-------------------------------------- The Potion {Riv Yavtry} (magic, Mg nc) -------------------------------------- ***** 1. The Notebook ***** When Mrs Horlock died, it wasn't a great surprise that her body wasn't found for a fortnight. She was a fiercely independent woman who didn't seem to have any friends or relatives, and she refused point-blank when social services tried to persuade her to move into a retirement home. I used to say 'hello' to her on the rare occasions we met in the street but there was never really any conversation between us. After her body was removed, the house was secured and left untouched for a couple of months. Then one day I noticed a car draw up and pull into the driveway. A young man got out and went up to the front door. When he produced a set of keys and let himself in, any suspicions I had were allayed. The next day a large notice appeared in the front garden: 'House Clearance, Saturday starting 10am. Everything must go, no reasonable offers refused'. On Saturday, I wandered over to Mrs Horlock's house just after 10am. The young man was at the front door, ready to greet people. "Hi, I'm Derek Page," I introduced myself. "I'm sorry about Mrs Horlock. Was she a relative of yours?" "Hi, I'm Mike. Apparently I'm Mrs Horlock's only surviving relative. I didn't even know she existed but her solicitor tracked me down. Everything of hers defaults to me so I'll get a nice windfall from selling the house. There's not much that's worth anything inside but have a browse and see if anything takes your fancy. Everything leftover will go to landfill." I went inside and looked around. Although Mrs Horlock led a frugal existence, forsaking most modern conveniences, the house was spotlessly clean. I had a good look round all the rooms but nothing took my fancy. I felt guilty about how Mrs Horlock had laid there for a fortnight, and also about spending so much time looking around so I persuaded myself that a couple of crates of books might be worthwhile. I'm in the book trade, so I might possibly find something like a rare first edition that would be worth selling on. I struggled outside with the crates. "How much for these," I asked Mike. "I'm not sure they're worth anything, they're all old. I found them in the attic - I think they must have been Mr Horlock's. Make me an offer." I only vaguely remembered Mr Horlock. He had died about five years ago. "A tenner?" I offered. "Done," almost before I had finished speaking. I got the impression Mike would have accepted anything. I managed to carry the crates down the street to my house, and I stored them in the garage until I had time to sort through them properly. A couple of weeks later I found I had some time on my hands, and I reluctantly retrieved the crates of books from my garage. Mike had been right, they were all old. Most of them were worthless, and I'd pass them on to a local charity shop. A couple were worth a bit of research to see whether they were worth anything, but I was coming to the conclusion that even a tenner had been a bit excessive. Nearly at the bottom of the second crate I found a book with no writing on the spine. Opening it, I discovered it was Mr Horlock's notebook in which he had written down what seemed to be pieces of traditional folklore. For example, remove the peel of an apple in one piece then drop it on the floor and on landing it will form the initial letter of your next boy/girlfriend's name. If you then bury the peel at midnight when there's a full moon, that partner will stay true to you forever. It was fascinating but harmless, and I decided to give the notebook to a publishing contact for assessment as to whether it would be worth publishing as a book, bearing in mind the recent trend for publications on herbal remedies and traditional lore. About three quarters of the way through however, the tone of the notebook changed completely. It seemed to be focused on one particular formulation, not explicitly listed in the notebook, which seemed to enable the drinker to 'see from afar'. The notebook detailed Mr Horlock's attempts to identify two particular mystery ingredients. The substances he had used to fulfil their roles had become more and more esoteric and toxic, then suddenly there were only blank pages until the end of the notebook. I wondered if Mr Horlock had ended up poisoning himself. I leafed through the remaining blank pages to make sure Mr Horlick hadn't written anything else, then I noticed the dust jacket had something tucked into it inside the back cover. I felt inside, and discovered out a flimsy piece of folded paper. It looked very old and fragile so I handled it with all the care my experience had endowed me. Written on the paper was some sort of recipe. I recognised the language as Latin, but not the Classical Latin I had learnt at school. I guessed it was Mediaeval Latin. At the bottom, signed in brown was 'Arthur Warlock'. Perhaps I was putting two and two together, but Horlock/Warlock sounded very similar to me, and I wondered if Mr Horlock was the descendant of a witch. I didn't believe in such mumbo-jumbo myself, but I could imagine someone having to change their name to escape persecution in less enlightened times. I also harboured suspicions about the brown 'ink', because I'd seen before how signatures written in blood turned brown with age. However, it seemed a reasonable deduction that this was the recipe referred to in Mr Horlock's notebook. I put Mr Horlock's notebook to one side, then quickly finished looking through the second crate, finding nothing of interest. I made some photocopies of the recipe and put the original back in the notebook, securing it in my safe. ***** 2. The Translation ***** A couple of weeks later I was visiting a trade contact who ran an antiquarian bookshop. After business was finished, I asked him how I'd go about translating a piece of Mediaeval Latin. "That depends. Do you have a sample with you?" I handed him one of the photocopies. "Hmmm, I don't know enough to translate all of this, but it seems to be a recipe for some sort of potion which allegedly enables the drinker to see things remotely. I didn't know you were into witchcraft and alchemy." "I'm not really. I found an old piece of paper tucked in a book I bought, and I wondered what it was about." "I'm not sure how you'd go about getting a proper translation. I'm not aware of any Mediaeval Latin dictionaries. Wait a moment, I have an idea. Some Catholic Churches still celebrate Mass in Latin, particularly if they have an Eastern European background. A priest who conducts such a service might have enough knowledge to be able to help you." "Thanks, I think there's a Polish community near me, I'll give them a try." There was a Catholic Church situated in the middle of my local Polish community, so I telephoned for an appointment. When I met the priest, Father Zbigniew, I was a bit surprised to find a vivacious man in his early twenties. I explained what I needed his help for and handed him a photocopy. "You know, not that long ago you would have been tortured and hanged as a witch for possessing something like this," he pointed out in perfect English. "So you can translate it?" "Some. It's rather similar to Ecclesiastical Latin, although there are some bits I can't translate. But I know a man who can! May I write on the back?" "Sure." The priest wrote on the back of the photocopy, then returned it to me. He had written the name, address and phone number of a Professor Zbigniew, Professor of Mediaeval Languages at the local redbrick university. "That's my dad. I'm sure he'd be interested. Just tell him that I sent you and I'm doing fine." "Thanks." I contacted Professor Zbigniew and arranged to meet him at his university office a few days later. Unlike his son, he spoke English with a strong Polish accent. I showed him the photocopy. "Fascinating. I've seen a few like this in my time. I've even made up a few of the potions as a demonstration to my students. It provides a little light relief." "Can you translate it?" "Of course, although I'll need to check on a few of the words. But don't expect miracles at the end of it, it's all just fairytale and superstition." Professor Zbigniew worked through the text as I watched, typing the English translation into his computer. Finally he was done and he printed out a copy for me. "Most of this is common stuff which I've come across before. It seems to be a potion which allows a person to leave their body and wander the earth for a time, snooping on others. If it actually worked I'm sure the government would pay a fortune for it. Most of the ingredients are pretty standard fare, but there are a couple here I'm not familiar with. I'll keep them in mind in case I come across them elsewhere, but I've marked them with an asterisk and included a literal translation." "Thank you for your time." "Not at all, it's been quite interesting." The two unknown ingredients were the same ones which had defeated Mr Horlock. For the next couple of months I forgot all about the potion. Then when visiting a book fair looking at new releases, I came across a reprint of a 16th century Pharmacology, being published to satisfy modern demand for knowledge of traditional folk remedies. In amongst the usual stuff like sucking/chewing willow bark for headaches and fevers, something caught my eye - a substance which was word-for word pretty much the same as what Professor Zbigniew had translated from Mediaeval Latin for one of the mystery ingredients. My trade discount was very handy when I snapped up a copy because it was a substantial tome with a price to match. When I got home that night, I read the book all the way through, and found the second mystery ingredient too. I could now make the potion if I wanted. Having spent so much time and effort so far, I decided that completing her husband's work would be a suitable way to assuage my feelings of guilt about Mrs Horlock. ***** 3. Making the Potion ***** I set about tracking down all the ingredients. Some were simple, sold over the counter in health food shops. Others were more difficult, and one particular substance I was struggling with until I tried a local hardware store. "Hmmm, I can get this for you but I'll have to order it. It may take up to a fortnight. Is that okay." "Yes, that's fine, there's no hurry." "It's funny, but I used to have a regular customer for this stuff. Never did say what he wanted it for. Then he stopped coming in about five years ago. I always wonder what happened to him." I made a pretty shrewd guess. Finally, I had all the ingredients except one, one of those that Mr Horlock hadn't identified. The Pharmacology instructions were to take a certain quantity of flowers of a certain plant, boil them in water for a certain time then leave them to ferment for a month. The plant was listed as critically endangered, so even if I could find one I would be breaking the law if I harvested the flowers. A search of the internet revealed a few photographs, but no indication of where I might purchase a plant. I added the keyword 'buy' to my search and got one hit, a heritage seed company. They had seeds in stock and I ordered a couple of packets. When the seeds arrived, the packet had a large warning printed on it, saying that all parts of the plant were toxic. The plant was a hardy perennial, although deciduous in winter, and I sowed some immediately into a pot on my windowsill. To my surprise and delight, a good percentage of the seeds germinated almost immediately. When the seedlings became too big for my windowsill I transplanted them out in the garden. The plants grew rapidly and after only three months flower buds were forming. A couple of weeks later I reckoned there were enough flowers for me to produce a batch of potion. I picked the flowers and boiled them in water for the requisite time. Then I left the solution to cool before adding the prescribed amount of honey as a fermentation agent. Finally I poured the lot into a plastic drinks bottle, leaving the cap partially unscrewed so that fermentation gases could escape, and stored the bottle in a cool dark cupboard. ***** 3. Sampling ***** When at last the month was up, I got together all the other ingredients and mixed them in a glass measuring jug. Then I retrieved the plastic drinks bottle, strained the contents into the jug and mixed thoroughly. The resultant concoction was a thick, foul-smelling yellowish-brown liquid. The recipe said that the potion should be split into four, so I poured three portions into small plastic bottles for future use, and put them in the fridge. The recipe gave no advice on how to preserve them, but they didn't have the benefits of refrigeration in mediaeval times. Because at least one of the ingredients had come with a toxicity warning and some of the others were decidedly dubious, I decided not to risk consuming the whole remaining portion in one go. Instead I poured a teaspoonful and warily tried it, nearly spitting it out because it tasted as foul as it looked and smelled. For the next half an hour I stayed within reach of a phone in case I became ill and needed to call emergency services in a hurry. At the end of that time I still felt okay, apart from the bitter aftertaste, so I forced myself to drink the remaining liquid. It was so vile I felt sick afterwards. I tried to get to the kitchen for a glass of water to wash it down, but I suddenly felt light-headed and dizzy. The phone was no longer within reach, but I somehow managed to travel one step to the sofa before collapsing. I was suddenly aware that I was looking down on myself. I remembered this is what some people claim to have experienced after being resuscitated from dead. I deduced I must have killed myself with the poisonous liquid. And yet I could see my chest rising and falling steadily as though I were asleep. Either the potion had worked or I was having a very realistic dream. I found I could move around at will, and walls were no barrier. I left my own house and started visiting others in my neighbourhood, quickly realising that nobody could see me. I dropped in on housewives at work, watching as they worked or watched daytime television or played with their kids. I had a shock when I visited Mrs Johnson, a widow who must have been nearly ninety; she was naked from the waist down and playing with a vibrator. I looked on with equal disgust and fascination as she teased her wrinkled flesh, bringing herself almost to the point of orgasm time after time until she finally allowed herself to cum. I visited a house owned by a nice young couple, Mr and Mrs Ickenham, both of whom worked. To my surprise the house wasn't empty. Inside was a scruffy man in his early twenties rifling through their possessions. He opened Mrs Ickenham's jewellery case and tipped the contents into a large holdall. Their DVD player followed, plus other odds and ends of value. Satisfied, the man climbed out of the window through which he had presumably entered, then set off on foot down the road with me following him. He turned in to a run-down block of flats, built as social housing thirty odd years ago. He opened the door of a flat using a key so I presumed he was the tenant. On the doormat was a letter addressed to Mr Paul Thompson. I made a note of his name and address; if this turned out to be real and I could remember it afterwards, I would make an anonymous tip-off to Crimestoppers. I browsed through the rest of the block of flats, surprised at how often the flats were occupied by single men of working age, more often than not with evidence of drug usage, owning a dog, and watching porn videos. I watched some of the porn videos for a while, but got bored by the stereotypical models and storylines. It didn't help that my new ability didn't come with sound; I'd have to learn to lip-read. Returning towards home, I noticed a girl dressed in the uniform of the local secondary school, walking very quickly and purposefully, her blonde ponytail flicking from side to side. On closer inspection I recognised her - it was Georgie, Georgina Nicholson, who I used to see playing in the street, a skinny little runt of a kid who was always whining and crying. However, unnoticed by me, she had grown up quickly and filled out quite nicely and was no longer a skinny runt, and had now started secondary school. I vaguely knew her mother to talk to but as far as I knew there wasn't a husband on the scene. I followed her rapid progress home. At her front door, she lifted up a plant pot to retrieve a key which she used to unlock the door. I was surprised by the lack of security. After she opened the door and went inside, Georgie reached up to a keypad where a red light was flashing and typed in the number '2681'. The flashing stopped as the alarm deactivated. Georgie shrugged off her backpack and jacket and raced upstairs with me following, curious as to the hurry. She went into her bedroom and threw herself down on the bed, lying on her back with her knees raised. She hoisted her skirt up round her hips, giving me an eyeful of her lissom thighs and white panties. Then she yanked her panties down to mid thigh, exposing her cute, hairless pussy, and started rubbing vigorously between her labia with her right hand. After a couple of minutes she stopped rubbing, gently parted her labia to reveal her cute little clitty and teased it with a fingertip. She paired two fingers of her left hand and inserted them all the way into her cunny. She continued to masturbate in this way for about five minutes, teasing her clitty with a fingertip and frigging herself with two fingers. Her breathing grew shallower and faster and she increased the tempo of her frigging to match. Suddenly she bucked her hips, thrust her fingers in all the way and went rigid as she reached orgasm. Afterwards Georgie lay back on her bed, flushed, while she relaxed from her orgasmic high in a semi-doze, her cunny and fingers glistening with her juices. Even in my disembodied state I felt a bit weird, as though I had just cum too. I looked around the bedroom. It was still mainly a little girl's room with lots of pink in the colour scheme, dolls and cuddly toys stuffed in every cranny, and posters of girl bands on the wall. On a table across from the bed was a computer. Although the monitor was blank I could tell the computer was running because of a flickering light showing it was writing to its hard disk. On top of the monitor I noticed a webcam with a built-in microphone. Georgie roused herself. With her panties still round her thighs, she headed off to the bathroom. I watched as she pulled her panties down to her knees then sat on the toilet and peed, wiping herself dry both from the pee and her juices. Then she pulled up her panties, flushed the toilet and washed her hands. Georgie then went downstairs, made herself a sandwich then got her homework out. Disappointed that I wasn't going to get a repeat performance, I went wandering again. I decided to test the limitations of my new ability. I tried to see how fast I could go, and found I could easily outpace the cars on the nearby motorway. I could have gone faster still but I couldn't see where I was going and that seemed to defeat the point. Then I tried to see how far I could travel. I reached the outskirts of the nearest large city, nearly forty miles away, when I suddenly felt something pulling me back, like an elastic band. Struggling ever more weakly against an unsurmountable force, I found myself speeding back home faster and faster. Suddenly everything went blank. When I woke up, it was dark. My mouth was dry and still had the bitter aftertaste, my pants felt sticky where I had cum in them, my head hurt and I felt exhausted. I looked at the clock and discovered it was five hours since I had drank the potion. I had a glass of water to take away the taste and a couple of aspirin for the headache, took a shower to clean myself up, had a light meal then went to bed. ***** 4. Stalking Georgie ***** I had a disturbed night's sleep, dreaming of Georgie and the erotic episode I had watched. At last my alarm clock rang, and I roused myself. I still felt tired so I rang my office and told them I'd be working at home if anyone needed me. I couldn't concentrate on my work, frequently finding myself day- dreaming about Georgie. An idea started to form in my mind. I remembered that my office computer had software installed on it allowing support staff to take control and install new or updated software, and diagnose and fix faults. The next day I went into the office. Late afternoon I found myself with some free time on my hands, so I went for a chat with Rob, a friendly support guy. "Hi Rob. My nephew's got a new computer and he's having some problems with it. I was wondering if I could use the same software you guys use to take control of his computer remotely and fix the problems for him." Total bullshit of course, and I had a horrible feeling I was blushing since I'm not an accomplished liar. However Rob took it at face value and showed me where to download the software from, how to install it and how to set permissions on the remote PC so that I could take it over. Even though I had taken steps to instigate my idea, I still wasn't totally convinced that I hadn't just had a very elaborate dream until the next morning when my doorbell rang. A couple of cops were standing there. "Good morning sir, sorry to disturb you. One of your neighbours was burgled a couple of days ago and we are looking for anyone who might have noticed something." "Who was burgled, and when?" "Mr and Mrs Ickenham, some time late afternoon." I immediately remembered the burglar and his name, Paul Thompson, but there was no way I could tell the officers what I had seen. I hoped my face hadn't given away any tell-tale signs. "I was home around that time but I was ill and in bed. I hope you catch the burglars, the Ickenhams are nice people." "Okay, thank you for your time." That sealed it, I really had witnessed the burglary in an out-of- body state. As soon as the police had gone, I went to a public telephone and rang Crimestoppers. I got a recorded message asking me to leave details after the beep. I said I was calling about the Ickenham burglary and gave them Paul Thompson's name. I had a light lunch because I was nervous about what I had planned and couldn't eat much. Afterwards I went for a walk. Passing Georgie's house there was nobody around so I convinced myself there was no harm in looking under the flowerpot. I went up to the front door and rang the doorbell to make sure nobody was home. When nobody answered after three tries, I looked under the flowerpot. The key was there! I was now at the point of no return. Suddenly aware of someone walking along the road, I inserted the key, turned it and pushed. The door swung open and a beeping noise started. That must be the alarm, so I had no option now but to go in and disarm it. I punched the number '2681' into the keypad with the winking red light, and breathed a huge sigh of relief when winking and the beeping stopped. I resisted any temptation to look around and went straight up to Georgie's bedroom. The computer was on. It took me a while to evade the parental controls, but I managed to download and install the remote control software, add it to 'startup' so it would be activated when the computer was switched on, then set permissions so I could take over using my PC at home. Then I deleted all the associated icons and 'start menu' options so that a casual user wouldn't know anything had been added to the computer. As a final touch, I slightly unscrewed a red LED I noticed on the webcam so that it wouldn't come on when the webcam was in use. I was just about to make a hasty exit when the doorbell rang. Georgie's bedroom was at the rear of the house so I went to the master bedroom at the front and looked out of the window. I nearly wet myself when I saw a couple of cops. Had someone seen me and called them? However I couldn't see a police car and the cops seemed to be fairly relaxed. Suddenly one of them looked up and I ducked away from the window, but not before I had seen enough to recognise him - it was one of the pair who had called on me that morning while making enquiries about the Ickenhams' burglary. I waited ten minutes then risked another look out of the window. The cops had gone and the coast was clear. I went downstairs and studied the alarm panel. It was reasonably self-explanatory so I typed in '2681' and 'activate'. The red light started flashing and the alarm started beeping. I went out the front door, locking it behind me. Thankfully the beeping stopped. I replaced the key under the plant pot then made my escape. Later that afternoon I accessed Georgie's computer from my home PC, and activated her webcam. At first her bedroom was empty. I watched for a while until I got bored, and almost missed Georgie bursting into her bedroom. I started recording, then watched as Georgie went through the same routine I'd seen previously. I couldn't get a good view because she was sideways on with her thighs raised, but this time I could hear her sighing with pleasure as she masturbated, culminating in a loud squeal when she orgasmed. With difficulty I fished out my rock-hard cock and achieved my own release while watching her, and again later that evening while watching the recording. For the next month, whenever I was home in the afternoon I would take over Georgie's computer and record her masturbating, Each time I would feel frustrated at the sameness, and a growing desire for more. By the end of the month I had fifteen similar recordings of Georgie masturbating on my computer's hard drive. ***** 5. The Second Sample ***** In connection with my work, I took the opportunity of a meeting with a publisher of gardening books to tell him about my new interest in growing endangered plants, asking whether it would be possible to keep them in growth all year round. He gave me the e-mail address of one of his top authors, saying that he could help if anyone could. I e-mailed the author, asking the same question. I got a reply a couple of days later explaining the plants regulated their dormancy through photoperiod, and that if I wanted to keep them in constant growth I'd have to grow them under artificial lighting in winter. The author included details of a simple lighting system which I could install in my attic, including supplier recommendations and approximate costings. I immediately ordered a set. In the meantime, the rare plants were doing well and I prepared two more lots of boiled flowers to ferment. I also bought lots more of the other ingredients for the potion, getting quizzical looks from some of the suppliers, particularly the hardware store owner. With more portions of the potion shortly becoming available, I decided to use another one. I drank the potion later in the afternoon than previously, making sure I was laid comfortably on my bed, lying naked on a towel in case I had another 'accident'. I had forgotten just how vile the potion tasted, and I had to use all my willpower not to spit it out. The dizziness quickly kicked in and I found myself disembodied again, looking down on my body. I hurried to the gates of Georgie's school. The kids were just starting to come out, although there was no sign of her yet. I amused myself by looking up the skirts of girls who weren't wearing trousers, noting the types of underwear - mostly modest and functional but occasionally daring and sexy. One little darling was naked under her skirt, her cute little pussy framed by a thatch of black, wiry pubic hair. I took another look at her and saw she was an older girl with a pretty face and large breasts, probably over sixteen. I made a mental note to follow her another day and find out why she wasn't wearing any panties, but she wasn't today's target. At last Georgie appeared with a group of girls her own age. On reaching the school gates, Georgie split off from the others and hurried away, whereas the others stuck together and walked as a group. I wondered what they thought of Georgie, always in a hurry to get home after school. I followed Georgie as she walked home, once looking under her skirt to check what underwear she was sporting - quite modest panties like last time. We reached Georgie's house and she retrieved the key from under the flowerpot and let herself in as before. I noted that the alarm code hadn't been changed. Georgie shed her backpack and rushed upstairs. As before she leapt on her bed, yanked her panties down and started masturbating. By getting close up, I could see right inside her cunny when she pulled her fingers out. From the webcam microphone I knew what sighs of pleasure she was making, and I could tell as her arousal mounted towards her climax. Her whole body went rigid as she came, and afterwards she relaxed into a semi-doze as before. I waited with Georgie as she recovered, then accompanied her to the bathroom where she had a pee and cleaned up. After she pulled her panties up, I realised there was nothing more to see and I went on a tour of the house. I noticed that all the alarm sensors were downstairs, so it should be possible to activate the alarm then go upstairs without triggering it. I felt another plan formulating in my mind. Satisfied, I headed back home to my body. It was lying there as I had left it, although the whitish gloop on my belly indicated I had cum while watching Georgie masturbate. I tried to re-enter my body, but found myself just passing through it. I could actually see my own innards as I passed through, my heart beating away and my lungs expanding and contracting. Apparently I would just have to wait until my time was up, although I made a note to vary the potion size slightly to see whether it had any effect on its duration. I spent the time browsing through people's houses, watching them go about their daily lives. None of them knew they were being watched, and I carried out my voyeurism completely undetected until I got to a house with a little old lady asleep in an armchair with a cat on her lap. The cat looked in my direction and its hackles rose. It started hissing and spitting, waking its owner. "Oh you silly cat, what is it now? I swear you're afraid of your own shadow sometimes." The old lady stroked the cat, and it slowly relaxed and lowered its hackles, while keeping a baleful watch in my direction. I moved on. Travelling further afield, I was following a main road when I saw an elderly hatchback, driven at speed by a man in his early twenties, lose control and plough into a cyclist, knocking him flying. The hatchback stopped. The driver saw the cyclist was in a bad way and not moving and accelerated rapidly away. I noted the car's number plate, then realising with frustration there was nothing I could do for the cyclist, I followed it. Overtaking, I saw that the car had no tax disc, so the number plate wouldn't be any use in tracing the driver - I would have to follow the driver and find out his home address, hoping that the potion wouldn't expire in the meantime. I was in luck, as the driver turned off the road into a small estate about ten minutes later. He drove his car into one of a block of garages, then got out and examined the damage. There was a dent in the front, but nothing that would obviously link him to the hit-and- run. The driver locked his car in the garage then made his way to a nearby house. I made a note of the house number and the name of the road. Just in time, because as I tried to follow the man into the house to ascertain his name, I felt the familiar tugging pull me back towards my body. When I woke up it was nearly midnight. As before, I felt really tired with a thumping headache, a foul aftertaste in my mouth and a sticky patch on my belly. I gulped down a couple of aspirin with a glass of water, took a shower, had a light meal, then went to the nearest public telephone and called Crimestoppers. Again I was asked to leave a message. I named the road where the hit-and-run had happened, I gave a description of the events, the driver's number- plate, the location of the garage where his car was kept, and his home address. Then I went back home, took a couple of aspirin went back to bed. ***** 6. Getting to Know Georgie ***** Next morning I switched on the local radio while I was eating breakfast. The news bulletin led with the story of a local councillor in intensive care after a hit-and-run. "Following a detailed tip-off, police have a man in custody helping with their enquiries." I felt an enormous surge of pleasure that I had helped catch a bad guy. In a way, it helped balance the guilt about what I had done to Georgie, and the plan which was forming in my mind. After breakfast I went to Georgie's house and rang the doorbell. As I hoped, no-one was home. I looked under the flowerpot and found the key. I took it to the local locksmith and had a duplicate was made as I waited. I replaced the original on the way home. Later that week I attended a book fair in the city. I took advantage of the opportunity to buy some equipment in a place where nobody knew me, being careful to pay by cash. Thinking black would be the scariest colour, I bought a black ski-mask, a black sweatshirt, black sweatpants and a ferocious looking Gurkha knife from an army surplus store. A few days later I was scheduled to work from home again, and I set my plan in motion, despite a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I went to Georgie's house just before school finishing time and rang the doorbell. No-one answered. I opened the door using my duplicate key and entered '2681' on the alarm keypad. To my relief the Nicholsons hadn't changed their number. I locked the door again, re- entered '2681' on the keypad and 'activate' The red light flashed and the keypad beeped. I dashed upstairs away from the sensors and to my relief the beeping stopped. Inside Georgie's bedroom I looked around. The only place I could hide was her wardrobe. I donned my ski-mask, squeezed inside the wardrobe and waited, leaving the door slightly ajar so I could see into the room. After a while I heard a key turn in the front door and the alarm started beeping. The beeping quickly stopped after someone typed in the code. I hoped it was Georgie. A few seconds later I was rewarded with the sound of her footsteps racing up the stairs. Georgie burst into her bedroom and jumped on the bed. She tugged her skirt up and her panties down and started masturbating in her usual manner, frantically at first then more deliberate and targeted after she had warmed up. My cock grew rock hard at the sight, and as well as the accompanying sounds I also noticed the scent of sex pervade the bedroom as Georgie's juices flowed. I had to pinch my cock hard through my sweatpants to avoid cumming. Georgie came with a squeal, then collapsed back onto the bed, closing her eyes in post-orgasmic semi-doze. That was the opportunity I had been waiting for, although I almost chickened out and remained hiding in the wardrobe. As stealthily as I could, I crept over to where Georgie was lying on the bed. Just in time I pounced, smothering her impending scream with my hand and holding my knife to her throat. I stroked the blade up- and-down Georgie's throat so she could feel the sharpness of its cold steel. Her green eyes were wide with fear. "If you scream, I will kill you. Nod if you understand," I said in a whisper, since there was a chance she'd recognise my normal speaking voice. Georgie nodded. "If you do exactly as I say, I'll let you live. Nod if you understand." Georgie nodded again. "If I take my hand away, will you scream?" Georgie shook her head. Carefully I took my hand away, ready to replace it in an instant if Georgie tried to scream. Fortunately for me she didn't. "Please don't hurt me mister, I'll do what you say," Georgie whimpered. "Stay on the bed and don't move," I ordered. Keep a wary eye on the girl, I went over to her computer. I activated the webcam and microphone and started recording, then tightened the LED so it came on. I went back over to the bed, keeping the knife out of sight of the webcam but making sure Georgie could still see it. "Say to the microphone 'I want you to fuck me'," I whispered. "Please no, I'm a virgin." "Say it!" I ordered, in as threatening a whisper as I could manage. "I want you to fuck me," Georgie acquiesced. "Good. Now take off those panties." Georgie slid her panties the rest of the way down her thighs, over her knees, down to her feet and finally shed them completely, dropping them to the bedroom floor. I put the knife on Georgie's bedside cabinet, out of her reach and out of the view of the webcam, but still clearly visible and menacing. I parted Georgie's legs and climbed between them. I yanked my black sweatpants down to my knees, revealing my rock hard cock. I climbed on top of Georgie, taking my weight on my arms so I wasn't crushing her slender frame. "I want you to put it in," I whispered. "Please, no, don't make me," Georgie begged. I gave an exaggerated sighed and looked towards my knife. Georgie reluctantly lowered her hand and grasped my cock. I groaned at the sensation of her hot little hand round its circumference. Georgie aimed my cock at her cunny, and I slid forward until the head was pressed against the entrance. A little push, and the head was just inside her tight little hole, still moist from her masturbation. Georgie started sobbing quietly, tears trickling down her cheeks. I continued to slide slowly into her, marvelling at her youthful tightness and the way her pussy lips bulged with my width. When I was halfway in, about three inches, I bottomed out. I started slowly and deliberately fucking Georgie, taking my time to prolong the pleasure and delay my orgasm. On each inward thrust I made sure I gently butted Georgie's clit. I felt her relax and start to breath in time with my thrusts. She was starting to enjoy it. I knew from my voyeurism the rhythm to make her cum, and I deliberately employed that rhythm to fuck her and prolong my own arousal. After several minutes she went rigid and squealed, and I had to pull out in a hurry to avoid her clenching cunny precipitating my own orgasm. A look of relief crossed Georgie's face as she realised I hadn't ejaculated inside her. After Georgie's orgasm had died away and the urgency had left my arousal, I rolled Georgie onto her stomach, then grasping her by the hips I pulled her into a kneeling position. Her skirt had fallen back into place so I flipped it over her buttocks onto her back. For the first time I had a clear view of Georgie's cute little pink puckered rosebud. I wished I could try that enticing portal, but I hadn't come prepared for it. Kneeling behind, I thrust hard into Georgie's cunny, causing her to wince as I bottomed out. She was now so stretched she could take four inches. Reaching a hand underneath, I sought out her clit. I fucked her at my pace this time while teasing her clit with a fingertip. To my surprise she came first, going rigid and squealing before massaging my cock with her clenching cunny. This tipped me over the edge and I thrust in hard as my throbbing cock spurted jets of cum onto Georgie's cervix. Our orgasms over, I pulled out my shrinking cock, letting Georgie collapse, sobbing, onto the bed. My cock was slimy with cum and juices and I looked around for something to wipe it with. Spotting Georgie's discarded panties on the floor, I used them to wipe myself clean then pulled up my sweatpants and put the panties in my pocket. "Now say 'Thank you'." I whispered the order. Georgie just lay there sobbing. "Say it!" I hissed. "Thank you," Georgie said in a tremulous voice. I went over to Georgie's computer and stopped the recording then I unscrewed the webcam's LED again so it wouldn't light up when recording. I e-mailed the recording to myself then deleted the evidence. I retrieved my knife from Georgie's bedside cabinet and held it to her throat. "I've done what you asked. You said you wouldn't hurt me," she protested. "One last thing." I seized the wrist bearing her watch and held it to her face. "You're going to stay on your bed and not move for twenty minutes. If you move, I'll know and I'll come back and slit your throat. Do you understand?" Georgie nodded. I was taking a big risk, Georgie might rush straight to a phone and call the police, but I didn't really want to hurt her. I made my way downstairs then hit a dilemma. Should I take off the ski-mask before I went outside or after? I opened the door a crack and the coast seemed clear, so I quickly went outside and set off in the opposite direction to my home in case Georgie was watching from a window. Out of sight of Georgie's house I took off my ski-mask and started jogging, for all the world like a normal person taking some exercise. ***** 7. Afterwards ***** By the time I got home via my circuitous route, fifteen minutes had passed. I raced up to my bed and swallowed another portion of the potion, nearly coughing it straight up again from the foul taste. The familiar dizzy sensation was followed by disembodiment. I raced back to Georgie's house, reaching her bedroom just as the twenty minutes were up. Georgie was still lying on her bed, but no longer sobbing. Some of my cum had leaked from her cunny and dried as glistening streaks on her thighs. Too late I realised I should have worn a condom so as not to leave a sperm sample behind. Georgie looked at her watch and saw that the twenty minutes were up. She got off her bed and obtained a clean pair of panties from her underwear drawer. She went to the bathroom and had a pee. She cleaned herself as best she could, trying to wipe my cum from her cunny. Then she put on the clean panties as though nothing had happened. Georgie then went back to her bedroom and examined her computer, She found nothing in her e-mail folder because I had covered my tracks, but to my horror she found the deleted recording in her recycle bin. In my disembodied state I couldn't take control of her computer and delete the recording, but I resolved to do it as soon as I was back in my body. Georgie restored the recording, then started to play it back. As she watched her defloration being played out on screen, her hand strayed under her skirt to her pussy. She rubbed herself gently as she watched her hand guide my cock into her cunny. She pulled the gusset of her panties aside as the screen showed me fucking her, and used her fingers to subject her clit to yet more delicious torment. Keeping pace with the recording, she reached orgasm at exactly the same time as her video self. I realised that I too had orgasmed - I had worn my new sweatpants once and already they needed a wash. Georgie stopped the recording and hid the file somewhere safe from her parents, renaming it so it wouldn't be evident that it was a video recording. My mistake hadn't turned out so badly after all, and I decided not to delete the recording. Still holding her gusset to one side, Georgie went back to the bathroom to clean and dry herself again. Then she went downstairs, made herself a snack and started her homework as though nothing unusual had happened. Almost immediately Georgie must have heard something because her head jerked up and she looked towards the door. He mother came bustling through. I remembered her as a handsome woman, but today she looked pale and gaunt. Yet again I found myself wishing I could lip- read. Mrs Nicholson must have said something because Georgie smiled and replied. I watched Mrs Nicholson preparing the evening meal for a while, although she clearly seemed unwell, then I wandered off to browse the neighbourhood. I followed a young boy, still wearing school uniform, as he walked along, listening to his iPod. Suddenly he was surrounded by a gang of older youths. A knife was produced, and I watched impotently as the gang took his iPod, cellphone, watch and money. For good measure they then used the knife to cut his tie in half, before running away laughing. I followed the gang until they split up, then I followed the youth with the knife, since he seemed to be the ringleader. I followed him all the way to his house, where he went inside to be greeting by a normal looking family and his waiting tea. I wondered if the parents had any idea what their son had been up to. I noted the road name and house number. From an envelope I saw lying around I deduced the boy's surname but nothing to indicate his first name. As I searched the house for clues I felt the familiar tugging back towards my body. When I woke up, I felt the usual side effects of the potion. I washed down a couple of aspirin, took a shower to clean myself up then had a light meal. I walked to the local payphone and left a message for Crimestoppers, detailing the boy's mugging and where to find the ringleader. Then I went to bed. Next morning I woke up late. I rang the office to say I wasn't feeling very well, and that I'd work at home. I switched on the local news while eating breakfast. The councillor was now stable and out of intensive care, but the police badly wanted the witness who had supplied the tip-off to get in touch again. No chance! That afternoon, I took over Georgie's computer and activated the webcam. At the usual time Georgie entered her bedroom and jumped onto her bed and I started recording. This time Georgie took her skirt and panties completely off, and while she masturbated she looked intently at the wardrobe doors. She was putting on a show in case I was hiding in there again. I realised with a shock that she actually wanted me to be there! After a few minutes she seemed to reach the conclusion that I wasn't going to put in an appearance. Unsatisfied, she got off her bed and walked over to the computer. She started playing back the recording then got back on the bed, lying sideways across it so that she could masturbate while watching herself being raped. My cock was so achingly hard at the sight that I had to fish it out. The webcam got a grandstand view of Georgie pleasuring herself; I could even see right into her cunny when she pulled her fingers out. When Georgie reached orgasm I did too, although I realised in advance it was coming and managed to catch my cum in a tissue. Next morning, before I set off for work, I noticed a couple of police cars and a police van near the public payphone. Using a telescope through an upstairs window for a closer look, I saw that they were dusting the phone for fingerprints. I realised with a shock that they were looking for me, and that if they failed to identify me this time, I'd have to be very careful about how I contacted them in future.