The Palmist Ch. 04

In an apparent huff, she returned to the chair where she had been sitting, plopped down in it, and while my head was still reeling from her slight battering, she barked, "Okay, come back over here! You haven't finished that tea? Come here!" I shuffled over, nearly falling as I rushed in her direction, and when I get close enough, she reached forward. "Gimme that!" She took the teacup in one hand, grabbed my head by the hair with the other, and put the cup up to my mouth. "Finish your fuckin' tea! What do you think this is, a cafe where you just hang out? I got things to do, *finish*, your *fucking*, tea!" After practically ramming the tea into me, she tossed the cup aside and it clattered along the carpet.

"No fucking 'thank you' for picking herbs from my garden for you, slobbering on my fucking desk, and not calling me 'ma'am' when I tell you to do something! I've told you over and over to call me 'ma'am'—"

"I know, I'm really sor-"

"Shut up! I'm talking. See how dirty my feet are from being in the garden?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come here. Let me wipe 'em off. Let me wipe my feet off all over your loser face. Get closer! Get up here!" She reached forward, again taking me by the hair and pulling me closer. After wiping her feet, very roughly, on my face a few times, she barked, "Stick your tongue out. Stick your tongue out!! Let me wipe my filthy feet all over your tongue. Yeah, LICK that dirt from my garden, loser! Yeah, that's it!"

She was very rough on my tongue, and the rest of my face, with her dirty feet. I felt a little bit scared. I was certainly shocked. I'd never seen her angry like this, and she was practically bullying me. Well... she *was* bullying me, except that, if I were in an actually bullying situation, I'd be trying to escape. Instead, I stayed where I was, on my knees in front of her, *allowing* her to abuse my face with her dirty feet while she yelled at me.

Then she reached around behind me, and as she said, "I'm TIRED of having to TELL you to say 'yes ma'am'!" she slapped my bare behind. I flinched, startled. Then, still in the midst of her verbal tirade, she stood up, walked around behind me, and started pulling the belt from my pants. She jerked at it, pulling my ankles in the process, until she freed it, and then she folded it in half and started to whack my behind with it. On the first strike, I drew in a quick breath and exclaimed "Owwwww!!" She then proceeded to whip my ass over and over, one cheek, then the other, while yelling, "I DON'T.. wanna HAVE... to TELL... you AGAIN... to say... *YES*... *MA'AAAM*!!"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I'm sooorrrry!!" I wailed, and I started to sob. Not from the pain of the spanking, which wasn't really that bad, but from Lila... Ma'am... Ma'am Lila, being so upset with me, so displeased. I couldn't bear it.

When she stopped, she dropped the belt on the floor unceremoniously. She then picked up her sandals, and the cup that was on the floor. "There's dirt in that baggie along with the herb. Make sure some of that gets in there when you brew a cup. No honey, you don't get any honey. Drink some dirt, loser." Then she exhaled, and looked down at me for a moment, as I looked up at her with what surely must have been the saddest puppy-dog eyes. "Get out," she said, and huffed out of the room.

Immediately I started sobbing uncontrollably. I was trying not to do so audibly, but I was absolutely awash in the most dreadful sadness I've ever experienced. Looking back, I realize the tea must have contributed, as indeed, I felt *utterly, utterly* hopeless. I stood up, wobbling a time or two, as my legs tried to adjust to being straightened again. I pulled up my underwear, then my pants. Through my tears I tried to see where my belt buckles were, as I threaded it back through. I was moving pretty quickly, though in retrospect I don't really know why. Something in Lila's "get out" made me feel like she wanted my quickest possible exit, even though I didn't want to leave. Once my belt was on, and buckled, I grabbed the four condoms lying on the desk, shoved them in my pants pocket, and left the room.

Out in the front living room (slash reading room, slash office, slash reception area), I didn't see Lila. No one else was there, either. I stopped a moment, and listened. I couldn't hear her. I turned around to look behind, peer into the kitchen, what I could see of it. I turned toward a side window, perchance to see her through it, outside. I listened some more. Silence. I don't know where she was. I sighed, and walked out the front. But for the chimes ringing behind me as the door closed, it was eerily silent outside as well. I stopped a moment. I couldn't hear birds, leaves rustling, wind... Nothing. Empty silence. My heart felt empty as well. I looked around, in a state of vague apprehension, and noticed how even the road was empty. No traffic. It was bizarre. Then as I descended the steps off the front porch, it seemed even my feet make no sound.

Back in my car, I broke out in another jag of uncontrollable sobbing. Tears blinded me, and I wailed audibly. It was so pitiful, like a three-year-old whose ice cream cone has just fallen on the ground. I covered my face with both hands, sobbing.. and sobbing. When it finally stopped, I inhaled deeply; then followed a slight involuntary groan escaping alongside the saddest of sighs. I looked to my right, and the house appeared to me like a place I *used* to visit. Like a house someone *used* to live in.

I started the ignition, put the car in gear, and slowly pulled out onto Whitestone Road.

Over the next four days, I hardly spoke. Whenever I ate meals with my parents, they found it difficult to elicit much more than grunts from me. Each time they'd ask me if I was okay, and I'd lie and tell them I was fine, just tired. I spoke to no one at work or on campus, unless I had to. I was lost in my own thoughts the rest of the time.

Each day, I dutifully drank three cups of the awful "depression tea", as I thought of it, making sure to have one just before bed. When I could taste little bits of dirt, my mind would flash back to Lila saying, "No honey, you don't get any honey. Drink some dirt, loser." I felt so awful and sad thinking of how angry she was with me, and how she had manhandled me, grabbing me by the hair, rubbing my head on her desk, roughly rubbing her dirty feet all over me, and whipping me with my belt. How our session ended with her telling me to "get out", and storming away. I felt so desperate, weighed down with the heavy burden of having disappointed her so.

Each morning at 4:00, my alarm would sound, and I'd make myself get up. Just as Lila had said, I felt profoundly awful at that hour - sad, lonely, and heartbroken - as I got up to kneel, and look down at my dick, and say "I'm sorry I'm such a loser, Katrina. You were right to cheat on me." After saying it two or three times, my dick would start to get hard, and as I continued the mantra, and saw the names KATRINA and BRITTANY become clear, my dick would twitch, and poke the air. A little dab of precum would form, and after a few minutes a string of it would run all the way to the floor. I would groan now and then, in sexual frustration, every time I remembered the two actresses telling me not to touch my "stupid little dick" while doing my ritual apologies. WHO didn't want me to touch my "stupid little dick" while I said, "I'm sorry I'm such a loser, Katrina, you were right to cheat on me" over and over? I needed only to look down at the poor, twitching, frustrated little guy to remember: KATRINA and BRITTANY.

The first night, after my required half-hour of this exercise had elapsed, I started to stand up to return to my bed. Then a strange thought struck me: What if the real Katrina knew what I was doing right now? Would she want me to get back in my bed? Maybe she wouldn't consider this strange middle-of-the-night exercise to be sufficient penance. Maybe a half-hour of apologizing, and the requirement to return to sleep hard and horny, wouldn't be enough. Maybe she'd want me to sleep on the floor, to add to my misery. Maybe she'd tell me a loser shouldn't get to return to a comfortable bed.

So... I didn't. I lay down on the floor beside my bed, and stared up at the ceiling. While my dick poked the air, I would think, God I am SOOOOOOO horny!! Then I'd ask myself, Who doesn't want me to have relief from my horniness? Who doesn't WANT my frustrated dick to feel good? Who doesn't WANT me to have pleasure? KATRINA and BRITTANY, that's who.

Each night after that, instead of getting in my bed in the first place, I set the tent back up in my room, and placed two pillows inside, to represent Katrina and her new boyfriend. Then I put a third pillow on my bed, to represent Brittany, and I slept on my floor, in the middle of the room, imagining the other three sleeping comfortably and cozily in tents while I slept on the ground outside.

Like a loser.

I didn't keep the tent set up during the day, because my room was open; my mother would come through there, with laundry, and that sort of thing. But each night, after having my cup of depression, I set it up. I would imagine the campsite, the fire, and Brittany, Katrina, and Trentstown dude drinking beers and laughing together while I got their beds all ready for them, so they could sleep comfortably that night while I lay on the ground outside, surely listening to sounds of sex for the first few minutes while my "stupid little dick" twitched away in frustration. Then I would dutifully rise at 4:00 to do my apologies on my knees.

Lila had only given me four condoms, so after I'd had four showers and used each one, I figured it was okay to wash KATRINA and BRITTANY off my dick during shower #5. In a way, I didn't want to. I felt like they belonged there. I'd remember the actresses from the video, and think how they really seemed to like the idea of me writing "their" names on my "stupid little dick" to remember them by. The actresses didn't actually *sound* like the real Katrina and Brittany when they spoke, and their personalities didn't really match up. But of course, I knew who they were supposed to represent, and obviously Lila had arranged for them to dress and adorn themselves so as to present the best physical likenesses. Knowing Lila had tailored these videos very carefully to what she thought were my needs, I understood that I was to project the real Katrina, and the real Brittany, onto the KATRINA and BRITTANY actresses.

Consequently, during shower #5, I found myself imagining encountering the real Katrina in person, maybe somehow just bumping into her somewhere. I knew that couldn't actually happen: we were two hours apart, she had no reason to ever be in Bellewood, and I had no reason to be in Anniston (or Trentstown, or wherever she spent most of her time these days). But if we did bump into each other, I almost felt like I would immediately say to her, "I'm sorry we ever dated, Katrina. I never should have asked you out. I'm way too much of a loser for someone like you to ever date me. And you were right to cheat on me. I hope you're happier now. You and your boyfriend both. He deserves you. I don't, because... like I said, I'm just a loser."

Then I'd imagine the real Brittany being with the real Katrina when this encounter occurred. I'd imagine myself saying the same thing again, right in front of the real Brittany. When I finished, I imagined, Brittany would just let out a little chuckle, then smirk. Then Katrina would smirk as well. Then both girls would just walk away. Not saying a word, just walk away and leave me there to watch their asses sway, as they went off together, talking and maybe laughing. Never looking back at me, except maybe to shoot me one last smirk as I stood there like an idiot.

Like a loser.

The last ejaculation I'd had was two weeks before the depressing session with Lila featuring the "David2" video, and now four more days had passed, during which I'd been under orders from KATRINA and BRITTANY not to touch myself. So while drying myself off after shower #5, I wondered whether masturbation was permissible at this point.

But then I remembered something that I'd forgotten over these last four days. At one point during the last session, somewhere around the time Lila dropped the condoms on the desk, she had said, "No cumming until our next session." I might otherwise have whimpered in frustration, but recalling Lila saying that had a different effect: I suddenly felt a little happier, and lighter of heart. I had been so saddened by Lila's anger at me, and her blunt "get out", that it had prevented me from even thinking there *would be* a next session. Her "get out" had almost felt like she was through with me, like she didn't want me back. As if, despite all the effort she'd put into working with me so far, she was disgusted with me and had realized I was too much of a "loser" to be able to help.

Yet... she *had* spoken of a next session. But when was that supposed to be?

While I attended classes that day, I kept wondering if I should call her. I missed her so much. She had prohibited contact for the two weeks prior to the last session, and, though nothing was said about it during that session, I had left feeling that she didn't want to see me anymore. So it had never occurred to me to call, or stop in and ask about what should come next. But now that the four days of having names written on my dick had expired, and I had finished the herbs (and dirt) Lila gave me, I felt completely untethered. I had no instructions to follow, and I didn't know what I was supposed to do with myself. I could just focus on school and work, and try to forget my horniness at night. But how long could that last, knowing that cumming was prohibited until I had my next session with Lila? Sooner or later, we would have to make contact.

During every break between classes, I brought Lila's name up on my phone. But I couldn't muster the courage to call. I hated the idea of a curt phone call, one she might cut short without me being able to get a read on where I stood with her, and whether she was mad at me. I wanted to be able to see her face. So after my last class, I decided to drive out to her place. What did I have to lose?