Aude Sapere

Titillation

The monogrammed card, bearing the initials A.S., gold embossed and silver edged, arrived by special courier just before my store closed at 4:00. Its message proved simple and unnervingly direct, “You are cordially summoned to dinner. Arrive promptly at 4:30 this afternoon or do not arrive at all. 14 Rue de Champlagne.”

What to make of it? I prompted myself, tapping the card nervously against my thigh. I considered myself all but unknown in any circles of Parisian life, my book store having only opened some scant four weeks previous. How the devil would I rate such an invitation? Perhaps the messenger delivered it to me in error, and it ought to have been received by someone else, entirely. That is the most probable scenario.

I looked at the card again, studying the embossing, studying the paper, the leafing, the centering. Not cheap work. I held the card up to the light and spied an odd watermark in the lower-right corner. All-seeing eye, the mark of Illuminati as the legends go, but around the pupil of the eye two nude figures, women, squatting with legs splayed lewdly open as if inviting both ogling and any other attentions. Then, but no, It must be only a trick of my mind, the women in the watermark started undulating their bodies very suggestively, thrusting their pubis forward, upward, with a sense of urgent need and lustful want.

Breaking the entrancement, I glanced up at the clock on the wall and noted, to my shock, I’d been gawking at that card for the better part of fifteen minutes. Curious what this was all about and desiring to make sure the sender knew they’d made a mistake in choice of courier services, I trundled my bicycle out of the back of my shop and headed off toward Rue de Champlagne.

It must have been a mistake! I gazed upward at the thick wrought-iron works bearing a very large bronze medallion riveted with thick gold numbers “14” There is no way I rate an invitation to a place like this. Cobblestone circular drive leading up to the manse could be seen through the gate. I checked my watch. 4:30, on the dot. Someone must be having fun at my expense. I seated my bicycle again and made to ride off when the heavy iron gates creaked open. I stopped to watch as they swung wide, revealing a sharp-eyed, beautiful woman in a form-fitting long coat who looked at me inquiringly, “Mister Sapere? From America?”

“Y-yes, that is my name.” Her startling green eyes were mesmerizing in contrast to her raven black, short-cropped hair. Suddenly I found myself lamenting that I’d worn a helmet, and that my personal grooming was not more of a priority in my life, and that I had not driven an impressive car to my appointment instead of riding a used bicycle I picked up cheap the day after arriving in Paris.

“Right this way, Sir. You are expected.” She turned with the confident air of a woman who is well used to being followed and unaccustomed to repeating herself, her six-inch black stiletto heels click-clacking on the cobblestones in matched time to the sensual sway of her hips. I scrambled to turn my bicycle around and started to ride it in, but she stopped and half-turned her head, “Leave it. And the helmet. They will not be molested.” Her smirk made my skin crawl.

For a moment, only for a moment, I wondered whether I ought to go in. She’d known my surname, indicating that the card had either been meant for me, after all, or it had been meant for another person by my surname. Also, she’d known I was from America. It seemed far more likely, now, that I was the intended recipient. But why?

I laid down my bicycle, dropped my helmet on the upturned pedal, and made to catch up with the already retreating woman. The mansion doors were something of a marvel, right out of an old English romance novel, or out of a badly done horror movie, with huge knockers placed central to the door that appeared to be resting in the mouths of two bronze human skulls.

She swung the door wide and bid me enter with a graceful gesture of hand. Entering behind me, she immediately slid her long coat off and onto her arm. Of course, I didn’t notice until she reached for my jacket, I was too stunned by the decadent feast for the senses before my eyes. Everywhere there was artwork of all varieties depicting every form of depraved sexual congress. My senses were reeling in shock. Nude women were standing in various poses, all of them at least suggestive of sexuality.

It was too much for a young man who had only ever seen two women naked, and who had only had sex with one of them. It was in this state of mind that I felt my escort reach for my jacket, which I absentmindedly let slip from shoulders. As she pulled it down my arms, I felt my hand slip between her spread legs, my hand softly brushing her vulva. She gasped, grabbing my hand and guiding its fingers roughly to her sex, into which she plunged two just as I wrenched myself away. She was completely naked and hungry with lust. She dropped to her knees and began crawling toward me on her fours, her vibrant green eyes focused on the fingers that she had just used.

As I backed away stumbling through the room, it did not dawn on me that I was leaving the only way out I knew of, but my presence had a profound effect on the other women in the room. They began to become animated as I passed by them, each of them with the same hungered eyes, each with animalistic intent.

“Totum animateum abatum!” a strong masculine voice rang out. All the women froze in place, as if in suspended animation. A ragged gasp of relief along with an ironic aspiration of confusion escaped me.

Down a spiral staircase he came, a stately gentleman in gray tail coat, “Sorry about that, Roderick. They sometimes forget themselves when there is a new masculine presence, especially one such as you.”

“I’m sorry, you have me at a loss. I am obviously the person you sought, al-although for a time I thought I must not possibly be, but you knew I am from America and that my name is Roderick Sapere, and apparently you also knew I am the proprietor of a book store. What I cannot figure out is why you summoned me as you did, and who you are, and why these women reacted the way they did to me, and why they reacted the way they did to your voice, or why they seem to have gone into some sort of rigor or suspended animation.”

He chuckled, “Oh? Only that? Is that all you can’t figure out? I hardly think so, Roderick, I think there is a great deal more than that laying beyond the grasp of your comprehension. But we shall find out soon enough. Do you know what your surname means, Roderick?”

“No.”

“Precisely! ‘Sapere’ means ‘to know, to be wise, or to have tasted.’ Good job that you knew that already, at least, although the significance and origin of your name I fear I shall have to teach to you. My name is Archibald Sapere and I am your great-great uncle. I have unbelievably good news … or tragic news, as the news will be to you whichever you choose.”

“I meant ‘no’, I did not know what my name mea- wait a minute! My great-great uncle? Wouldn’t you be dead?”

“Yes, I suppose so. That reality is but a small part of what I have to explain. How has it happened that your immigration to Paris was streamlined, your purchase price offer for your building, in a perfect location for it, was accepted, your shipments arrived without incident, and your sales are competing with major literary outlets of much more renown?”

“Are you suggesting you had something to do with that?”

“No, no, my boy, but I could have. No, I am suggesting that you had much more to do with it than you suspect. You live a charmed life for a reason.” He turned and, waggling his finger over his shoulder, walked toward what seemed to be a wall. At his approach a wall slid out and left to permit entry. He started descending another spiral staircase, but turned and stared at me, only his head above the line of sight, “Coming?”

Shaking off my stymied paralysis I followed him cautiously down the stairs. Three young women astride strange contraptions were arranged at points along an arc on one end of the basement room. These women had their anuses and vaginas positioned hard against a saddle of some sort, with a short, narrow but sturdy wooden brace jutting out like a phallus to cradle their pelvic bone, their legs stretched until their toes touched the toes of the next woman, from the back of the contraption an iron pillar rose that bent over the length of the woman with a large cast iron ring dropped from the end. Two thick steel chains ran from the ring to either end of an iron bar that ran under each young woman across the collar bone at the shoulders, their midsections did not sag at all; their muscles didn’t even appear to be straining to maintain their position, as if they, too, were frozen.

“Contrapcium invisiblum” Archibald intoned, and the devices disappeared leaving the young women suspended in midair, apparently completely exposed, with the outline of the wooden brace cupping their pelvic bone still clearly pressed deeply into their flesh, and the depressions across the shoulders where they still rested on the now invisible iron bar, “I thought we might start with an anatomy lesson, given that I imagine you have not had much experience with women. Your obvious lack of self-confidence would have seen to that handily enough. But before we begin that, I would like to ask you, how was your plane flight over?”

“V-very good, actually,” wondering why he was asking this in such a strange setting, “I sat beside two athletes, pretty girls, both of them, but I suspected they were lesbians. They were still pleasant to look at, but by the end of the flight my suspicions were confirmed. They were all over each other.”

“No screaming babies? No lost luggage? No long lines or frustrating attendants? No snoring in your area of the plane?”

“No, none of that. I often wonder why people go on about how bad plane fli- Look, I appreciate your inviting me here, and this is all pretty fucked up and weird in a cool sort of twisted way, but I don’t see what my plane flight has do with anything and the discussion seems rather pedestrian considering that there are three young, naked women here resting in midair on what I imagine must be invisible solid objects, and all of them seem okay with that—it’s Paris after all—and who knows how many more naked women upstairs in some odd sort of suspension, so unless you would care to explain for what the hell you brought me here, I think I will take my leave. Now.”

“Well done, boy! I was beginning to fear you had not even a single assertive bone in your whole jelly-spined body! In point of fact, those ladies probably were not lesbians until you sat next to them. You never have troubles with airports because it never occurs to you to expect trouble. Those girls that you suspected were lesbians? By the end of the flight they had become exactly what you expected. Watch the tits of the girl on the left, there.”

“Lacteolus incrementum”

Sure enough, her breasts grew from a perfect “C” to a perfect “DD” in mere moments, with no stretch marks at all.

Archibald continued, “I use Latin-ish phrases for two reasons: dramatic flare—I have always been a fan—and it forces me to organize my thoughts … to clearly direct my will, so to speak. You are acquainted well enough with old languages. Go ahead and take her tits back to their previous size.”

I cleared my throat, and got a picture in my mind of what her breasts had looked like when we first came into the room, “Lacteolus decrementum” they gradually shrank to their previous size, still firm, still full, “Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Oh my God!! What the fuck!”

He laughed, “It’s a good thing you weren’t really meaning for them to shit; that would have gotten very messy, very quickly.”

“But, it wasn’t in Latin!” I protested, still dumbstruck by what I’d just done to this beautiful pair of breasts.

“No my boy, you misunderstand entirely. The words aren’t even necessary; it truly is the thought that counts. The words simply help guide and direct the thoughts. The words cannot override the thoughts, either; the words only serve to give voice to the thoughts. In this last case, you were thinking only of personal shock and dismay, which won’t affect your surroundings at all. I only recently acquired each of these girls, for you to modify as you see fit. They all have families that might be looking for them, but that does not matter to me at all. So far, I really have kidnapped them, but very soon they will be here of their own volition, you will need to learn how to make that happen, and I will act as your guide.”

“You have taken them? Against their will? That is horrible!”

“No more horrible than turning two happily heterosexual athletes into raving lesbians, my boy. Or any of the other dramatic changes and alterations you have accidentally made in the lives of the people with whom you interact.”

“What do you mean?”

“Imagine, one of those two athletes on the plane next to you was engaged to be married to someone back home but will soon be announcing that she’s lesbian. Maybe he is okay with that, maybe he will welcome the third party or the many other women into their lives and they will be able to find happiness that way. But maybe he is not okay with it. Maybe he imagines there is something fundamentally wrong with him, as a man, something that caused her to become lesbian. Maybe he wonders what he did to cause someone who seemed so in love to reject him. Perhaps he now doubts his capacity to distinguish genuine love, and begins to regard himself as unlovable. When he commits suicide one year from the date when she broke up with him, who is really at fault?”

As he spoke, my heart sank, “No. No, that can’t have happened.” It couldn’t have happened, could it?

“My boy, you just looked at a pair of tits and reshaped them precisely according to the picture in your mind purely by intending it so. What can and cannot happen must, of necessity, have undergone some revision in the past thirty minutes. Are you really so certain that can’t have happened? Who are you trying to convince, me or yourself?”

Defeated, I admitted, “I can’t say for sure whether that happened, or what impacts I might have unintentionally had, but that is different from intentionally kidnapping!”

“Dear boy, intent is the only thing that can modify your surroundings. The results may not be fully intended, but the choice to make things as you want them to be, or expect them to be, is intentional, always, unavoidably. The point of acceptance of your capability is the point at which consequence all but ceases to matter, because, if you act fast enough, you can manipulate the consequences, too. It is entirely within your control. Literally, it is entirely within control as long as your will and my will do not act at cross purposes.” He fell silent, and looked at me consolingly.

You can process this. You … are able to alter your environment … by intending it to be different. I looked up at my uncle, studying his body language. He’s not trying to hurt me or unsettle me; he’s trying to help me quickly come to terms with some things that are very hard to accept. I stumble forward and put my hand out to feel the iron bar suspending the girl whose breasts I “adjusted” and when I was sure I was clear of it I approached her body, cupping her right breast in my hand, with her nipple cradled between two fingers. I closed my eyes and imagined what I wanted the perfect slut tit to look like. I felt her areola puff up, I felt my finger being spread wider by her nipple as it grew more prominent, and I knew before I even opened my eyes that both her areola and nipple would be a darker shade terracotta than the previous slightly pink flesh tone. I opened my eyes and saw undeniable proof before me as her left tit looked just as it had, while her right had been turned into my idea of a perfect picture of sexual invitation. I imagined what her left tit would look like as an “A” cup with comically prominent, long, thick nipples. The transition was very quick. The radical contrast between her two breasts was too dramatic to overlook. This is real. He is right. I really am doing this. I made her left match the right.

I felt his hand on my shoulder, “I know it is a lot to take in, but you see the proof with your own eyes. Now you have a choice, these three are yours. Use them, don’t use them, modify them, leave them alone, toy with them, send them home, keep them, kill them, whatever you choose. I will simply observe and advise.”

I walked around behind the women and saw that their anuses and vaginas were stretched open wide, apparently shoved down hard onto some sort of phallic device. With the contraption invisible I could see right inside their bodies. They all had thick thatches of crotch hair. I thought about what I wanted to do with that. All their hair needs to be completely gone, no hair at all from the neck down. The hair disappeared, from all three. I thought about the one on the left reaching up and taking hold of the invisible iron bar and pulling herself free of the device. She did so, coming to rest on the floor with her legs still spread wide.

I walked up behind her, she remained frozen in place. Her name is probably something cute, like Traci or Piper. “What is your name?”

“Piper,” she answered, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

I chastised myself, and tried again, guarding myself from asserting my own opinion, “No, I mean, what did your parents name you.”

“Jennifer,” she said, visibly relieved.

“Jennifer, do you know how you got here?”

“No. I just remember drinking at a bar with a lot of other women, and then, I remember being here, right now.”

“Jennifer, you have secretly wanted to be a model your whole life.”

“I have? That is surprising. I thought I wanted to be a doctor my whole life.”

“You have many surprises ahead, but every time you get surprised by anything it will make you more grateful to me. In fact, you are going to fall in love with me, completely, even though I will never love you.”

“I am?” she asked with her face in a mask of pure delight, “That is a big surprise, because ordinarily I would not even speak to someone like you unless you were working someplace where I needed something from you.”

“Yes, you are. Not only that, you are going to find pleasure in showing your gratitude by making me happy. You will become obsessed with making me happy.”

Archibald stood by a wall watching me, smiling his approval.

“Oh my! This day is just full of surprises! The one thing I always promised myself is that I would never fall in love with a man who did not love me. Thank you so much for letting me know how wrong I was! I always wondered how any man could be happy with a woman he couldn’t love, but, if that is what you want, I am sure I will love you!”

“Your pleasure will not just be emotional, Jennifer, you will experience intense sexual pleasure and a deep sense of pride from making me happy, from pleasing me, from showing me your gratitude. Knowing that your gratitude for me causes you to be in an intense sexually aroused state will make me very happy.”

Her eyes suddenly became very sensual, “Really? Oh, that does feel so good. Thank you!”

“I can tell that you have a difficult time keeping your thoughts to yourself, but you are going to learn a new communication system to help you with that. I am going to teach you a new way to communicate. If you want to express appreciation you may say, ‘Thank you, Master,’ and if you want to ask a question, you may say, ‘Master, may I ask a question?’ and if you wish to respond in the affirmative or confirm to me that you understand something you may say, ‘Yes, Master!’ or in the negative, you may say, ‘No, Master!’ Do you understand this new system?”

“Yes, Master!” she responded with enthusiasm, smile beaming from her face, “Thank you, Master. Master, may I ask a question?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“What if I wish to make some other statement or comment?”

“The only time that would please me is when I ask you a direct question that requires something other than a yes or no response. On those occasions, if I have given you something else to do you will become deeply ashamed of yourself for even thinking of it while doing as I asked, you will be convinced you have displeased me, and you will be seeking some way to restore my pleasure. If I have not given you something else to do, you will insert two fingers into your pussy and start fucking yourself with them in terrible shame until you are certain that you will have an orgasm, and then you will stop before orgasm and suck on those two fingers for two minutes to remind you that your mouth is for pleasing me now, not for boring me with your thoughts. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master! Thank you, Master.” She shot two of her fingers into her pussy and they worked feverishly in and out with her whole body turning crimson in shame.

“Lastly, anytime I choose to use your body or give your body any sort of physical attention, or anytime I choose to cause your body to be used physically, in any way, you will feel deep pride in allowing me to do so freely and deep shame at any reluctance on your part to please me and show me your gratitude. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Master! Th-thank you, Maphther.” Her soaking wet fingers had moved to her mouth just before activating an orgasm.

I willed the other two girls down from their perches. I mentally projected upon them the same framework I set up for Jennifer. Both of them immediately started pumping their own pussies with two fingers each. My uncle glowed his approval at me, I had clearly measured up to his expectations. First things first, I want to meet their families.