The fifth day of 37-year-old Camilla’s ordeal in the Montreal aquarium had come, with her receiving of gang-bangs from the spirits of former lovers going on unabated. The ghost of a boy she’d met during a vacation in Bali was pumping her pussy, and Mercedes’ spirit had her invisible cunt in Camilla’s face. Those getting video of the hovering naked girl were as fascinated with her flickering tongue as they were with her gaping pussy.
Camilla no longer wished to communicate with the spirits of Don, Agape, or Candice, or with Dr. Singh in Vancouver; she felt that it was pointless even debating her giving up her physical life. However hopeless her situation was, being psychically controlled by the masked men, she imagined she had a better hope of eventually being released, and of being allowed to leave the public aquarium to resume her work as an English professor in McGill University, than of being rescued from the hellish realms of the afterlife.
Singh and the spirits of her friends were now even more worried about her, now that they couldn’t even communicate with her. They saw her, as it were, unconscious automaton of a body being gang-raped by demons, floating in mid-air over the tank of water that continued to be filed with her come, piss, and occasionally, her shit–hers was a living death. They could save her only with her cooperation, and she’d refused them that.
What can we do? Dr. Singh psychically communicated from Vancouver. I want to help her so much, but she won’t let me.
My poor baby girl, Agape added. She’s only making this harder.
When she has those out-of-body visions of memories, she blocks us out completely, Candice said. We can’t talk to her at all. She can’t and won’t hear us.
When she finishes seeing whatever memory she’s reliving now, we should take firm control and make her listen, Don said. I still think we should tell her about Eros. She’ll want to leave this world then.
No! Agape insisted. Eros may never be released, but if she knows what happened to him, she’ll try to get him, and then she’ll be truly trapped forever, because she won’t get him out.
Eros feels so guilty about what he did with his mother, he’ll want to be punished forever, Candice added. He won’t come out with her, even if she can help him out. He won’t help himself.
The time will eventually come when we have enough power to save her son, Singh said. But that won’t be for a long time yet. The masked men are now a formidable army. They are legion; they are many. Evil always seems to arise in great numbers, while the good are few. We are that few, though I am finding more and more people to help us.
Who are they? Candice asked.
I specialize in treating sexually transmitted diseases, as you already know, Singh explained. I quickly learned about the healing powers of Nigrovum, but I also learned about its dangers at a very early time. Nigrovum brought us all down to a perilous low point before we turned things around and saved ourselves.
I went from a man of God to a lecher, Don confessed.
I was tricked into committing incest with Camilla, Agape said.
I became a junkie, Candice said. And in the hellish areas, I came to hate the girl I’d fallen in love with. How could that have happened?
I literally came down low, Singh added. I treat STDs, and I had sex with Camilla without a condom. I would have received Nigrovum even wearing the most effective of condoms, but I had gone against my own principles as a doctor. In my carnal thoughts, I had a foot fetish; and after enjoying sex with Camilla twice, I sought prostitutes to satisfy my fetish. One of them gave me gonorrhoea: my shame outweighed the physical pain. Then I remembered how quickly I could heal a cut with the aid of Nigrovum, and I wondered if I could apply that power to STDs. I imagined myself completely cured, without any burning sensation or discharge when urinating, and after a minute or so of deep concentration, I could actually feel the infection disintegrate. I went to urinate immediately, and felt no pain at all! Nor was there any discharge from my penis. I was cured!
I resolved to resist all lustful feelings, and focus on my Hindu faith. I could soon feel the same energy that had expanded my sexual feelings to an obsessive addiction now expanding my love of the spiritual; I went from a fetish of the feet to a love of the head, the mind, and the heart. I went from the hell of the ouroboros’ tail to the heaven of its head.
Nigrovum can indeed be used for good, Agape said.
Yes, Singh continued. And I have used our psychic gifts to search for people all over güvenilir bahis the world who are suffering from or dying of AIDS, for Nigrovum can cure that, too. I gave an AIDS patient of mine some of my blood; it cured him, but he went back to a life of sexual excess, even worse than his previous promiscuity. I’d tried to warn him to restrain himself, but he wouldn’t listen. He died of the madness that resulted from his lechery. Now I am more careful: I scan the minds of all those pitiful AIDS patients around the world, making sure their hearts are pure.
How do you make sure of that? Don asked.
As I scan their minds, I ask them, ‘If you were cured of AIDS today, what would you do?’ Singh answered. Some answer that they would resume a life of seeking out sex; others tell me they would want to help other unfortunate people in some way. I then psychically coordinate a chain of events, bringing these better people from places like Africa, southeast Asia, America, and Canada to my clinic. Then I give them a shot of my blood (Nigrovum making it automatically unnecessary to worry about correct blood types), and tell them to think about wanting to be cured, concentrating and focusing as hard as they can. Their immune systems become fully functional again, usually within a minute of visualizing it.
Miraculous! Don said.
Yes, Singh said. And in exchange for my saving of their lives, they have all pledged to use Nigrovum’s power to help us save Camilla. I have over a dozen people now, and I’m still finding more.
Great, Candice said. Thank you, Ravinder.
It’s my pleasure, Candice. I’m happy to help Camilla, Singh said. She was kind to me many years ago, when I first knew her.
How? Agape asked.
Camilla, Candice, and I used to live in the same apartment building in Vancouver, Singh said. Some of the neighbours’ kids in our building and in the surrounding neighbourhood had racist attitudes toward Indians; they used to make fun of me and my accent. Camilla took compassion on me and scolded those kids; she angrily demanded that they treat me with respect. I was touched by her kindness.
There is good in her, Agape proudly said of his daughter. Deep down, under all that naked skin she’s so lewdly displayed.
There is, absolutely, Singh said, and I want to reawaken it in her; but she won’t let us. She is so afraid of being trapped in hell forever, and yet she’s in hell now!
Hell is empty, Don added, and all the devils are here!
She can’t escape this aquarium any more easily than she could the hellish areas, Candice said.
But she won’t think about all those people out there in the viewing area, watching her, and getting video of her, in that idiotic trance they’re in, Agape said. We don’t know for sure how much longer we can psychically keep the glass of the water tank from breaking.
A few weeks, maybe? Don guessed. A month or two?
And she keeps coming, peeing, and sometimes even crapping in the water, Candice said. The masked men are determined to make the tank overflow, and flood everyone.
Passing Nigrovum on to all of them, Singh said. A Nigrovum saturated with Camilla’s lustful energy. Infecting them.
Making them all out-of-control horny, Candice said.
Making them all slaves to passion, Don said.
Making them all like stupid, unthinking animals, Agape said. Easily controlled and exploited by the growing, global ‘Green Party’.
They’ll spread her lewd Nigrovum energy to other people around the world, Singh said. The masked men will control everyone and everything.
And when they die, the masked men will rule over everyone in the hellish part of the other world, Candice said. Those bastards’ plan is perfect. We can’t stop them.
But the masked men need Camilla, Don said, because her lust is stronger than anybody else’s. If we can get her out of this world before she packs this water tank with too much of her Nigrovum-infected bodily fluids, the passion she spreads onto all those people watching her from down there won’t be irreversibly strong. There lies our hope.
But Camilla’s still afraid to die, and she won’t let us persuade her, Agape said. She fears only her life, not anyone else’s. She must learn the value of sacrifice, now more than ever. How can we get through to her if she won’t listen?
While all this worrying was going on between Singh and the spirits of Camilla’s loved ones at the Montreal aquarium, Camilla was reliving a memory fifteen years before, when she was 22 years old back in Toronto, during the summer following her graduation from York University.
One türkçe bahis afternoon, she was walking along Yonge Street with 3-year-old Eros. She had her original blonde hair, blue eyes, and peach-coloured skin. Wearing a revealing red dress that went down half-way between her hips and knees, and showing off a generous amount of cleavage, she also had her usual harlot makeup, with dark red lipstick, and high heels.
Sometimes the summer breeze blew up her dress, and Eros would eye her pink panties with an obsessive curiosity.
“Eros!” she chided gently. “Nice boys don’t look up their mommies’ dresses.”
“Sorry,” he said, looking down to the ground in shame.
Just then, Ted Weinstein came out of a restaurant and saw her. “Camilla!” he said. “Hi! What a pleasant surprise this is. How are you?” (Actually, he felt her coming, and emerged, as it were, on cue.)
“Oh, I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks again for coming to see our play.”
“Hosanna?” he said. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Hey, now that you have your BA, you must be looking for work.”
“How’d you know I just graduated?” she asked.
“Oh, simple math,” he said, deftly covering up how he and other masked men had been secretly watching her over the course of her undergraduate years. “I met you four years ago, when you were starting university, remember? Anyway, would you like me to help you get a job at the CBC?”
“Uh, thanks, but no,” she said. “I’ll be going for an MA, then ultimately a PhD. I wanna be an English professor, like my daddy used to be.”
“Really? Wow.” Ted looked down at Eros. “And who’s this little guy?”
“He’s my son, Eros. Say ‘hi’ to the nice man, sweetie.”
Eros hid his face between her legs. She covered his eyes so he wouldn’t look up her dress again.
“He’s a shy one, isn’t he?” Ted said.
“Yeah,” she said. “Well, we gotta go. Thanks for the offer, and it was good seeing you again.”
“OK. If you change your mind, just let me know. You have my phone number still, right?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
Ted looked deeply into her eyes, and said, “Mayor Van Duyne will be running for Ontario premier next year, for the Green Party. Next year, you will vote for Garth Van Duyne.”
“Next year, I will vote for Garth Van Duyne,” she repeated, having completely forgotten, in her submission to Ted’s mind controlling powers, that she’d once slept with Garth, and thought she’d killed him, knowing then that he was one of the masked men.
“Vote Green Party,” Ted said.
“Vote Green Party,” she said, then walked away with Eros.
A week later, Camilla left Eros with Emily; for Camilla got on a plane with Mercedes, and they went to Bali for a two-week vacation. The girls found a bungalow that was a short walk to Kuta Beach. They settled in, and ‘Goth’ Camilla changed back to her original blonde, blue-eyed, peach-skinned look. Then she and Mercedes changed into string bikinis, and headed out to the beach.
On their way, they walked along Legian Street. They passed by a bar called ‘Paddy’s: Reloaded’.
Mercedes looked at the bar’s sign. “Why ‘Reloaded’?” she asked.
“Because the original bar was destroyed in a terrorist attack about fourteen years ago,” a cute, thin, blond Australian boy said.
“Oh my God,” Camilla said. “Terrorists are such bastards. Killing people who were just having a good time. How can people be so inhuman?” She and Mercedes continued walking towards the beach.
About ten minutes later, the girls had found a place to sunbathe on the beach. Camilla was delighted to see some topless women sunbathing nearby; so she decided to follow their example, and dropped her bikini top on the large towel she’d laid out on the sand. Mercedes, however, kept her large breasts covered.
“Go topless, Mercedes,” Camilla said, lying on her back on her towel. “It’s not like you’ve never shown ’em off before.”
“No way,” Mercedes said, lying beside her. “If guys are gonna see my tits, they’re gonna pay me.”
“Whatever,” Camilla said, pulling down her bikini bottoms.
“Whoa, girl,” Mercedes said. “You may not be allowed to go completely nude here.”
“That’s OK,” naked Camilla said. “NIgrovum will allow me.” Camilla closed her eyes and visualized an invisible force field protecting her from aggressive oglers, and making all disapproving people blind to her nudity. In about ten seconds, the psychic barrier was set, and all men who liked what they saw found themselves inexplicably unable to get any closer than ten feet güvenilir bahis siteleri from her.
Camilla did, however, allow one young man to get close to her: the cute blond Australian who’d told her about the terrorist attack. In fact, she’d sent a psychic signal to him, drawing him to where she and Mercedes were. He’d been walking along on Legian Street, trying to meet up with a friend, when he felt this strange urge to turn the other way and go over to the beach. He arrived, standing before Camilla, five minutes after she’d gotten nude.
So this is what my instincts were leading me to, he thought as he looked in amazement at Camilla’s nude perfection. Good instincts.
Camilla looked up and saw him standing there. “Hi!” she said. “You’re the boy we met at the ‘Paddy’s: Reloaded’ bar. You told us about the terrorists there.”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said shyly, trying to be polite and look only at her face. “Hi.”
“Come sit with us,” she said. “Tell us what happened.”
“You mean, th-the bombing in 2002?” he asked, sitting by her feet. He hoped she wouldn’t notice the erection bulging out of his swimming trunks, but she, of course, was well aware of it, and was delighted.
“Yeah. Fourteen years ago, eh? Wow, I was just a little kid when it happened. I never followed the news in those days.” She opened her legs so he could see her pink pussy.
“Well, I was about four then,” he said, “and my uncle was one of the victims. He was real close to one of the car bombs when it blew, and it ripped his body to pieces.”
“Oh, my God,” Mercedes said.
“The bastards,” Camilla said. “Muslims, right?”
“Of course,” he said. “I mean, extremist Muslims.”
“Is there such a thing as a moderate Muslim?” Camilla asked.
“Well, I suppose so,” he said, fighting the temptation to sneak a peek at her snatch, but with little success, for she was making it so easy to look. “M-most of the Muslims I’ve seen in Java seem nice.”
“I think I like the Balinese better. Here, they’re Hindus. Hindus sometimes worship goddesses, like Kali and Lakshmi. I think it’s better to worship goddesses than violent, war-like gods like Allah. That’s what my profs always told me back in university. Goddesses promote peace and non-violence.”
“Not always,” he said. “I’ve read about human sacrifices given to Hindu goddesses like Kali and Chamunda.”
“Well, I dunno about that,” Camilla said, widening her legs and turning her head away to encourage him to look at her pussy. “But whenever I think about Muslims, I think of terrorism, violence against women, homophobia, and oh, God!–covering a woman’s whole body up in a veil. It takes all her power away from her.”
“Not n-necessarily,” he said, sneaking a look at her cunt.
“How so?” she asked, turning around, getting on all fours, and showing off her pussy and asshole as she got some suntan lotion out of her purse.
“Well, the p-purpose of covering up a woman completely like that is t-to protect her from men l-leering at her, or r-raping her with their eyes.”
“To protect her, or to repress her?” She was still showing off her pussy and asshole.
“Well, I g-guess it could go both ways.”
“Look at my body,” Camilla boldly said as she looked back at him, still with her ass pointed out and her two holes in plain view. “Do you think I need protection?”
“For a boy who’s family’s been victimized by Muslims, you sure like defending them.” She lay on her back again, with her legs spread out; she began putting the suntan lotion on her arms.
Confused by a psychic urge compelling him to stay and chat with her, and embarrassed by his erection, he then said, “Sorry, I h-hate to go, but–“
“I know you don’t want to go,” she said, putting lotion on her chest and stomach.
“I gotta meet someone. He’s waiting for me–I’m ten minutes late.”
“OK, sweetie,” she said, psychically releasing him. “Will I see you at ‘Paddy’s: Reloaded’ tonight?”
“Y-yeah, absolutely,” he said, getting up and covering up his hard-on with his hands.
“Bye,” Camilla said, looking deep into his eyes. “Vote Green Party.”
“Vote Green Party,” he repeated back. “Bye.” He ran off.
“He’s a cutie,” she said. “
“He’s geeky,” Mercedes said. “But you’re right. He is cute.”
Later that day, Camilla and Mercedes had left the beach and gone shopping along the main street. Camilla went into a clothing store, bought a colourful sarong, and wrapped it around her hips.
After leaving the store, the girls saw that young man again. “Hi!” Camilla said to him.
“Oh, hi,” he said shyly, mesmerized by her divine beauty.
“I never got your name, sweetie. I’m Camilla. This is Mercedes.”
“I’m Russell,” he said, shaking the girls’ hands.