this roll of the dice brings up?"

She nodded.

"So, before we actually watch a past, let me show you another reason why it is so damn difficult to isolate something that might be relevant. This," he pointed to a control off to the side, "is the fine tuning knob, if you will. Normally, no pun intended, when we're in the center of the curve, fine tuning allows me to change minor variables for a date – most of the highly probable past remains the same, but it allows us to see variations on the theme. It's what we used in the first few sessions to vary the results, you remember?

"But out here on the long tail, what appears to be minor variables may be the difference between alien invaders and intelligent viruses. Let me show you." He flicked a control and a set of numbers showed up below the graph several decimal places out. She watched the 10th place number rapidly switch among several different values and the numbers out further were practically a blur they changed so frequently.

"See that? Not only is it having trouble stabilizing on a specific value, it is swinging wildly through hundreds of 'minor' values. If we were to just say 'go' and see a scene, we'd be unlikely to capture it again (without saving the setting). Out here, even one of these minor deviations represents a massively different past. Does this make any sense?"

She thought about it for a moment. "It feels a little like a system in chaos, yeah? Like in Trigonometry – as you try to get to the Tan of 90 degrees the system moves to infinity. This is like being very close to that value – any tiny change in the angle towards 90 actually swings the Tan of that angle very far away from the prior value...like that?"

He laughed. "Well, I never would have thought of it that way, but that's as good a way of explaining it as any. It's much different from that, but the feel of the system going into chaos is exactly right. Anyway, I've never spent any time out here – I've never seen any value in it...but I can see you are hell bent for leather, so let's give it a shot. But." He stopped again, his face a portrait in melodrama, "I'm going to put this into a 'dead man switch' mode. It is possible the past we see is so outrageous it causes our senses to essentially black out. Even though we might be 'unconscious' some part of us would still be 'watching' the past, continuing to cause damage. The thing will turn off if our finger comes off the button. It was a safeguard we put in for other reasons."

She was getting a little nervous now, not completely understanding what could possibly harm them from a simple replay of an outrageously improbable past, but she wasn't nervous enough to back out. "Let's do it!" Her enthusiasm belied her uneasiness.

They watched what appeared to be a completely normal opening to the party – she arrived, the guests were in the living room milling about. The house was virtually the same as it was today, some different furniture, a wall painted a different color. As they followed her through the living room, she took a different turn in this past, heading onto the deck instead of into the kitchen. The scene unfolding in front of them was like something out of a Fellini film: set up in the back yard was a complete circus, literally. Elephants, an emu or ostrich, a cage of lions, along with all of the roustabouts, tenders, keepers, and the like. A ring with a ring master, lights, a tight rope. The whole thing. There were dozens of people watching, both from the deck and down below.

She turned to him and laughed. The feeling was one of pure childish joy – not a scent of anything ominous. "Should we try it again?"

He felt they were playing Russian Roulette, but he stopped the scene and pushed the button again – the random motion of the numbers ensuring they wouldn't be even close to this past again.

This time when she arrived, the house was completely dark. There wasn't a party going on at all. She knocked but no one came to answer the door. There were few cars in the street. They moved the camera into the house to see if anyone was there, but it was dead calm – as if she'd come on the wrong night. And then they heard giggling and laughter coming from his bathroom. Moving the viewpoint into the 'grotto,' Marcie was struck dumb by what she saw. Monty was in the shower with three gorgeous women, each servicing him in one fashion or another.

She slapped his hand forcing the scene to stop. "That was awful!" Her gut was wrenching, not so much because of the sexuality but because of the feeling of the past – it just felt completely awful and so wrong.

"Out here," he mused, "it's possible our own emotions and fears affect what we'll actually see."

She looked at him wondering if it was his emotions or hers that might have conjured up that last past. "Again," she insisted.

He pressed the button a third time. Again, she arrived at the party, this time in full swing, but most of the guests were in costume. She had arrived with a trench coat, one which she quickly removed, to reveal she was almost completely naked – her nipples covered with tassels, her pubic area covered with a fig leaf. 

She giggled at the outfit, and then giggled again when a woman entered the living room from the right wearing nothing at all except a fanned headdress of ostrich feathers.

As in the first past, this one felt playful and whimsical, not threatening. "What do you suppose is the meaning of ostriches? This was the second time it shows up..."

He couldn't begin to decipher why these pasts were appearing over any others, but he once again suggested their own psychological state may influence what was selected. He made a mental note to suggest to Patti another possible therapeutic application.

"More?" He didn't want to continue. Even though she was amused, he could sense a much more foreboding element to all of these pasts and he was concerned she would be hurt by them.

She yawned. As odd as they had been, it wasn't nearly as dramatic as he had led her to believe. "Nah, I guess I'm getting tired. But you have to admit, they weren't, for the most part, all that outlandish."

He didn't argue, nodding his head to the side and shutting down the projector.

* - * - * - *

It wasn't the only time she had suggested it. It was an itch that kept coming back. She just got a kick out of seeing such strange scenes.

He acquiesced again, perhaps a week after, and again she picked a spot almost at the end of the curve, only this time to the left instead of the right.

"It's really circular," he confided. "The display doesn't do it justice – but where you have it now is virtually the same as where it was the other night."

She got it, but left it there.

She picked a random date – one she knew was after they had started dating, but not one with any significance she could think of.

She was approaching the house, the viewpoint from her perspective in the car as it arrived. She parked it in the driveway. Marcie swung the camera around to see her face. She was concentrating on something but didn't appear to be concerned the house was dark with no one home.

She kept her keys out as she walked up to the door. The image froze.

"Are you absolutely certain you want to continue?" He held the control, his finger over the switch.

"Why? What do you think is going to happen?"

"This will be really unpleasant. I can assure you. I can't tell you what, but I can guess – death, perhaps murder. Rape. It's not pretty."

"How can you be sure? Is this forsight something you expect I'll be able to do sometime?"

His mouth was a thin line. "Probably. If you don't cum for 25 years." He smiled slightly at her annoyed look. "Seriously, I suspect you can already feel something about it. Just close your eyes and let the sensation of what you're seeing...have seen...reveal itself."

She sat back, dropping her hands to the loveseat and relaxed. Except for a slight acidy stomach she didn't feel anything in particular. She focused on her breathing, letting the day wash away. After a few moments she felt a kind of blackness in her consciousness, by her ears. They tingled a little and then as soon as she focused on it, it stopped. It wasn't anything like what she had felt watching her succumb to his ejaculation. She opened her eyes looking at him shaking her head. "Nothing really. A little blackness around the edges; some tingling in my ears...and oddly my nipples?"

She shook her head at his suggestion that may be all she could count on at this point. "It could have been a mosquito buzzing, my imagination. Really? Blackness around the edges, a tingling and my nipples are sensitive...and I'm supposed to know that means this scene is fatally dangerous?"

"What can I say? Imagine it wasn't just 'blackness around the edges' but something so profoundly distressing it slowed your heart beat or made your leg ache or something so unpleasant it was a clear sign you had no good reason to watch it."

"So...what do you feel? Do your legs ache?" She noticed he didn't have a hard-on for once.

"My stomach...and no, it wasn't the food I ate. Here. Feel this." He took her hand and put it on his abs, pressing down.

"I love how you keep in shape – Abs of Steel."

He wasn't amused. "You're making fun. This is serious. Look. I'm telling you what you're playing with here is not just a parlor game – this is real shit you're about to see. My stomach is tensed up not because I've been working out, but because it's sending me...us...a clear signal."

He could see she wasn't in a mood to be convinced. He made one last attempt. "Alright, we'll watch it for a brief moment, but again, a couple of weeks ago you threw up just because you had swallowed my cum. That was bad but it was a walk in the park compared to this one."

"Okay, you've got me convinced and more than nervous. But will it actually do me harm? Will it injure me somehow?"

"Psychologically? Emotionally? Probably no more than a really bad nightmare. Is that how you want to spend the evening?"

She wondered if he had other plans. She reached her hand down to stroke him through his trousers. She thought she could a feel a little twitch. "Would saving a damsel in distress be something you'd want to do tonight?" She leaned over and kissed him, pressing her fingers into his zipper placket.

"I doubt you'll want to have sex after watching this. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe watching mayhem and rape will turn you on. I'm ready to be surprised."

She wrinkled her face up at the thought she might be that kinky, that this was 'territory she'd want to explore,' but she'd learned so much about herself watching these pasts that surprised her, anything was possible. "Let's just do it for a few minutes and then we'll stop. Promise."

She kept her fingers on his crotch, pulsing through the fabric; he kept his fingers on the dead man switch and continued the scene.

She didn't seem concerned the house was dark. It was as if she had expected it. She turned the key in the lock and opened the door, flipping a switch to light up the entry. Nothing happened. She toggled it again but still no light. She closed the door quietly and put her keys away, concern revealed by moonlight dimly reflecting off the pool outside the entry. There was just enough light from the full moon to distinguish the furniture from the flooring. She made her way carefully through the house to the kitchen, hoping to call the power company, find a flashlight or something.

She didn't make it past the dining room.

It was darker there, in spite of the floor to ceiling glass. She bumped into the table and swore quietly, rubbing her shin. As she began to make her way again she stopped. Seated at the table was a figure, naked, with a hood over his head, his arms not visible, but she presumed tied behind his back. Perhaps she had heard a muffled sound in response to her injury; she didn't have another moment to process it before a shadow separated itself from the darkness and two hands grabbed her by the shoulders, shoving her into a chair.

"Well. What do we have here? I thought you said she wasn't with you anymore? Ah...Montrose, you are not a very good liar."

She was going to scream but before she had time to even think about it a towel was shoved in her mouth and another hood was put over her head. Her attempt to shake herself loose from her assailant was useless. He was obviously much bigger than her and the element of surprise had eliminated most of her options once she entered the room.

"Now," he continued, an obvious humor in his voice. "You've really given me a nice gift here, Montrose. I think I will enjoy peeling this little piece of fruit before I slice it up."

He had her tied into the chair in moments; her squirming did nothing to slow him down. Within a minute her legs were immobilized as well.

A knife flashed in the moonlight and Marcie watched as the man, a face appeared dimly every once in a while but she didn't recognize him, sliced her clothing off unceremoniously. There was nothing sexual about it: it was as if he were preparing a meal, removing the inedible parts to get to the juicy meat inside.

The nausea suddenly hit her but she kept it down. There was something she needed to see, something drawing her in like the proverbial flame. 

"She has very nice nipples Montrose. You certainly know how to pick them, eh? I wonder how they will taste, hmmm? And you know what I'm driving at."

He was shouting through his hood, but the sound was muffled. Her past-self was squirming ineffectually, her breasts bouncing dimly in the moonlit room.

It was as the attacker placed the edge of the knife against her breast that Marcie's eyes rolled up into her head and she blacked out.

* - * - * - *

"Are you satisfied?" 

She looked up at him, disoriented. The pain in her nipple sent an adrenaline rush through her; her hand swung up to feel for her injury only to end in surprise to feel she was completely intact. And surprised she could feel her nipple at all – she must be undressed. She tilted her head up off the pillow and saw she was lying naked in the bed, clammy and wet.

"What....?"

He brought a robe and lifted her up, coaxing her arms through the sleeves as if she were recovering from surgery.

Her stomach felt awful and the pain in her breast was very real. "What is going on?" The memory of her attacker, of the insanity going on upstairs in the dining room...she almost wretched, until she realized she didn't have anything in her stomach.

"Oh, I think you're done with that," he said a little annoyed. "Let's get some tea in you, and perhaps you can help me clean up a little."

She had never heard him so short with her. She began to put the pieces together. "I threw up?"

"Thankfully it wasn't an expensive dinner."

Much later, after a couple cups of tea she looked at him sheepishly.

"Can we call it enough for now?" He asked, his hands reaching for hers across the peninsula.

She nodded. "I'm sorry. I really thought I could handle anything...I'm an idiot. Thank you." The last added quietly to try and communicate her contrition and respect for his prior warnings. "Well, at least I learned something else tonight – mayhem and rape are not a turn-on for me and thankfully not for you either." He returned a grim smile and nodded to the room downstairs reminding they had some cleaning up to do before going back to bed.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 11



* -* - * - *

"Honey, he's going to just eat you up alive. There'll be nothing left of you. It's already happening." Carole practically tsked her disapproval before slurping a little of her coffee.

Marcie just looked at her and laughed. "C'mon, it's just jealousy. Admit it, you'd give your eyeteeth for a guy like him."

Her friend was only slightly amused. "I know, when people get together and decide to get married, they agree to give up some freedom. Shit, that's what it's about, right? Giving up a little independence to have a life-long companion. I get that. But you and Monty." She shook her head. "It's too one-sided – he's got all the cards."

Marcie silently reminded herself that Carole could be an insensitive clod sometimes. "Thanks a lot," she shot back sarcastically. "You really give me a lot of credit."

"Oh, c'mon Marcie. I know love is blind and all that, but seriously, are you that good in bed? Is it your spectacular body? What happens when the sex is over, when, 10 years from now, you're breasts are sagging, you've got two brats running around and he decides he needs to start up with another sweet young thing?"

"Carole! I thought you were happy for me? What's going on?"

Her friend just shook her head and looked away. "I am happy for you, baby. I think you are the luckiest woman alive. I just...I'm sorry. That was a really stupid thing to say. I'm just concerned for you. He's richer than God and I...I guess I've been hearing a lot of 'Monty this' and 'Monty that.' Shit. I don't know. Something just doesn't feel right."

Marcie had the urge to defend herself and her relationship, but just pressed her lips together and looked back at the list they had been making. "If you don't want to do this right now, we could stop."

"No. Shit. I'm sorry. No. Where were we – bridesmaid dresses...I really really liked those two at the last shop, did you?"

The memory of their conversation drifted in and out of her consciousness as she sat in the house (she had stopped calling it his house a few days ago) looking around at what would be her new home. Was it just jealousy, or was Marcie giving up too much for a life only imaginable in gothic novels? 

She was sitting on the deck looking out over the greenery and thought about how much her life had changed, just in the last couple of months, since the therapy had begun, or maybe since they revealed their secrets to each other. Whatever it was, she had definitely changed. The thought of exposing herself to strangers was no less a turn-on to her (even now the tingle in her nipples at the possibility of stripping and lounging in the middle of the day teased her), but her feelings about it had completely changed. 

She entertained the idea of standing up and removing her clothes. No one was expected at the house, as far she could remember – the staff's schedules were still something of a mystery to her, and no one could see her from across the way. She stood up, moving her hand to the top button of her blouse.

Like now, the idea of stripping, of exhibiting herself was no longer associated with guilt or shame, but with an internal joy at being free, of showing off, of exciting others with her body, of causing Monty to get hard. She had removed her blouse and unsnapped her bra. She loved the feeling of the air on her naked breasts; she loved feeling her nipples harden, her areolae crinkle up into goosebumps.

Okay, so you're not so guilty and ashamed at being an exhibitionist. How about being Monty's slut? The thought stopped her mid-motion as she had been sliding her skirt off. Monty's slut. Is that what was bothering Carole? That she had been giving up her freedom to be Monty's fuck toy?

She let her skirt drop and reflected on that idea for a few heartbeats. Monty and she had gone over this enough times he was getting a little tired of the conversation. But it remained a recurring worry of hers; forget about Carole – not so much that she was a label as he liked to say, but that she had given up her independence. The weekend at Grey's Pointe came rushing back to her, the night he forced her to walk upstairs naked, his finger buried in her asshole. Her acquiescence in the theater the night she felt the stars on her skin. The image of kneeling at his feet, right after his proposal. She shivered at the memories, a pulse of arousal moving through her. She was still turned on by the thought of submitting to him.

She stood there, half-naked, her skirt at her feet and looked around. What the fuck am I doing? Am I willing to just be his plaything? Does he just want me as his toy? With most of her brain, she knew he didn't, that he wanted her to be happy, but a small (and loud) part of her continued to question her choices. She ran her fingers along her belly and ribs, sending little lightning bolts of pleasure up her spine. Hooking her panty waistband in her thumbs she slid them off, freeing herself completely. She lay back down on the chaise continuing her self-criticism.

No! He wants to have a child with me. He wants me to be a part of his life forever. He's just preparing me. She wanted to believe him, to trust him. She had seen the alternate past. She knew what he had been telling her was true, but she couldn't possibly convince Carole – there was no way to get her to understand.

She let her hand drift down to her cunny, feeling her strip of pubic hair tickling her palm and thought further about her relationship. Maybe not his plaything, but maybe Carole is right on one point, I am submitting to his needs. The word submit stuck in her mind and the images of her becoming his submissive blocked every other thought. Was she giving up more than just her independence as a single woman? Was she unconsciously drifting into a submissive power relationship with him? Was Carole more right than wrong about becoming consumed by his...power, influence, domination?

She knew in her heart that it wasn't true. Monty hadn't asked her to let go of herself. Her finger sparked arousal into her core. It wasn't hard for her to ignite the white fire – she could feel a flicker of it starting just from touching her clit. That alone was a major gift he'd given her – something she'd never be able to explain to her friends. It wasn't something she'd even revealed to Patti – it was too hard to explain.

He hadn't asked her to submit to his will, in spite of what their behaviors might look like on the surface. The images of her kneeling and taking him into her mouth, of him penetrating her in the elevator, the ritual cleansing, the weekend at Grey's Pointe all rapidly flashed behind her eyes extending the white flame higher up her spine. If that is what being a submissive is, I suppose that's what I'm becoming and the thought only turned her on more.

She wasn't so aroused that she couldn't stay a little objective. Submissive. It was just another title she was hanging on herself like slut, or fuck toy, or exhibitionist. That's what Monty, and Patti, had both been saying. She could hear her therapist's voice whispering in her ear:

"Are you both role playing as a part of your sex life? Is it consensual? Or is he demanding something from you that you aren't comfortable giving?"

She smiled at the scene she'd painted and realized she was probably getting close to not needing Patti anymore, or at least not needing to see her so frequently. So what if she was letting go of her independence? That's what marriage was about. And at this stage of their relationship, she was willing to submit to some things she'd never had considered in a million years just six months ago.

She remembered he had asked her to not masturbate, or was it not cum? She didn't remember, but the white fire had reached the top of her spine and licked there, flickering in time with her finger's rubbing of her clit and pussy. She stopped, letting it settle and removed her hand. She didn't need to go there right now. She wanted to feel his cock, not her finger, maybe even his fist; there was another thing she'd never had thought she would yearn for – a lover's entire fist shoved inside her. But when Monty did it, it was like lighting a fuse – the white fire leapt into her head. 

She licked her lips, thinking about having him shove his fist inside her and pull on her tongue. She moaned at the thought and with all her will, pulled her hands away from her body, spreading herself out on the chaise to let the afternoon breeze caress her.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 12



When he told her not to worry about packing, "...we can get whatever you need over there..." she wasn't sure whether that meant 'Don't pack anything at all,' or just pack the minimum she would feel comfortable with. She decided to put a few toiletries she couldn't do without into a small carry-on and hoped that would be right.

The buzzer rang. "Ms. Adams? We're ready when you are." She took a last look around, making sure all of the lights were off, closed and locked the door. The act seemed symbolic. This wouldn't be the last time she left her place, but she felt a sense of finality about it. Squaring her shoulders she walked down the hall to the elevators thinking about where this new chapter in her life was leading.

The town car waiting for her at the curb wasn't a stretch, but its spit and polish advertised something more personal than a commercial car service. The driver took her bag and opened the door for her; she slipped in next to Monty.

"Good morning," he leaned over and kissed her.

She smiled at him a little nervously. "Hi. India. Wow." The enormity of the trip was settling in on her. Three weeks in India. A ceremonial preparation for their wedding. He had given her little indication of what was involved, but his first instructions to her this week were discomfiting: no meat, and no shaving.

He stroked her thigh as they drove to the airport, and apologized for having to do a little work. While he browsed his laptop she looked out the window at the familiar landscape. How many times had she made this drive to fly somewhere? How would it look in two weeks when she came back? Would she see it differently after their marriage?

Marriage. It was only the first part of their ceremony – the 'spiritual consummation' as he put it. She still hadn't finalized their "personal" wedding, as she came to call it, but as long as they did this thing first, he was open to whatever she had in mind.

She was a little confused when the driver took a different turn from the route she usually took. Curious, she paid greater attention to where they were heading and realized she had never been to this part of the airport before. 

"Private jet. One of the privileges of being filthy rich." He smiled as her eyes grew.

The car drove up to a small jet. From the outside there appeared to be at least 10 windows; she calculated it would seat 20 very comfortably and wondered who else was coming with them.

He led the way up the stairs, greeting a young flight attendant at the door. 

"Mahitha, meet Marcie. Marcie...Mahitha." He stepped inside to let her enter.

She shook the woman's hand, momentarily stopped by her beauty. Her skin was a deep brown with red tones, her eyes a dark chocolate brown. Mahitha smiled broadly and took the bag. 

"Pleased to meet you Marcie. Congratulations." Her smile was infectious, her accent amazing. Marcie felt her odyssey had already begun and they hadn't left the ground yet. "You may hang your clothes in this closet here." Mahitha pointed to a large walk-in closet just inside the door. 

Marcie was sure she'd misheard and looked around. The three of them were standing in a small room sealed off from the front and rear of the plane with the closet off to one side and what she assumed to be a bathroom door just next to it. She saw that Monty had already begun to remove his jacket and tie, hanging them in the closet. She looked back at Mahitha and raised her eyebrows to confirm she'd heard correctly.

Mahitha looked at Monty, equally confused. 

"Ah...sorry. Mahitha, here it is." He handed the attendant a small package wrapped in cloth and tied with a bow.

Mahitha took the package and offered it to Marcie. "Please, if you could remove your clothes and put this on...."

Marcie looked at Monty again, hoping for some kind of reassurance. He had removed his shirt and was unbuckling his belt, apparently unconcerned about being undressed in front of this woman. He looked up to see her confusion. "It's all good. We are entering sacred space." He said it as if they were on the steps of a temple. "We have to leave our street clothes behind. Mahitha is here to help." 

She had no idea what any of that meant, but his tone was clear. She took the package and untied the bow, peeling back the wrapping. Inside was a small thong of leather, with a confusing jumble of strands, each about the thickness of her pinky finger. She held it up to decipher what it was supposed to be. It was obvious that it was meant to wrap around her in some way, but she couldn't figure it out.

"It's okay," Mahitha said comfortingly, "I'll help you with that. Please, let me take your clothes."

Marcie handed the thong back to the young woman and hesitantly reached for a hanger. Monty was already naked and had selected a kaftan from the closet, slipping it over his head. It was almost identical to the one he wore at his house, with the exception of additional gold piping around the hem and neck.

Marcie realized there was no question about what was expected of her. As Mahitha busied herself closing the exit door, she hung up her jacket, unsnapped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Monty watched her as she unbuttoned her blouse and hung it up. Standing in her bra, panties and stockings, her fiancé staring at her she felt herself becoming aroused. No! It can't be. He can't want me to be turned on by this! 

Mahitha had returned, and she too stood watching passively as Marcie stripped. She reached behind her to unsnap her bra, blushing at being the subject of their attention. Mahitha took her bra and hung it up, waiting for her stockings and underwear. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and stripped the remaining clothes off, standing up to reveal herself to the two of them.

Mahitha gathered her clothes from the floor and placed them in a small bin in the closet. Monty leaned against the closet door jamb watching her, making her feel more naked than she had ever felt before. She felt more exposed than any time she had undressed in front of strangers. Having her fiancé watching her strip in front of a beautiful young woman; to be the only one undressed in such a...clinical...way; to not be drunk or partying...none of it was like anything she'd done before. Even more puzzling was how aroused it made her. Her nipples were hardening and she could feel her lips swelling. She crossed her arms across her ribs waiting.

"I'll see you inside," Monty reached over and gave her a kiss, making her feel even more exposed.

She looked up and saw a look of disapproval flash across Mahitha's face, although she wasn't certain, it passed so quickly. Remember the Indians have different expressions. Monty's warning from weeks before came back to her. Still, she looked down to see what could have caused the woman's judgment and saw her landing strip of pubic hair. The stubble of a week's growth was just beginning to show, casting a bluish black shadow on her otherwise ivory-white skin.

Mahitha had knelt down in front of her, holding the leather thong up to her waist. "We need to get this properly adjusted," she said as if she were fitting a dress. "For the remainder of the flight I will help you with it, whenever you need it. Later there will be others."

Marcie had so many questions she wasn't sure which ones came first. Others? Other thongs? Other people to help her? The remainder of the flight? What else was I going to wear? How many people were behind that door? She began to shake a little at the prospect of what Monty was asking of her. There will be sacrifices, he had warned her. She swallowed and waited.

Mahitha reached behind her pulling a long piece of the leather around her waist. Marcie could feel a piece drop against her cheeks and looked down. The woman was working closely, her face right up against Marcie's mons as her hands moved swiftly to adjust the leather. She spread her legs a little at the woman's direction and she felt the supple leather stretched between her cheeks. She looked down to see the woman's slight fingers pulling it between her legs, feeding it in between her lips and drawing it up to the band at her waist. 

As Mahitha pulled and adjusted, Marcie maintained her stance as best she could. The leather was soft but as Mahitha worked it, she realized it would be pressing against her clit, deep inside her slit and the thick muscle between her cunny and her rectum. Even as it felt uncomfortable she could feel her juices begin to slicken it.

"As you moisten it, the leather will loosen slightly," Mahitha reassured her, as if that was Marcie's biggest concern. "I'll re-adjust it in a little bit. There..." the attendant stood up. "Walk a little bit and tell me if it is chafing you." 

Marcie felt like...like a cheap slut...was the first thought that came to mind. What was she doing? She walked into the closet and back out, towards the front door and back. The leather moved against her waist, the thin band moving smoothly against her skin. With each step, though, the bands pressing against her cunny and rectum didn't slip at all, but instead each movement sent jolts of arousal into her.

"No...it...feels...nice." She blushed at admitting it to this stranger. Could she already be submitting to Monty's expectations? 

"I'm sorry. I should have asked. Do you need to use the restroom? Any time you need to, please ask and I will help you with it."

Marcie took a breath. She hadn't had time to even think about it, but realized the thong was pressing so hard against her parts that there would be no way to go without taking it off. She looked down, running her fingers against the various knots and concluded she couldn't figure out how to take it off, let alone how to put it all back together again. Mahitha had tied some cunning knots. At the thought of using the bathroom she decided she had better pee now.

"Yes. It probably would be better to go now."

Mahitha opened the bathroom door and gestured her in. Once again, Marcie was struck by the differences between this plane and others she'd been in. The bathroom was not the usual tiny closet, though the sink and toilet appeared to be standard issue. In addition there was a shower and a small counter and mirror to sit at.

Mahitha sat at the counter directing Marcie to stand in front of her. In moments she had removed the thong and waited for Marcie to use the toilet.

Apparently Marcie wasn't going to be left alone. She sat down and closed her eyes trying to shut out the other woman's presence. As the flow started and she relaxed, it gushed out of her; she let it continue to a dribble. After wiping herself she stood up and flushed.

Mahitha waited for her to position herself, but didn't immediately reattach the thong. "Why do you do this?" Her question was accompanied by her fingers running lightly over the shaved skin; Marcie felt the stubble under the young woman's touch.

"I...uhhh...I have a lot of hair down there..." she motioned with her fingers unconsciously, looking down at the woman's face. Her expression was clear and non-judgmental, her eyes open and questioning as if she had never seen someone shave before. "Haven't you ever shaved?"

Mahitha smiled and shook her head. "No. It reduces the life force." Leaving the task of retying the thong aside for the moment, the woman stood up and lifted her dress above her waist. Marcie stared in disbelief at several things at once: the amount of hair the woman had incredible! That the woman was naked beneath her dress, and that she so calmly displayed herself to her. Mahitha let her dress drop and reached for Marcie's arms. "Under here too?" She inspected Marcie's underarms to see the beginning of her hair returning.

"You have stunning skin," Mahitha stared at the Marcie's porcelain coloring. "You couldn't be any whiter, could you?" It was said with a sense of marvel, not disdain, and the young woman placed her arm against Marcie's to compare their colors.

The scene was surreal. Marcie couldn't quite shake the feeling of being in a dream. Naked, about to be secured into a leather chastity belt by a young Indian woman who was comparing notes about their skin color and hair removal attitudes. 10 minutes ago Marcie was just a young executive going on an Indian adventure. Now...now she wasn't sure what she was or where she was going.

"Let's get you ready; that was the signal we're preparing to take-off." Mahitha knelt again and quickly retied the thong, if anything, even slightly tighter than before. "Is that okay?"

Marcie nodded, not at all sure if it was okay, but reeling a little from...the whole situation.

Mahitha reached into the cabinet and pulled out a small jar of cream. "Let's get this on now since we're here. You'll need more in a few hours, but this will be good for now." She took a dab on her middle finger and smeared it on the thong where it entered her vagina, working it into the skin there. As she moved her finger in small circles, Marcie felt the vibrations against her clit all the way along the leather to her anus. The white fire immediately licked to the base of her spine and Marcie slowly breathed in, covering her arousal. The woman stopped to get some more on her finger and applied it to Marcie's nipples, again working it in until the cream disappeared. She dabbed her fingers again and reached under Marcie, between her legs to rub the cream into her anus against the leather there. "Tell me if that starts to feel uncomfortable, itchy or any burning, yes?"

She put the jar away and washed her hands, allowing Marcie to do the same.

Mahitha exited from the bathroom and opened the door leading to the rear of the plane. She wasn't sure what to expect: whether a crowd of people were waiting for her to appear or if Monty was sitting alone in one of the rows of seats.

She hadn't expected the scene before her. The entire plane was an open lounge – a kitchenette with bar faced a set of couches and divans, along with a small area enclosed with a curtain she imagined was a bed.

Monty looked up from his computer; he was lounging on a circular couch, the only occupant of the plane aside from the two women.

"Everything a-okay?" He smiled at how beautiful his bride-to-be looked. Her white skin, her nipples bright pink in their light brown targets. He could see even from his distance how aroused she was, the flush to her cheeks, the stiffness of those nipples. He stared at her as she walked into the room, watching the leather thong disappear into her gorgeous yoni. He felt an erection starting and knew this was right. He patted the couch next to him, inviting her to join him.

"Mahitha can make us a little breakfast if you like. Juice? Coffee?"

She sat down on the couch, curling her legs under her trying to take it all in. Whatever Mahitha had applied to her skin, it was starting to tingle...not burning or itching...just a pins and needles kind of tingle. It kindled the white fire, like sparks on dry tinder. The echo of the woman's touch on her pubic hair reminded how that was going to itch all too soon, but the tingling she felt in her nipples and vagina, and now her ass, was not that.

She turned to him and kissed him...passionately, pushing her tongue into his mouth, pulling his head against her. She wanted him, she wanted to be his. She was so excited about the prospect of being his wife. She was so excited about being on this plane with him, about this trip. As his tongue swirled against hers, pushing into her mouth, she let the bizarreness of the situation wash away from her. She would be exposed, exhibited the entire trip, and she realized it was not only okay, it was what she really wanted. The fire leapt up to her mid-spine.

She uncurled her legs and turned to him to get closer to him. She dropped her hand to his crotch to feel for his penis, knowing it would be stiff. She cupped his head beneath the cloth of the kaftan, teasing him. She supposed if she was to be naked the entire time with Mahitha in the room, he wouldn't have any shyness of about having sex in front of the woman. He moaned into her mouth and his hands came down to her breasts, lightly massaging them. 

"If everyone could get ready, we've been cleared for takeoff." 

Monty sighed and broke their embrace. He pulled a seatbelt over his shoulder and pointed to Marcie's, for her to do the same. Sitting next to one another, her naked, him erect, Marcie couldn't help but laugh at the scene. "Monty...this is just too bizarre. Are you going to tell me what's really in store for me?"

Although she trusted him completely, she knew this was just the beginning of the 'sacrifices' she would be making this next few weeks. 

Monty smiled at her and offered his lips to kiss her again. 

Ten minutes later a bell rang and Mahitha invited them to unbuckle if they wanted.

"Did you want anything to eat?" He asked her again, his fingers lightly playing on her nipples.

She closed her eyes, letting the fire flicker and trying to understand Mahitha's role in all of this. She knew what she wanted to eat; breakfast could wait. She reached down and pulled up the hem of his garment, scooted her butt over and leaned down to take him in her mouth. If she was going to have sex with him, Mahitha was going to have to watch.

He didn't miss a beat, shifting his legs a little to let the kaftan move out from under him. He continued to pet her, rubbing her back and pulling on the thong. She moaned on his cock.

Mahitha was unfazed, moving about the kitchen pouring juice, preparing coffee, as if this sort of thing happened all of the time. And as far as Marcie could tell, it probably did. The whole thing turned her on even more, the fires deepening and extending to the base of her skull. His cock was all she was interested in for the moment, the deeper into her throat she could get it, the better.

She rolled off the couch, keeping her lips on him, until she was kneeling on the floor between his legs, her head curled over as best she could. She knew she looked like a slut, that Mahitha must think of her as nothing but a cheap whore, but if anything, the image of her forcing herself on him only aroused her more. The sounds of her slurping and grunting as she tried to get his shaft into her throat put her into a small frenzy. Finally, she found a position that let him fuck her as she wanted – her throat a slippery tunnel. She moved out and in, feeling him stiffen, his hands letting her know he was excited and wanted her to do this. And then, pride filling her, she felt him stiffen and vibrate and she knew he had crested. For her part, the fires were just beginning – the thong pushing into her cunt, the cream Mahitha had applied tingling her nipples, her asshole and now her clit. Three licking flames, combining with her own arousal. 

She sat back to catch her breath and realized it was a 20 hour flight. They hadn't been in the air for 30 minutes. She moaned at what the trip would bring.

She pulled off his cock at the sound of Mahitha politely clearing her throat. "Would you care for anything to drink?" Marcie blushed, in spite of her nonchalance just moments ago, and looked up to see the young woman smiling and welcoming them to the bar. She looked up at Monty in turn, raising her eyes. She couldn't believe she was doing this: naked, deep throating him, in his private jet, with a servant watching. What level had she descended to? At the sound of stepmother's voice in her head, she stood up, proud and defiant. 

"Thank you, Mahitha, I am a little parched." She held out her hand to Monty, trying to accept his raging erection as a perfectly appropriate accessory to an otherwise completely normal scene.

"Mahitha," Monty turned to the woman as they took their places, "what do you want?"




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 12



The familiar phrase sent a pulse of pleasure through Marcie. She looked over at him.

"Oh," she said, passing the juice glasses across the bar, "that is easy, neta: To serve, naturally."

It was his turn to shoot a glance at Marcie. As if reading her mind, she interpreted his look to mean: She wants to submit. Marcie shook the idea from her head, trying not to see herself kneeling in front of him as she just had done.

"To serve, Mahitha. In what way do you aspire to serve?" He took a sip and leaned away a little. Marcie noted with an odd sense of jealousy the tenting of his kaftan.

"Yes, neta. To serve my ashram, my community, my family and my country, and most importantly, to increase the flow of life force in the world."

"And how do you do that, Mahitha? How do you increase the flow of life force?"

She hesitated as if she was embarrassed.

"Stop, Monty. You're embarrassing her."

"Is that it, Mahitha? Are you embarrassed to answer how you increase the flow of life force."

But she was shaking her head. "No neta, not at all. I was wondering how to put it, is all."

"Perhaps it is easier to show us? Why don't you come over here..."

Marcie knew where this was heading, or at least suspected it, and she shifted uncomfortably on the stool, trying to catch his eye, shaking her head 'No' as subtly as she could.

Before anyone had spoken another word, Mahitha was standing in front of them and gracefully peeled her gown up over her head. For the second time that day, Marcie's eyes were drawn to the woman's thick patch of ink-black hair covering her pubis. Her eyes traveled up the young woman's body, her flat belly, full breasts and her innocent open eyes. She could feel her own arousal building at the thought of what was undoubtedly about to happen.

"...could you help Marcie with her thong, Mahitha. I would like her to be open for this."

Marcie was about to protest, but Mahitha stepped forward and nimbly undid the knots, pulling the thong away from her lips. She blushed as she saw how wet the leather was from her juices. She could smell the other woman's musk and then her own. Little sparks of arousal leapt from Mahitha's fingers into Marcie.

"Open your legs a little wider, sweetie, let Mahitha strip you." He whispered in her ear.

"No..no...please" She whispered back, as if Mahitha couldn't hear her, as if she meant it, as if anyone in the plane wanted anything other than to visit the river.

"Marcie is obviously new to this, Mahitha, and I think a little embarrassed at having been so intimate with me just now. Were you uncomfortable when Marcie took me into her throat, Mahitha?"

"Uncomfortable, neta?" She stood back as if that was the most outlandish thing he could have said. "No. Not at all. I was observing your passion, Marcie. You enjoy having his...lingam  in your throat...it was very passionate."

"When did you last ride the stallion, Mahitha?"

"It is the Blossoming Tree, neta, and it was just now while Marcie had your lingam inside her, neta."

Marcie gasped looking up at the woman. Mahitha's face was innocent and open as if she were discussing the latest recipe for avocado soup.

"Here Marcie. Help me." He took her hand and reached forward, beckoning Mahitha to come closer. Before she realized what he was planning, he had guided her fingers to the woman's slit, pushing them down and under the top of her legs. "Show us. Marcie. What do you want?"

To her amazement, the woman's vagina practically swallowed her fingers. Monty's hand slid back pushing on her knuckles, but Mahitha had opened her legs slightly and her pussy had grabbed Marcie's finger tips, pulling them into herself. "I...I...uhm...I don't know, Monty....I don't understand." But she did understand. She understood that her own white fire was rekindled, that the smoothness and oiliness of Mahitha's channel invited her to push in deeper. That she wanted Monty to push into her, that she wanted to kiss this woman, to feel her pussy lips with her tongue. 

Monty reached up and lightly brushed her nipples, teasing a moan from her. With his free hand, he guided Mahitha's fingers to his erection and looked at Marcie as she watched the young woman stroke him through his kaftan.

"Tell us what you want, Marcie."

She knew what she wanted. She wanted to be engulfed in the white fire. To crest on the ocean and rise up into the sky. "I want the white fire, Monty." She said softly.

At the words, Mahitha's eyes grew large and she looked at him, questioning. He kept Marcie's hand pressed into the young woman's pussy and nodded slightly. Moments later, she rolled her eyes up behind her lids and a guttural moan escaped her, followed by a stream of Hindi. Monty kept Marcie's hand pressed against her mons until she felt her lips thicken and a flow of lubricant spend down. She watched the woman's hand squeezing Monty's cock through the material and wanted desperately for that to be her doing it to him.

And then he took Marcie's hand and brought her soaked fingers to her lips, the implication was obvious. She opened her mouth and let him paint her tongue with Mahitha's juices. "Taste her, Marcie. Taste her juices from the blossoming tree."

The weekend at Grey's Pointe came back to her, her first experience with a woman, with Antoinelle. Mahitha tasted different. Different also from her own musk – like night-blooming jasmine or honeysuckle. She let him coat her tongue, reaching back down into Mahitha and back up into her mouth. She opened her legs wider, the hard wood of the stool pressing into her cheeks.

Mahitha stood still, her eyes closed, her voice softly uttering unintelligible words, like a prayer. Over and over again, they scooped her juices from her, painting Marcie's lips, her tongue and face. The night of the ritual cleansing came rushing back to her and she felt the fire licking up her spine.

"Mahitha is a recent graduate, Marcie. Just as you will be. She has trained for years and has only recently crested. What took her years, you have done in a few short months. But her training gave her something you haven't had – a deep understanding of Tantra. Along the way, she has learned the deep meanings of 'weaving.' Of truly incorporating the life force into every action she undertakes. When a graduate does the most mundane thing, it is woven into the life force. When she makes orange juice for two people, it is imbued with life force. And when she accepts another into her, she weaves that life force into her own.

"I am asking something huge of you, Marcie. I know it. Believe me, I know it. I am asking you to trust me. To understand that the pleasure I give you, that I give anyone who seeks the life force, is given freely without 'strings attached.' But I am giving you something much more. I am tying the knot with you, Marcie. I am joining with you in a few weeks in a way we have never done before, and you must be ready for it. You must understand that I am giving myself to you in a way I have never given myself to anyone before. 

"But it isn't something you can own, Marcie. It isn't yours. The life force flows around us, all of us. We focus it when we climax. We give it when we make love. But we can't own it. We can only make it flow between us. The stronger the flow, the more we have. I need you to let the life force flow from you, as you have been accepting it from me. Not just when we make love, but always. You must achieve this, Marcie if you are going to survive our union."

She thought she understood. The jealousy and anger brewing deep inside her at the thought he was going to fuck this woman before the flight was over mingled with the intensity of her own arousal. The fire was glowing orange and red in her cunt, yellow along her lower spine and bright white around her head. She would do him one better. She would have this woman before he did. If it was okay for him to share his life force with her, it was surely okay for her to do the same. She reached for Mahitha and slipped her fingers deep inside her, feeling the warmth and the slipperiness of her cunt. She needed to taste her directly. Keeping her hand inside her, she stood up. "I need to taste her, Monty. I need you inside me. Help me."

She stood weakly, feeling the leather thong peel away onto the floor and tried to figure out how to maneuver Mahitha and herself to the curtained bed. He smiled and shook his head. Taking her hand from Mahitha's vagina, he placed it in her mouth and led the two of them to the bed.

Marcie laid down on the bed, spreading her legs, inviting Monty to penetrate her. Instead, he knelt next to her, lifting her head back exposing her neck, putting a pillow under her waist, lifting up her naked pubis. He invited Mahitha to kneel over her breasts facing her feet and Marcie stared into the pink valley between the woman's thick lips. 

"Help, her, Marcie. Help her tree blossom and she and I will help you swim in the white fire." She was already immersed in it. From her toes to the tips of her breasts, she was glowing like a hot coal. She lifted her fingers to spread Mahitha's lips open, to stare into her and invite her to straddle her mouth. She needed to shove her tongue into that cunt, to scoop her juices and feed her own fire. 

And then she felt Monty begin to penetrate her with his fingers. Four at once and she moaned, urging him to fuck her, to fist her as he had done the last times. She spread her legs wide and thrust herself at him, while she pulled Mahitha down on her mouth. She tasted sweet and salty, a strong spicy smell, but not cinnamon like Monty's. She plunged her tongue into her even as Monty thrust his hand inside her own cunt. She grunted into Mahitha's pussy, pushing her tongue as deep as she could go every time he penetrated her. When he pulled out his hand, she pulled back her tongue. In and out, she let him set the rhythm.

Mahitha had shifted slightly and Marcie realized she and Monty were kissing. The image inflamed her further and she lifted her face to lick Mahitha's clit to force her to bear down on her and give herself up. She heard the woman moan and felt a small victory. And then Mahitha began grinding her cunt into Marcie's face, pushing hard against her chin, shoving her asshole onto Marcie's nose. Monty shoved his fist deeply into her at the same time, and she willed the fire to envelope her brain where she could feel it flickering in her head. In moments, the two of them carried her over the top, engulfing her in an onrush of flames that blinded her.

She was floating, like she had been once before. She couldn't remember when. She couldn't remember the names. She was. She stretched from one end to the other. Of what she couldn't say – she had so few words. She floated. Floated. The fog cleared. The ocean thrummed beneath her, her body dissolved into fire, air, water and earth. Earth. She saw the earth far below her, a ball of blue mist with land. She floated and she saw the white fire coming towards her – a conflagration like she had never experienced, but she wasn't afraid. It raced towards her consuming everything she saw until it consumed her. And then she wasn't.

* - * - * - *

She awoke, alone in the bed and disoriented. She couldn't tell what time it was, how long she had slept or even where she was. And then Mahitha's smell drifted up from her lips and the scene came rushing back to her, re-igniting the orange fire in her groin to a smoldering glow. She lay quietly reflecting on how she had so easily given into...whatever it was they had just done. She could hear their voices and strained to listen to what they were saying.

"But, neta! The White Fire. I've never known anyone who experienced the White Fire...isn't it rare?"

"I suppose," he sounded nonplussed. "Does it matter?"

"No...I suppose not, but she...she is so new, isn't she? How long has she been studying?"

"Not long, Mahitha. Not very long. It is too complicated to explain, but it is a bit amazing, isn't it? It's why I am marrying her. But I am a little worried. She has so much to learn before the union and I don't know if there is enough time."

"The White Fire, neta. That alone should be enough, no?"

"No, Mahitha, that isn't nearly enough. You know what can happen for an ill-prepared recipient. I will need all the help I can get, yes?"

"Of course, neta, I will help you. And I am sure our sisters will help."

As her body woke up further, she realized she needed to pee. She ran her hands down her body, pulling the sheet off of her and feeling her nakedness. When her fingers ran across her vagina, she realized how sore it was – no doubt from Monty's fisting. She had to get up.

"Ahhh, there you are!" Monty greeted her with a hug, rubbing his hands across her back and naked cheeks. 

"How long was I out?"

"Not long – maybe a half an hour."

She looked over to see Mahitha had put on her dress, leaving her the only one without any clothes. 

"I need to pee." She started to make her way to the bathroom, when Mahitha intercepted her.

"I will help you, Marcie." She didn't say it as if it were a question, but as a fact.

"I..." she looked over at Monty, wondering what social faux pas she was about to commit. He nodded. "Uhmmm, okay?"

Mahitha stood while Marcie sat and let the urine stream from her, her eyes closed trying to ignore her new-found attendant. As her bladder emptied, the orange glow flickered, reminding her of her near constant arousal. She reached for the toilet paper, but Mahitha stopped her.

"No, Marcie. Let me." Mahitha reached between her legs and wiped gently. She pushed against Marcie's labia, soaking up the moisture there and then pushed back to wipe her asshole. Marcie hadn't had anyone wipe her since she was two years old and it made her feel helpless. Mahitha repeated the process with a new piece of toilet paper, opening Marcie's legs further. "We have to apply more cream. Just sit for a moment."

She turned to the cabinet and retrieved the jar of cream, taking some on her fingers. "Can you spread your lips for me? We need to get it inside and outside this time." 

Marcie shook her head slightly, incredulous as she saw herself opening her cunny to the woman. Her fingers felt so soft and gentle, pushing into her and sliding out, rubbing across her stiffening clit. Marcie blushed at the thought she was becoming aroused by what otherwise seemed like such a clinical process. Mahitha just smiled and continued to apply the cream, all over her labia and up across her stubble.

Taking another dollop, Mahitha ran her fingers across Marcie's nipples, massaging them until the cream disappeared. Again, Marcie blushed as the stimulation raised bumps on her areolae and her nipples stiffened.

"What do you want," Mahitha asked her and Marcie was taken aback by the phrase.

"Do you all say that? Monty asks me that all of the time, at the bar earlier...and he asked you at the bar..." The memory of Mahitha stripping and offering herself to her deepened her blush.

"It is an important question, do you not think so?" Mahitha's fingers continued to massage her nipples sending sparks up her spine.

"I...I want to marry Monty?" Even as she said it she knew it sounded stupid, in spite of it being the truth. Mahitha just stared at her, her expression unreadable and pulled her fingers away.

"Come. We have to get your badhi back on." She offered Marcie her hand and flushed the toilet.

Marcie stood at the bar while Mahitha reattached the thong. The feeling of being helpless and a child came back, made all the more intense by her nakedness and exposure. Monty seemed to be ignoring them, deeply engrossed at his computer. He looked up when they were done and flashed her a smile. 

"I hope Mahitha is attending to your needs?" The way he said it, she understood he was amused by her confusion. She raised her eyebrows and nodded, uncertain what to say. "Well, I have to say, you look fantastic. I really like seeing you this way, your pussy split open by that leather, your nipples erect and inviting. Perhaps we'll only be naked around the house after we're married, hmmm?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, wondering why he was teasing her, especially with Mahitha's head so close to her cunny.

"Come sit next to me. We are already 5 hours into the flight and we have a lot to do before we arrive at the ashram. You need to understand the ceremonies, what will be expected of you and so on. Mahitha is here to help. The others will expect you to know everything already and will be surprised at your ignorance."

His shift into a business-like tone caught her by surprise and she moved quickly to comply. She wondered if it was anxiety and whether it might be because her lack of training would reflect badly on him. Mahitha continued to move around the cabin. Marcie realized she was getting hungry and stopped him mid-sentence. "Is it okay to eat? I haven't eaten anything since yesterday I think."

"Of course. How stupid of me. Starting now, until we leave the ashram, however, it will be a strict vegetarian Indian diet. Will you be okay?"

It wasn't like she had much of a choice. "Anything. I'm sure I'll be fine."

Mahitha had already set about preparing a meal, taking out bins from the refrigerator and pans from cupboards. As Monty introduced her to the ceremony, Marcie became light headed, the smell of the oil and spices increasing her hunger.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I can't concentrate. The food smells so delicious and I must be a little sleepy. Just repeat that last part again..."

"No, no," he smiled slightly, "it's okay. Let's hold off til you've eaten. And I suppose it would help if you took some notes?"

The thought had occurred to her, but she wasn't sure how much he was going to cover. Sitting naked on the couch, the thong pressing against her clit, her nipples still erect, she was slightly aroused again by the thought of being his whore. It was difficult not thinking it, given she was the only one undressed, it was his plane, and she seemed to be expected to have sex at any moment. Her juices flowed at the thought of taking him in her mouth again and at the memory of his fist inside her. She tried to concentrate on something else but the smells of the food, the intensity of the memories and her nakedness conspired to keep the various colored flames ignited. She turned to kiss him and realized she hadn't washed her face clean of Mahitha's musk.

"Mmmmm," he said, breaking away. "That tastes wonderful."

She knew he was calling attention to the other woman's smell and she slapped his shoulder in response. "I should have washed my face," she muttered.

"Not on my account. I love that cologne." 

* - * - * - *

She wolfed the food down without waiting for the others. Only after her third forkful did she realize how rude she had been, but the combination of her hunger and the aroma of the seasoned vegetables was irresistible. She looked up sheepishly when she saw Mahitha slowly chewing her first bite, and Marcie twitched her mouth at Monty. His eyes twinkled telegraphing he understood and didn't care.

He continued. "There are a set of purification rituals you will need to...en...go through...I was going to say 'endure,' but I remembered they can be a lot of fun. A little tedious, but fun." She picked up the pen and made a note.

"Tedious, neta? I beg to differ. The cleansing is an important step and I thought it was so...intimate."

He nodded and continued to list the procedures. "Everyday there will be a routine – a ritual cleansing...no, not like our ritual cleansing," he quickly addressed Marcie's horrified look, "although you are welcome to experience it that way if you are so inclined. It can be arranged." She couldn't decide if he was teasing her or suggesting he would follow through on the idea. Her cunny pulsed at the thought she would be strung out, exposed and painted with her own juices...and not by him. She shook her head of the image and concentrated on eating, listening and taking notes.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 12



"You will not be expected to assist in chores around the ashram – one of the few benefits of a betrothed, especially in the final weeks. You will be treated like a princess, actually, and that alone will take some getting used to. Thankfully you won't have a mother to contend with, but there will be plenty of women worried about your welfare."

The way he said it made it sound as if she wouldn't have a moment to herself. She ate slowly, carefully chewing her food and relishing the taste. He continued to list the various rituals she could expect. There was a routine every day and she was expected to already know it. Two hours later and she looked at the pages of the notes she'd taken. She was drowsy, in spite of the nap she'd taken, and couldn't keep her eyes open.

"Monty. I'm going to lie down. I think all that rice and masala did me in. Is there much more? Can we do it a little later?"

"No. I think I'm pretty much done. Before you take a nap, though, you should check if Mahitha has anything for you." 

Mahitha did have something for her – another glass of orange juice which she gladly accepted, hoping she wouldn't have to pee again very soon. 

In fact she slept the entire time until they arrived at the ashram. She woke, bleary and disoriented several times, barely able to open her eyes and then fell back to sleep. Images of airport security – a private section – transferring to a limousine, barely being covered and wanting to hold her dress down...not a dress, a kaftan, blowing in the breeze, feeling the cool moist air blow across her nakedness. Barely able to stand, only with Mahitha's help, the jostling on rough roads, smells, sounds and the blurring of faces. She knew she had been stripped again but couldn't muster the strength to protest, hoping Monty would protect her from...whatever unnamed fears bubbled up in her dreams.

When she finally awoke, she didn't feel truly refreshed: her head was still cloudy. The room was dimly lit from two windows with shades drawn. The walls were a deep orange color, the furniture elaborate wood carved bureaus. She was covered by a light madras spread, and against her naked skin, very fine muslin sheets. There was no sign of Monty, and no sign he had even slept next to her. She looked around and saw she wasn't alone: a young woman sat in a chair, working with needle and thread. At her movement, the woman looked up.

"Good morning, Mawrceee." Her accent was quaint and calming. "You have slept a long while. My name is Rani and I am here to help you."

The memory of Mahitha's help the day? before rushed in and she grimaced a little. "Uhhh, thank you?" She knew it was stupid to feel modesty, putting on a bravado she didn't feel, peeling back the sheets and turning to get out of bed. She noted the lack of even the badhi.

Rani was by her side as she tried to push her way up. "Let me help you, Mawrcee. The rass can be powerful sometimes." Rani was slight, but strong. She must have been younger than Marcie, but it was hard to tell in the light. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, her body covered in a colorful kaftan with intricate designs. Marcie noticed the fringe – it was either yellow or gold. She knew they put a lot of stock into the fringe and wondered what "rank" Rani had. In spite of the flowing gown, Rani's breasts were evident: her chest filled out the clothing, making a tent. As she talked she helped Marcie up, letting her get her legs back. She felt almost like an invalid, the absence of her usual strength pulsing anxiety through her. Rani patted her hand and helped her cross the room to a curtain covered doorway. 

Two foot prints on either side of a hole were all the evidence there was of a toilet. She hesitated, certain what was expected, but not certain how to go about it. Rani led her to the prints and indicated how she was to squat. She assumed the position, trying to ignore the wide open, innocent stare from her companion. She could feel the pressure on her bladder, but the obvious staring prevented her from relieving herself. She knew it would be futile to ask, but she went and did it anyway. "It would be okay if you left me alone for a moment so I can..." she waved her hands at her pubis. 

"Oh, that is fine," the woman responded, confusing Marcie's statement as concern for Rani's time. "Take as much time as you need." She waited, a small encouraging smile on her open face. Marcie closed her eyes and imagined waterfalls, dripping faucets, anything, until the stream began to flow. Once started she knew it wouldn't stop without an act of god. She blushed at the sound it made, splashing into the hole – like a gushing elephant. The smell was more powerful than usual. She wondered if it was from the food or because she wasn't peeing into water. The rest of the room had a pleasant, floral scent – but this was sulphorous and off. 

"You are worried about the smell, Mawrcee?" Rani noted her concern and wrinkled nose. "It is probably an after effect from the rass. It will be fine now." Again she patted Marcie's arm, no doubt in an attempt to make her feel calm. It only raised her anxiety a little further, as if she were being treated like a child. She covered her annoyance by looking for paper to wipe herself, and remembered again Mahitha's duties on the plane. She waited. 

"You are finished? Very good." The tone wasn't complimenting her performance. Rather it was Rani confirming her understanding. She turned to pick up a bucket, filled with water. Reaching in, she cupped some and splashed it on Marcie's open vagina, letting the drops fall into the hole. Three times she splashed her, on the final time, running her open palm across her naked mons and lips.

If Rani was confused by Marcie's naked pudenda, she didn't let on. She dipped a clean white towel into the same bucket and wiped Marcie's hands. Finally, she took a dry towel and wiped her hands and her vagina, pressing up to absorb any moisture on her asshole.

"Come, it is time to meet the others and begin your preparations." 

Marcie's strength had returned substantially, the sleep draining away with each breath. In the room, Rani had her stand in front of an elaborately framed mirror while she retrieved the badhi. The woman knelt and applied more cream to her genitals and nipples before tying the thong. As Marcie looked down, she could see the woman's breasts filling the space in the tunic's opening. 

"You have been busy, yes?" Marcie blushed again at the woman's reference to how stained the thong was. She didn't know how to respond. A faint memory of Monty telling her she would be treated like a princess came wafting back. How does a princess respond? More importantly, where was Monty? The feeling of loss and homesickness that had been creeping around the edges of her consciousness burst in.

"Where is Monty?" She asked it quietly, uncertain what the rules were.

Rani smiled up at her as she tied the last knots. "Neta, your betrothed, is in the men's quarters, yuvrani."

Marcie couldn't tell from what the woman had just said, whether the final word was a reference to the quarters or to her. She yawned and realized she was hungry again. "Rash, Rani. What is rash?"



"Excuse me, yuvrani? I didn't understand." She had stood up looking at Marcie in the mirror. Apparently the word referred to her.

"You said the smell of my pee might have been from the rash. What is that?"

"Oh! Rass," Rani said it with slightly more sibilance – it was a sound Marcie couldn't repeat accurately. "It is a juice mixture – the start of your preparations. Mahitha served it to you on the plane, yes?"

Yes, Marcie thought with rising anger. But no one bothered to tell me I'd be drugged. She closed her eyes, knowing it was stupid to be angry, here, now. Nothing was in her control and she had to accept the situation on faith that Monty knew what he was doing. All the issues she'd been fighting: being his whore, being dependent on him – they all surfaced, but she stood back and let them roar by like watching a freight train from the side of the tracks. Her pulse slowed and she breathed quietly. "Ah. Thank you."

"Let us meet the others." Rani took her hand and walked her to a second doorway.

The women were all very comforting with their smiles and welcoming embraces. Marcie was confused again. Had they all been just sitting out here waiting for her to wake up? The true meaning of princess began to hit home. The thought finally bubbled up. I am a princess. Shit! What does a princess act like? Apparently privacy was not one of the things afforded a princess as the women made clear: one of them would be attending her at all times.

"Please, yuvrani. We are curious – why are you not covered with hair?" The young woman, whose name Marcie hadn't understood was pointing to her shaved mons. "We'll soon fix that," one of them said in a manner suggesting Marcie had a horrible disfigurement that thankfully was treatable. The others giggled nervously. 

Marcie shook her head in wonder – all of the things she had fought against her adult life were turned upside down: she was expected to be nude; she was expected not to shave; she was expected to let others help her. It was almost too much, threatening to overwhelm her.

"Do you need to toilet?" One of them asked, concerned.

She shook her head and Rani assured them she had gone already. 

"But I am quite hungry, if that is possible?"

They nodded. An older woman, perhaps the one in charge? Marcie couldn't figure out the relationships yet, tsted a little, but produced a plate of dried fruits and nuts.

"It isn't time for evening meal, yet, and Mamatha is concerned about you ruining your appetite." Rani whispered. Marcie took two dates and a handful of nuts, thankful to have something.

Yet another woman spoke up. "We have several hours before evening meal. Would you like a tour of the ashram?" Her English was unlike any of the others – bright and clear, British-taught, although by all appearances she looked Indian enough: dark copper-tinged skin, black hair and bright eyes. With them all wearing kaftans and their hair all tied in buns, except for their height and shape, Marcie was having trouble telling them apart.

"Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you?" she paused on the question, hoping it would imply she wanted the woman's name. 

"Nitya, yuvrani. I would be honored if you called me Nitya." The formality of the response was the first she'd heard. She paused as they filed out of the door into the late afternoon sun.

Her rooms were off a walled courtyard several dozen meters across. In the center was an ancient tree ringed in by a circular stone bench. Women sat on the bench facing the tree, others tended the gardens at the perimeter of the court. The walls were of the same white stone, obviously very old and weathered, some covered with soot others with bird shit. She took it all in, the details, the smells of jasmine or honeysuckle, she never could tell the difference; the memory of Mahitha's juices rushing back to disorient her.

The small gaggle of attendants flowed around her like an oversized cape – an open, windblown cape that left her naked and exposed – but that was the effect it created in her mind. No one in the courtyard seemed to mind this white-skinned naked woman with a human cape walking amidst them. They raised their eyes to greet her and returned to their activities.

They passed the dining hall – Marcie noted there were benches and tables enough for at least 50 people. "Is this reserved only for women?" Rani assured her they were being especially careful not to take her anywhere near the men's part of the ashram. Again, Marcie felt the eeriness of asking one thing and having it interpreted so differently. 

Adjacent to the dining hall they stopped briefly in a temple – a small chapel really. Images of women and men decorated the walls; tapestries were on all surfaces. Here, too, a couple of women were kneeling quietly. The group was silent, swooshing through like a heavy breeze into the inner corridor of a long building. The hall was simple, wood posts and beams exposed, plaster walls and ceiling whitewashed and relatively undecorated.

Their footsteps made soft padding noises on the cool stone floor. Nitya offered a little history of the place at Marcie's inquiry. "This was a minor prince's summer home before the British took over," she explained. "During the colonial period, it was used by the government as a field office of one kind or another. Sundar acquired it several years ago. The ashram has made significant improvements, wouldn't you agree?"

Marcie couldn't imagine how she could agree, not knowing what it had looked like previously, but then realized it wasn't that type of question. She nodded, admiring the ironwork hinges on many of the wooden doors they passed.

"What are these rooms?" She wondered aloud.

"Would you like to see them?" One of them rushed to open the door. It was a janitorial closet.

She smiled at their obsequiousness. "Thank you. That won't be necessary. I was just wondering – perhaps they are all closets?"

The women understood it for the joke it was, tittering. 

"This is the women's dormitory. Some are taking their afternoon nap, so we won't go in right now. Tomorrow morning we have some exercises to perform and we can show you the rooms then. And here," the group had moved to a different doorway – this one open and tiled. The light spilling in had a bluish white cast, in stark contrast to the dark warmth of the hallway. "Here are the baths." 

They let her pass into an antechamber – a small pool was on one side, Marcie was taken aback for a moment – several women were in it. Of course they were naked, but she hadn't expected it. Other pairs of women were along the edges: one holding a bucket she filled from the pool, the other washing her hair and body. Every now and then, the sound of water splooshing from a bucket echoed off the walls. Almost all of the women were young – younger than 30 – well proportioned – not slim, not overweight. She noted how thick and black their bushes were and the variety of breast sizes and shapes. Her eye caught on one woman who had obviously been through a mastectomy. Although Marcie had seen it at her gym plenty of times, there was something different about it here. The woman was soaping herself with her partner, completely at ease and at home. 

The thought that this place might provide such a level of warmth and embrace chased away some of her anxiety. She breathed in the spiced humid air and realized how grimy she felt. "Would it," she began tentatively, but changed her tone. "I am quite grimy from traveling. When would be the proper time for a bath?"

Mamatha didn't tsk this time, but nodded approval.

One of them took off her kaftan revealing such a gorgeous body Marcie struggled to suppress her gasp. There was no way to know with the tentlike garment covering them. Again her eyes were drawn to the deep triangular thicket of black hair – in this case starting practically at the woman's waist creating almost a beard. Her skin was lighter than the others, more coffee-and-cream than raspberry-chocolate.

The woman led Marcie into the pool, leaving the badhi attached. Some of the other bathers looked up; Marcie felt a little self-conscious being the only white woman in the room, but at least she wasn't the only naked one for once. If anything she was over-dressed: the badhi stood out against her clean shaven skin like an intricate tattoo. By the time she had worked all of that out in her head she was almost submerged, luxuriating in the perfumed hot water. She let out a sigh of relief and then a gasp of surprise. Her companion had turned and had begun to stroke her body, rubbing a soft sponge up and down her arms, her breasts, her legs. Marcie looked down to see her under the water, kneeling and washing her limbs, moving up to push against the leather thong and then away.

She had to work at staying on her feet; the woman's actions threatening to tip her backward. She reached down to put her hands on the woman's head, steadying herself. At her touch, the woman looked up and smiled, her smile lit up her entire face. Marcie looked confused and smiled back tentatively. With a few more rubs, the woman finished, standing up out of the pool, leading Marcie with her. She didn't know how long she could go without washing her hair, but evidently that wasn't on the program for this bath.

They didn't have any towels, apparently. Her bathing partner simply slipped into her kaftan and the group was off to the next venue. 

They passed by the dining hall again – this time from the inside through a series of glass paned wooden doors. On the opposite wall, a similar bank of doors led out to a different courtyard. The glass was flawed, or perhaps designed intentionally to obscure. In any event, Marcie could see nothing but sunlight and moving figures. Whether they were male or female, dressed or not, she couldn't tell.

The tour finished through the kitchen and then to the gardens back at the courtyard.

"Meditation in 30 minutes or so," Mamatha reminded the group.

Rani her appointed guide, expanded the meaning for her. "Our time for meditation is coming soon. You will join us?"

Marcie wasn't sure what her options were. If she were really a princess, she could likely ban meditation if she wanted. But why would she want to do that? If she didn't want to attend meditation, did that mean one or more of her servants would be denied the pleasure themselves? She was nervous about participating in a rite with which she had no familiarity. She looked around to see that Rani was on her left side, and the woman from the bath was on her right. 

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I remember your name?" They were walking back towards the chapel.

"I'm Leela, yuvrani." Leela took her hand and softly rubbed her fingers across Marcie's knuckles. It appeared unconscious to Marcie, but the light massage sent small pulses up her arm. Her areolas tightened slightly and that movement reminded her how exposed she was, outside, with others around; the feelings of arousal surfaced. 

"Yes, I suppose I will go to Meditation."

The chapel was filled with women in their kaftans, kneeling on prayer rugs. Once again, Marcie was the only white person in the room, but now she was the only one undressed as well. She could smell her musk growing stronger. When Leela and Rani led her to a mat and left her, she felt exposed and alone. What am I going to do here? She didn't know any of the chants, or rituals or whatever they were going to do. Shit! They could sacrifice a goat...no. Not a goat – they're vegetarians...a bok choy. They could sacrifice a bok choy and expect me to do something.

Her heart rate increased and she focused on her breathing, closing her eyes and repeating her own private mantra. Within moments, the room had broken into a long droning, three chord chant. It went on forever, to the point where Marcie wasn't able to forget it. She added her voice to the crowd and let it carry her along. Eventually, a young woman took to the dais and silently quieted the group.

She began a new chant, this one a series of syllables Marcie couldn't catch. The crowd responded with a simple grunt like noise. Again, she joined in. And then there was silence. She looked around to see all of the women moving into child position. She followed. She knew this was an opportunity to quiet her "monkey brain," but the images of the past two days skipped in front of her eyes like film frames stuck in a projector: Mahitha spreading cream on her naked labia; Rani wiping her after peeing; the women in the bath; Leela's fingers. She squirmed a little but stayed quiet, hoping this would end soon.



No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 13



Within three days she had gotten into the very simple routine: Up at dawn. Pee. Let Rani wipe her. Morning meditation followed by a simple meal of porridge and fruit. Morning work period, although she wasn't allowed to work she used the time to study her notes, mid-morning meditation followed by a light lunch. A person could lose weight at this place given how little food they ate. She was starting to feel hungry all of the time, but her mind was clear. Afternoon work period, a bath if she wanted, then afternoon Meditation followed by, yes, a light dinner. For the past three days, everyone had retired to the dormitories...everyone except Rani...and Leela.

On that first conscious night of her stay at the ashram, the two women returned her to her quarters, bedroom, suite, whatever it was. She hadn't taken a shit all day and now realized she needed to. The thought that Rani would accompany her...she stopped. Not just accompany her, but wipe her ass for her! It was too much. But she couldn't put it off forever and let the two women know what she needed.

"Of course, yuvrani, I can help you." It was Leela. She crouched down and quickly untied the bahdi. 

Marcie stole a glance at Rani to see if there was any problem with this, but the other woman was busying herself with lighting candles and other domestic preparations. She let Leela take her hand and lead her into the bathroom. It was getting dark, the dusky light barely enough for Marcie to make out the footprints. She squatted, thankful for only silhouettes and shadows, and once the process started she couldn't stop it. In moments she had cleared her bowels, emptying their contents with a soft plop into the hole. The smell wasn't so bad.

"Let me, yuvrani." Leela came over with a bucket and a towel and lightly rubbed her asshole clean, dipping fresh parts of the towel into the bucket each time. She repeated the process three times. On the fourth pass, she ran her hands across her pussy, sliding a finger inside and against her clit. 

"Ohhhh...what are you doing?" Immediately she felt the white fire light up her entire spine. It had been...what...two days?

"What do you want, yuvrani?"

Again, the question. She moaned as the woman's fingers did something to her. "To. embrace. the. white. Fire."

The fingering stopped. "So it's true..." She pulled out and took Marcie's hand leading her out of the bathroom...

...and into her bed that Rani had already prepared. The room smelled of rose petals and gardenias. Sitting on her bed, Rani held the bahdi, waiting for Marcie to return. Her naked body looked warm and silky; the thought she would sleep with her popped into her head and she pushed it away as a dark fantasy. As Rani applied more cream and re-tied the thong, Marcie mused on the idea: she was the princess, she could have anything. Her heart pounded at the idea: she could ask this woman to sleep with her and she likely would. But did she want her to? She was beautiful: her skin was so smooth and her breasts so inviting. She couldn't. She was marrying Monty!

Rani finished with the thong and applied more cream to Marcie's breasts, forcing a quiet moan from her. "Is everything okay, yuvrani?"

"She's fine, Rani. She just needs to embrace the white fire." This from Leela who had disrobed and sat down next to Rani. "Come to bed yuvrani, you have had a hard day."

The two women gently took Marcie's hands and drew her down onto the clean sheets, laying her down between them. She didn't protest, allowing the novitiates (monks?) lead her to the place where she could return the life force. In moments she was riding up the flickers of the fire, feeding back to each of them the arousal they were building in her.

And so it was for the past two nights. She was a Rani/Leela sandwich – a playground for their fingers and tongues, their pussies pushed against her lips, against the thong. They painted her body with their juices, their smell on her all day until her afternoon bath. She had felt twinges of guilt the first morning after.

"Why is this fair?" She asked Leela, whose fingers were teasing little moans from her. 

"What is it, yuvrani?"

"This..." she motioned to the two naked women next to her. "Does Monty have two naked men next to him?" The thought that he might sent a shiver up her spine. She wasn't turned on by the idea in the least, but more importantly, he'd never mentioned anything of the sort in their time together.

"If that is what he wants."

"Or are the men allowed women in their quarters?"

"No, yuvrani, the rules are the same. But neta, he is different, yes? He has achieved something higher than any but Guru Sundar. If he asks, we would attend to him during this ritual period."

Marcie sat up alarmed, breaking the early morning calm. "Monty is fucking one of you?" She said it with a panicked accusatory tone.

"Yuvrani. Please. Not us. We have been with you the whole time."

Her response was adorable and broke the mood. Marcie stifled a laugh. "No. Leela, I didn't mean one of you, I meant one of the women here..." again she motioned to take in the whole courtyard outside her door.

"Yes, yuvrani. If he asks for one, we go. He is the...neta? It is his privilege."

"But not me. I don't get to fool around with a man because...because 'it will corrupt' me?"

"Neta is different, yuvrani. He cannot be corrupted this way. If you did not find us satisfying, we would have found you another."

Marcie smiled grimly at the thought. Again they misunderstood. His privilege. What difference does it make? He doesn't come. He explained he expected me to share. The instructions from the plane came back to her and she relaxed back down onto the bed between her companions. They had a few more minutes before the morning bell. She intended to make good use of them.

She revised her inventory of her routine to account for the activities of the two women: wake up between two naked women. Make love. Embrace the fire. Pee. Have Rani wipe her. Etc. Retire to bed, strip the two women and make love to them until they all fell asleep. It was a routine designed in heaven.

After three days she walked around in a haze, the fires, of all colors, flickering inside her. She only needed to think about the evening or morning activities and she could get herself immersed in the flames. During meditations, she only focused on being in the fire; by the time the sessions were over, she was dripping from her skin and her pussy.

On the fourth day, Mamatha pulled her aside before breakfast. "Today, yuvrani, you will begin your spiritual cleansing. No solid food today, tomorrow or the next. We will help you." 

Marcie noted two things from the conversation: it was the first time Mamatha had used the reverential form and she wasn't nearly as concerned about the fasting as she would have expected: she had started to lose her need to eat. The women plied her with juices, water and teas, hydrating her, she thought, until she realized she needed to pee almost every hour. Each time she was accompanied a different woman cleaned and wiped her. Each time, the touches lit a tendril of white fire. By the end of the fourth day, she would have gone over the top without the two women in her bed. As it was, they kept her floating for what seemed like hours.

As the three days of fasting progressed, she felt changes in her body: her movements felt more fluid, as if her joints were being lubricated. Her mind was clearer than she'd ever experienced it. She was in a constant state of arousal – perhaps it was something in the teas, perhaps it was lack of food, or perhaps the constant attention of the two young women, of Leela's intoxicating touch, or Rani's bright face looking up from between Marcie's wide open legs.

Regardless, by the end of the first week, Marcie was no longer participating in the world as she had known it. She was floating, naked and exposed, on the tips of a blindingly white conflagration. Each step she took added to the flames. Each sip she swallowed pushed the flames higher. She needed all of the help she could get, just moving from one room to another, to make it through the meditations in which each heartbeat forced a small moan of pleasure from her. The women understood and assisted her participation in the real world, even as they continued to fan the flames inside her.

During a rare moment of light-headed clarity, Marcie realized she still had two weeks of preparation. She had been missing Monty the entire time – every flame reminded her of his cock, of the way he lifted her, of his camera, of the possibilities of living with him for the rest of her life. She had stopped being a person and had begun thinking of herself as a white dove, lifted high into the atmosphere by the fires inside her. She only wished she could fly over the courtyard walls, into his wings.

At the beginning of the 2nd week, Mamatha again pulled her aside. "You may begin eating again. But only a small spoonful this morning. We will help you adjust."

In spite of the new regime, her weightlessness continued, floating her higher and higher. She felt as if she were a slender balloon, held down only by the efforts of her attendants. Each day she embraced the fire at least twice and by the end of the week, three times.

She had lost track of anything in the real world, her entire existence floated. She knew she lived: she still peed and she still ate and drank, but the world held her interest very little, its weight and gravity trying to pull her down.

By the middle of the third week, she was barely present. So intense was the white fire that every breath pushed her close to it. She no longer spoke, just nodding slightly when asked a question, or moaning when Leela's lips pushed against her cunt. She knew somewhere there were words; somewhere there was something else, other than the white fire, but she had lost her ability to speak. She had begun to dissolve into the fire.

On the night before she was to be wed, the women gathered around her, holding their hands on her skin, feeling her warmth. Her eyes were not focused outward; her mind was aware only of fleeting images: colors, sensations, smells and tastes – but she had no names for any of them. They were a part of her, as was everything she came in contact with: merely another part of her.

They began to chant. Softly, in a language she never would have understood, even before the recent transformations had removed her capacity for speech. The sound was a weaving of voices, of modulations, rhythms and tones. It was hypnotic, pushing her into the fire, inviting her to let go; to be completely consumed by it. They chanted for at least an hour, but it was infinitely long from where she was. At the end, she could no longer stand by herself and they laid her on the bed to begin the final preparations.

They removed the badhi for the last time. It would not be required any longer. Mamatha retrieved a soup pot from the kitchen, its contents steaming in the cool evening: a broth for a ritual cleansing. Leela brought a bowl of cool clear water. This too would be used to clean her.

They tied her to the bed, her arms spread above her, the ankles to the side as far as her body would let her. Her pubic triangle had begun to fill in – after four weeks of not shaving and the application of ointments, it was still quite thin compared to what it would be eventually, but the beginnings of her thick bush were clearly evident against her pale skin.

Spread open, the women began to wash her one last time. Starting with the cool water, they sponged her skin from fingertip to toes. Each woman took a turn, slowly wiping her down. Each woman took her time, lingering on her chin, her breasts, her knees, massaging the cool water into her skin. After the last had finished, they turned to the broth. 

Leela lifted Marcie's head while Rani spooned a little into her mouth. She wasn't unconscious, just unable to hold her head up. They helped her swallow, continuing to feed her until she couldn't eat any more. Her belly had filled perceptibly from the broth, even though she had only eaten half the pot. The women prepared for the next step, letting the broth work its way through her system. Mahitha had joined the group. She reported he was entering his marriage trance and her success in keeping him properly aroused for the past three weeks. She turned her attention to Marcie.

Marcie had no idea there were women near her. She was completely lost in the fire, one long orgasm that never finished. They continued to massage her gently, moving the broth through her. Mamatha prepared the banana leaves and bamboo, gently inserting the tube into her cunt, slowly moving it up to the spot where it stopped naturally. Marcie moaned – the tube filled her in a way that wasn't satisfying like Monty's cock would be. Though she had no words to express her disappointment, the emotion traveled through her unbidden.

With the first tube in place, the women gently lifted her by the waist, slipping several cushions under her for support. She moaned again, the tube pressed against her clit, sending waves of arousal into the fire.

The women inserted a second tube, a smaller bamboo into the unconscious bride's rectum, sliding it in with lubrication from their own yonis. Several women supported the tubes, rising above Marcie's spread-eagled form. They began to chant in unison, the words incomprehensible, but the rhythm and breathing unmistakable. The sound invoked the early wordless state of being, of ocean waves and comforting wombs. The sound seeped into Marcie's consciousness, cooling the fire at the edges, turning it into a soothing fog in her mind. 

Continuing to chant, the women ladled the broth into the makeshift contraption inserted in Marcie's body, slowly and continuously, until they had filled her rectum and womb with the fluid. And then, they waited. The chanted in unison, carefully measuring the time by the number of verses they completed.

Marcie's body was incorporating the broth even as her mind was incorporating the chant. The broth she had eaten had made its way to her bladder; much of the broth in her womb had been absorbed, but the rest would need to be eliminated. The broth in her intestines had washed them clear and it too would need to be evacuated. They had tied her down to prevent her from pushing the broth out too soon. Her body was beginning to act on its own, trying to rid itself of the liquid. 

The women held Marcie's labia tight against the tube; her anus pulsed against its invader. She moaned, unconscious, unaware of the assault on her body. She was floating above a wildfire; if she came down she would be burned, but if she stayed high up, she would be safe. Safe wasn't a concept as much as an unnamed reason to stay where she was.

Mamatha tested Marcie's bladder every 12th verse as was prescribed. Finally, she gave the sign and all the women stopped. Rani placed a clay pot between Marcie's legs, below the tubes entering her. Slowly, the women pulled the tube from her rectum letting a stream of broth and shit flow into the pot. Marcie moaned, her body relieved at the lessening pressure. Involuntary muscles pushed the effluent out. It was crucial to eliminate as much earth as possible from her body – his seed would seek any grounding from the 1st chakra it could find. Convinced she had eliminated the last of her bowels, the women turned to her vagina.

They slowly pulled out the tube, her pussy emitting a stream of urine and broth into the pot. Starting as a dribble, it picked up force, until a ropy flow arced away from her body. Much of it missed the pot, the yellowish stain growing on the bed. There was nothing to be done about it. It would be simple to clean it up later. The arc diminished, returning to a dribble past her asshole into the pot. Mahitha pushed lightly on Marcie's bladder, flattening it, forcing more liquid out until there were only random drops.

The sun was just creating a glow on the horizon – they didn't have much time left before the ceremony began. The chant shifted, becoming more energetic and pulsing. They untied her legs and arms, lifting her gently to her feet. She was a rag doll, completely absent and unable to stand on her own. With a woman supporting each shoulder, all but three of the gaggle left the room, leaving the others to clean up. 

They walked her to the courtyard, holding her naked body out to be touched by the first rays of the sun. As the energy hit her skin, her mind registered the sensation, attracted to this new kind of warmth. Her eyes were open but unseeing. They walked her through the hallway to the glass doors leading to the other courtyard and waited.

Two of the women began to spread ointment on her skin, from her hands up her arms and across her shoulders. Two others oiled her skin from her collar bones down to her toes. The sensation of hands on her body reminded her mind of something. The chanting changed again, accompanied by the ringing of a small bell they placed next to her ear.

The sound waves warped the air in which she floated. The sensation on her skin brought her mind back from the air – she rode the ripples away from the fire. Although it remained burning brightly, she moved further and further from it, descending as she went. Finally, she came to rest on the ground. The women rang the bell one last time and they all stood away from her.

She was awake; she didn't know where she was, but she felt as if she were falling. At the last minute her body re-awakened and her legs crumpled but didn't fail her. She flailed her arms – Rani held her up until she could stand on her own and then let her go.

She stood. She was facing a blur of colors and dim lights. She could hear the chanting but couldn't tell the source. And then the blur slid away in an impossible direction to reveal a courtyard painted in watercolors, but as if the paper had been left out in the rain. All was muted colors in grey, smearing across the stones. The women helped her take the first step and then stood back. Her body moved her where it needed to go. All of the practice of the last three weeks was meant for this: to walk alone, across the courtyard to her waiting lover.

She could see a knot of people in the center, next to this courtyard's tree. Slowly she shuffled towards them. With each footstep, the sun rose a little higher, washing the grey stones with lemon yellow light. With each step her brain remembered she was a woman, that she was getting married, and that soon, very soon, she would finally get her lover's seed.

The thought moved her forward; her legs felt less like lead than like bags of straw – loose and unreliable. She continued moving towards the cluster of people, her eyes straining to see if one was Monty.

The women stayed close at hand, but behind her. This was a journey she must make herself. They knew she needed to wake up her legs – her lover would soon be penetrating her and injecting her with his life force. If she didn't have her legs on the ground the two of them would tip over.

The crowd parted allowing her to move through to the altar. Her gaggle slipped around in front of the others, ready to jump in if needed. 

Monty wasn't there. Her disappointment rang through her, jarring her into reality a little further.

The chants changed again, picking up tempo. Her heart kept pace, the blood flowing through her veins awakened her, clearing the fog from her eyes. Now she could see him approaching – he too was naked, his penis beginning to enlarge. She stared at it, licking her lips in anticipation. She didn't quite know where she was, but she knew it was her wedding day and that Monty was going to fuck her for real. Finally, she would have the pleasure of taking him into her completely.




No Accounting For Chaos Ch. 13



The chants continued to accelerate, the rhythms moving through her body. She saw the white flames and knew all she had to do to return to them was jump. It wasn't time yet. She could see that.

Monty had arrived in front of her, his penis nearly erect. She could feel how wet she was and only wanted to have him slip his cock into her. But he looked as out of it as she was: he was assisted by two others, preventing him from falling. 

Finally, the chanting stopped, and a priest and priestess arrived. They welcomed everyone to come forward and create a circle with the bride and groom in the middle. They spoke responsively in words Marcie couldn't understand.

Drums began to beat a rhythm to the priests' chants. Music began to fill in the gaps, the pace and rhythm getting more fevered. Marcie could finally feel her feet and legs, her mind somewhere between here and the fire. She watched Monty begin to move to the rhythm and she joined him, matching his movements with her own. He came up to her, his cock pressing against her belly as they draped their arms over the other's shoulders. Now, moving as one person, they danced in the circle of the chanting guests.

The rhythm increased, the drums got louder. Marcie wanted nothing more in the world than to have him fuck her – right then. But somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she had to wait. For what, she couldn't remember.

They moved faster, the pounding of her blood bringing her back to the present, the subtle throbbing stoking the white fire behind her eyes. They turned within the circle and the chanting stopped: Sundar arrived, his hands held up, his eyes burning in the early morning light.

His voice was a pleasant, baritone; it rumbled through the crowd like a long ocean wave. She didn't understand the words, but the meaning was clear. It would be happening soon. Her stomach began to cramp a little at the prospect. She was aware and conscious enough to understand she and her lover were naked. Soon it would be their time to give their vows and consummate their marriage in front of witnesses.

Monty removed her hands from his shoulders and brought them down between their bodies, his intention clear. She gently wrapped his balls in one hand, grasping his stiff cock in the other. The feeling of it, after so many weeks apart, after so long together, shot a fountain of white flame up her spine. 

His hands traveled down her back, lightly dancing on her skin stopping at the underside of her cheeks where he turned them to hold her ass. In this position, she realized, he could do anything from open them to expose her to the crowd, squeeze them to send a pulse of arousal through her, or lift her to impale his cock into her.

Sundar's monotone kept what little of her conscious mind distracted. She didn't notice the drums beginning a slow bass beat. Instead, she felt her body opening: her pussy lips began to peel apart, her jaw relaxing. She was a marigold, opening to the morning sun. It wasn't that she thought of herself metaphorically. She had become a flower – the genitalia of a plant, incapable of independent movement, evolved to attract others to fertilize her, her purpose to allow fruit to form. She could only respond to her environment, seeking nourishment from the sun – nourishment in this instance meant the seed from Monty's cock.

She didn't hear the changes in the drums and voices; the growing overtones of harmonies and the weavings of the intricate rhythms. Her mind was starting its ascent again, her white wings beginning to unfurl. She felt his hot hard cock against her skin and remembered the first time he had taken her – the massage table – how masterfully he had manipulated her senses and brought her over the top. She revisited that moment of surprise when he introduced his hand into her pussy in a place she'd never felt before. The feeling of his cock in her mouth. The way he forced her to do things she'd never done: screaming out during sex, begging him to fuck her. The openness she felt to him. Gone were the feelings of shame at being exposed in public. Gone were the feelings of humiliation the morning after. He had helped her accept herself for what she was – whatever that was – she had no words for it, just images. Images of her on her knees taking him in her mouth; images of her spread eagled in hotel rooms with a woman between her legs; images of her strapped to a wall being fucked in front of a crowd; of being raised up on a table with her entire body and soul exposed to him. 

Technically, she hadn't had an orgasm for months, but the white fire was far more satisfying than any orgasm she'd had – with him or before him. Images of her stripped bare in his theater, watching alternate pasts, seeing what she was capable of flashed like an old-time movie: herky-jerky too rapidly for her to reflect on, each adding to the central flame. Her spine was a bright white hot filament – a slowly twisting rope of energy far more intense than she had felt before. 

Through the layers of her consciousness, she heard words that she barely recognized: "What do you want?" She had no idea who spoke them, or whether they had been spoken at all. She couldn't speak a response, but focused instead on jumping onto the white column of fire that was thrumming through her from below her feet to far above her. There was no fear, although she sensed it was far more powerful than she'd embraced/ridden before. She felt his hands begin to lift her and she spread her wings, ready to jump.

She sailed high up onto the column of twisting energy, immersing herself into it just as she felt his hot prick impale her. She could still feel how wet she was – he slid easily and deeply into her, and then she bottomed out onto his shaft, just as she was fully embraced by the fire. It shot her high into the sky – back to a place she remembered being before – above the earth looking down, but she had no words for the place or the place from which she'd just come. She was an energy held up by a more powerful energy. She remembered being separated before, but now she felt surrounded by a community of energy – nothing specific stood out. It was just a feeling of warmth and joy.

She could feel him begin to move her up and down onto his shaft. The feelings translated into a pulsing of the energy fields: the white column began a complex shifting, the ...air... around her flexing and pressing on her. She responded with her own pulses, squeezing his cock with her pussy, moving her hands to his ass, to the top of his cheeks, anywhere she could send her own energy back.

His lips found hers and he sucked her mouth to his, sealing them together. Now when he lifted her, she had to curl her back slightly, pushing his cock against her insides, against that spot he had introduced her to so long ago. The energy fields pulsed each time he rubbed her there. No small voice was left in her head; no self-consciousness stood outside the circle to observe; no judgments leapt up to shame her. She was fucking her lover in front of witnesses; she was going to receive his complete commitment; he was going to share his sperm with her, the only time in 25 years. The thought didn't come to her that way, but it was inherent in their dance, in the way she squeezed him with her legs, in the way she urged him to let go and fill her, in the way she merged her energy with his.

If she was a column of twisting white hot rope, where/what was he? She knew he was merging with her, but she needed to know it, to see it. The moment of self-consciousness broke the rhythm for just a fraction of a second threatening to bring down the fragile structures. She panicked and then he shifted, just a tiny amount, and the column split into two: a braided structure of light twisting into an interlocking union more complex than she could untangle. His, or her, braid expanded and branched, sending threads into the other. She could feel her arousal building even as his cock slammed deep into her, his cock-head swelling inside her.

She was lost to her physical sensations, completely engulfed in the dance of the flames. The intensity of the building orgasm would have been frightening if she could feel fear. Instead, she rode it, weaving her fibers into his, the surrounding fog of energy coming closer, feeding into their column.

And then she felt the shift. She couldn't explain it afterwards, but she just knew it when it was happening. She remembered a change in orientation – the earth was no longer below her – it suddenly was around her, but she did remember feeling his cock pulsing in the familiar way; the comfort of it melted the last of any anxiety. She saw the two columns re-connect and merge into one, and then it came...he came...his cum came shooting up into her, filling the column of white fire with another stream – she could feel the heat inside her, she could see the jets of energy like shooting star fireworks, each distinct from the column of energy, each adding to it, each being subsumed and contributing. 

She could feel the wetness sliding between his cock and her channel, but he was buried so deep in her she knew she had captured at least some. She could feel him continue to pulse and she heard him, through all of the incomprehensible dream-like impressions, she could hear him grunting, feel him grunting into her mouth still sealed to his. She felt her neck muscles completely melt and then...then her own orgasm hit. 

The two columns brightened, the earth swallowed them both in a warm embrace – the light from their energy blazing through the darkness. There was nothing outside the two of them: just the column of light – a filament in a bulb – the tiny sparks from his seed barely visible inside their column. And then she was back inside the column, all white and frothy, the energy pulsing through her, the sparks now burrowing their way into her. Each one traveled a different path; each one lit her up in different ways. She tracked them all, holding them, dissipating their energy until she had incorporated them. Something in her scanned the column, rode the column, looking for any last spark that might have gotten away. 

The sounds of the drums and chanting greeted her. They were lying on a blanket on the ground, the morning sky a beautiful clear blue, the sun just beginning to heat the air. She was breathing deeply, the white energy coiled around her spine and brain. She knew he hadn't felt it that way – that for him it was a river, but she couldn't imagine that metaphor of cool rushing water. It was heat for her: heat and electricity. She kissed his face, her hands rubbing his body. She didn't care she had just fucked her brains out (nearly literally, she realized) in front of a group of almost-strangers. She no longer thought of them as strangers or as separate people at all. They were a part of her. She realized all of humanity was a part of her at that moment. All of the judgments and criticisms and words no longer meant anything – Carole, her step-mother, her friends, herself. 

In her euphoria, it was as if a metal jacket had been removed and floated away. All of the useless frames that she had used to separate herself from the rest of the world – to define herself – no longer mattered. Faintly she heard Patti's voice, and then Monty's admonishing her for pigeonholing, but then those all evaporated like fog on a hot day. She was free. Free to love him as she wanted, without concern for what it looked like or seemed like.

His cock was still hard – in spite of his ejaculating. She could feel his semen inside her. She shifted to take him back in and kissed his mouth. She couldn't move more than to secure his hard shaft deep into her. She didn't need to merge again that moment. She had faith they would get there again – if not the same, at least as intensely. She saw a future opening behind her eyes – a kaleidoscopic intertwining of possibilities – some more clear than others, but nothing she could count or inventory. She lay with him, tightly embracing his body with her arms, his cock with her cunt and let herself drift into her future.