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Musings of the Opened Mind


"If you are younger than eighteen years
Or sex is taboo for your neighborhood peers
If you are aghast at frank, sexual sleaze
Take your eyes elsewhere - immediately please."

Please ask permission before posting this story elsewhere.
(c)2000 by Sara H

Musings of the Opened Mind

by Sara H

Categories: FF,FD,NC,Cons,Rom,Horror,MC


Dear Jen,

I know you've been worried about me, so I'm writing this to let
you know where I've been and what I've been up to. Pardon the
length, but I can't make it any shorter. By the time you get
through it all I think you'll understand.

So much has changed for me, and after all our years growing up
together, I simply had to share it with you, so here it is! If
it doesn't feel as personal, Jen, forgive me... I'm just trying
to explain where I am and why I'm staying. I know a lot of this
will initially shock you, but try to set it aside until the end,

This is the history of my enlightenment.

Don't worry if you don't know what that means.

I remember everything. I don't know if I'm supposed to or not.
It's not even valid to think about, considering the fact that I
remember whether I want to or not.

I was still called Lisa when I got to Paris. Names don't mean
much anymore. Not yours, Jen, and not mine. Names give a sense
of individuality, which is an illusion. I know you don't believe
me, but that matters as much as what you call yourself. We are
all just the same, underneath.

I believed the same things that you do now, four months ago:
that I knew who I was, that I was "the sum of my experiences" or
words to that affect. I ate hamburgers and fries. I experienced
hamburgers and fries. I am *not* hamburgers and fries. I am not
the carpet in my living room. I am not the dildo that I love to
plunge in and out of my burning cunt.

I am... here. I can't tell you who I am, or what I am, because
no matter how I try to do otherwise, I'm always the one looking
outward. I can only see myself through others, and if I only
recognize myself in others, then we are all the same, more or

Oh, there are differences. But they are like the skin of an
apple... they are all on the surface, and amount to very little
of the whole, although they add a certain coloring. If the skin
is purple, it is still an apple.

Apples are apples. People are, more than anything else, people.
Fucking is fucking, and pleasure is pleasure. Well, sometimes
pain is pleasure... it depends on if I see it that way. I see it
that way if I see myself in someone else seeing it that way.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

I have gained and lost, loved and hated, and now, I am reborn.


I saw myself for the first time, recognized myself, in Erica.

As you know, this was my first trip abroad. I had just checked
in at ten in the morning, and I decided to go back out to the
Brasserie beside my hotel for an espresso. I saw her come
walking up, with her short crimson hair, green jacket and
backpack, jeans and hiking boots, just disheveled enough to be

She eyed me as I took my petite cafe, sipping carefully to cool
it to less than a scalding temperature. "You're an American,
aren't you?" she asked boldly, smiling slightly... as if she
could tell without looking.

"Yes... I just got in," I answered, happy to be able to speak
easily with someone. I can't speak enough French to buy a train
ticket, and was already tired of having to rely on the good
graces of strangers for help.

"Well, I stay at this hotel every year," she bubbled.
Apparently I wasn't the only one glad to have the company of a

Spontaneously, we both sat down at a nearby table on the small
veranda. It was almost as if we had choreographed it in advance,
the soft upturn at the corner of her mouth, the answering look
downward from me, and the amused formality of coming to rest
across from a stranger who suddenly felt so familiar.

"My family used to come here when I was young," she continued.
"I grew up nearly as much in the streets of Paris as the streets
of Cambridge."

"It's my first time," I admitted. "My 'vacation' time was spent
harvesting potatoes on my uncle's farm in Illinois. My parents thought it would build character." I tossed my hair back with a
flourish. "Obviously, it worked. I'm in Paris."

We laughed, and although I didn't recognize it at the time --
had no reason to recognize it -- we fell in love almost

Jen, I know you. You're asking yourself among other things,
"Why wouldn't she recognize it?" Well, I was on my first real
adventure. It was hard to tell the difference between my natural
enthusiasm for France and the infatuated mists of falling in
love. Paris wasn't just *old*. It was a city that was greener,
more alive, more... let me put it this way. The "culture"
everyone talks about isn't something you *see*. It isn't
something you touch. It is something that flows through
everything around you and then it flows through *you*, too. It
flowed through me, at least.

That was probably why everything happened the way that it did.
There is no rational explanation.

As we sat and talked, there was obviously a bond... I caught
myself looking at the way her skin wrinkled at her thumb as she
lifted her espresso to her lips. And they were the lips I
secretly wished I possessed; not overly full, but they sat out
from her face, round and inviting, whether she smiled or made a
mock grimace. Her smile gave her the slightest trace of
dimples... and her nose was perfection... matched with her large
eyes, it was long and sharp... on any other face it would have
been a distraction... on her, it was the completion of natural

Our conversation drifted to museums and places that she knew of
where no tourist would venture... streets and sights that only
were available from years of exploration and familiarity. I was
captivated by her stories, her remembrances, and finally by her
suggestion that she show me Paris as it was meant to be seen.

We ended up spending the entire afternoon and evening together,
shopping, sharing wine and dinner, laughing, joking and flirting
with passers by and each other. We had a contest to see who
could make more strangers smile. Can you imagine such a thing?
If you can, imagine not having to imagine. It was a day beyond

When I finally went to my own room to sleep for the night, I
had a feeling that I had only experienced after the most torrid
moments with my short list of boyfriends. I was lonely. Not sad,
but aching with the desire to be cuddling up to someone, bodies
shared gently, almost casually, with only the intensity of
breathing and unending playfulness as evidence that something
much deeper and passionate was happening.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

These were my thoughts as I drifted off to sleep.


Jen, you know my dreams have always been strange things. And my
dreams that night were strange, even for me.

I was lying in my hotel room, my eyes closed, and it started
before I knew I was asleep. I could hear voices in the hall,
talking softly, intently. I heard my door open and feet pad to
my bed. My eyes popped open and I started to scream as a hand
fell over my mouth. I hesitated and looked at my intruder and
relaxed. It was Erica.

"Don't scream, Lisa," she whispered. "I'm sorry to scare you
like that, but I couldn't stop myself from coming in to see you.
I mean, I'm not like a dyke or anything, but..."

*(But you're starting to question it,)* I thought. I realized
that we were the same in another uncanny way. The scent of her
hands wafted into and then lingered in my nose, adding to the
ethereal sensation, and that's when I realized in the back of my
thoughts that I was dreaming, even though I was still too deep
to wake up.

I sat up slowly, my eyes feeling sluggish as they moved in
their sockets to look at wonderful, crimson-haired Erica. I saw
a dim reflection of myself in the mirror too, half-lit by the
unshaded window, blonde and waif-like, my nightgown sitting
loosely over my petite frame. The eyes in my roundish, chipmunky
face went wide with a start as I realized I was wet. Very, very

My sleepy adventure took a weirder turn. Erica took my hand and
said, "I got an oil change last night. You need one, too."

"What... what does that mean?" I asked, feeling my thoughts
circle around in confusion as the scent of her skin distracted
me so much that my words only possessed mild curiosity.

"I'll show you," she said leaning close. She kissed me fully,
passionately on the lips, and I couldn't help myself... I
responded. When I broke the kiss... I found that I couldn't --
it wasn't like her lips were stuck to mine... it was like we had
*grown* together, fused into locked pleasure and swirling
tongues. I surrendered to the enhanced feeling, even as the
dream-scene switched from odd to fearful.

Water, but thicker, sweeter, gushed out of her mouth and into
mine... flowing down my throat, drowning me directly my lungs,
entering my bloodstream there... I could *feel* it moving
through my veins and hitting my brain, my body convulsing and
revolting, drowning in this "almost-water" pouring from Erica.

At the same time, my body began to react, ignoring the terror
in my mind, squirming almost hungrily as pleasure began to
travel its curves and crevices, moving in a ballet with Erica as
she ground her body grinding against mine, guided by her motion.
I was a mirror image locked in a building dance of lust and
corruption... so far beyond the control of my increasingly
reeling mind that it was useless to do anything but follow her
into the throes of ecstasy, passion and release. My pussy was a
boiling cauldron, heated by the fire that was her, that was us,
together, one mind bent on more and more pleasure, until we
shook together in the ancient rite of explosive paradise.

Erica broke away. I lay perfectly still.

I remember thinking that this must be what dying is like. The
body stopped, the mind careening in confusion and then...
serenity. Pleasure. Bliss. None of it mattered. I wasn't
breathing, my heart wasn't pounding, there was nothing. Well,
except the smell of Erica's hands and the singing of her voice
in my ear.

Singing secret things that ended my nightmare.

I felt my legs move under the blanket and realized again that
it really had been a dream and that morning would come. Just
like that. That's how reality shows itself. It doesn't offer
excuses or apologies, and it doesn't knock. It just lets you
know when you're back in it.

I slowly opened my eyes. There was no sign of Erica.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

I don't dream anymore.


I slept a little late the next morning, but when I went down to
the little breakfast room, I managed to get croissants and
coffee served by someone who spoke about as much English as I
did French. She still smiled at me, I suppose because I was
rather embarrassed at not knowing her language, and didn't show
typical American snobbery. She seemed relieved that I smiled
back and gave her a look that showed the helplessness I felt.

I froze as Erica walked in and sat down across from me. My
dream from the night before was still very much present in my
thoughts, and I couldn't shake the sensation of her kiss. She
didn't seem to notice and started talking about where we would
go that day.

Finally, sensing my distraction, she looked at me in the eyes
and said, "Are you okay, Lisa? You seem a bit... elsewhere."

"I'm fine. I had a weird, weird dream last night. You were in

"Oh?" she said, smiling. "I'm not that kind of girl, you know."
She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and laughed, breaking me out of
my pensive mood. I didn't mention that her antics suddenly made
my pussy start pulsing softly in yearning.

I should have been shocked, but I wasn't. While I didn't freeze
again, my mind began to whirl.

I wasn't a lesbian. I'd never even seriously considered it. I
found the idea of two women together nauseating. Yet I had found
Erica alluring from the first moment we had met. What is the
border between affection and lust? It had always been a black,
easily defined line, but now, it felt hazy, like a thick fog
that looks substantial until you are in the middle of it. By the
time you are, it's too late and too easy to get lost.

So easy.

I decided that it was because she was sort of my savior. She
was witty, intelligent, fun... and she was keeping me from being
totally lost and alone in a city that I was realizing was much
more overwhelming, even sinister, than my first impression. I
thanked whatever Goddess had sent her to me, to guide me through
the maze of this foreign land. It was incredibly good fortune on
a trip that would have otherwise been a terrible mistake.

"I dreamed, too." she said, looking at me with an odd sort of
open-mouthed distraction. "About you. 'And that's all I have to
say about that'," she concluded.

"Okay, Forrest," I laughed. "What's on the schedule today?"

This is the history of my enlightenment.

There is no turning back.


We spent the early part of the day wandering around the shops
near the Sorbonne, and wandering up and down the Seine. There's
something about wine and cafes and light conversation in Paris
that feels so... appropriate.

All morning long I let Erica lead me from place to place,
finding every suggestion more delightful than the last. It was
uncanny -- almost as if she were reading my mind about what
would be fun, except that it was hidden to me until she
mentioned it. After awhile I dismissed the oddity of it and just
accepted that I should let her guide me. After all, who was I to
question her knowledge? She was taking me further along on my
adventure, and she was the one who knew Paris. She was the one
who knew what we should do next.

Not thinking gave me that much more excuse to give in to my
growing obsession with her.

By early afternoon I had quite a giddy buzz, and as we took the
Metro to the Port D' Orleans station, I found that my earlier
easy balance on the subway was a bit more of a struggle.

As we ascended to the sunlit street, Erica suggested a little
sidewalk cafe she knew for a bit of lunch. She led me for blocks
and blocks through twisting streets followed by more twisting
streets. By the time we got to the small rustic cafe, I was more
than ready, and besides, it was an excuse to sit for while.
Erica ordered two Kirs while we waited. I'd never had one, but
coming from Erica, it sounded like a wonderful idea.

I went inside to use the bathroom, and smelled the definite
remnants of burned cannabis in the air. When I returned to the
table, I told Erica, and she looked at me in surprise and said,
"Oh, do you imbibe?"

"Well, not for a few years now, but I certainly had my time," I
said, blinking innocently.

She gave me a curious look, and when the waiter came to our
table, she began a flirtatious conversation in French that was
as beautiful as it was impossible for me to follow. He brought
us two more Kirs, and handed Erica an envelope. She stood up and
motioned for me to follow her and we walked through a small
passageway around to the back of the place.

She tore open the envelope, and pulled out, to my surprise, two
joints, one of which she pocketed, and the other which she put
between her lips. Her beautiful, beautiful lips. Pulling a small
vial from her pocket, the dabbed some drops of a yellowish
liquid along the lengths of the little cigarette.

The aroma of the liquid made it to my nose and I reeled,
realizing that it was the aroma of my dream. I had to stop and
think for a second. Then I figured it out. If the aroma was that
strong, and she carried it with her, then I probably had smelled
it yesterday, too. It had merely became part of my dream, like
all kinds of trivial happenings of the day.

Finally, she lit the joint. I watched her, fascinated with the
way her hands moved. I could tell I was getting very far away
from the girl who had arrived at Orly International the day
before. But this is why I came to Paris. Something new.
Something different. *(Something wonderful,)* whispered my mind.

Taking a huge hit, she passed it to me and choked out, "Special

Feeling quite wicked, I took a hit myself, and immediately felt
the buzz creep into my brain. Whatever she had done to the pot
was impressive, that was for sure, although the taste was the
same. This had an immediate affect, and my head was in that
otherworldly, slightly jerky-eyed place before I even released
my first toke.

Erica's eyes were already glassy as they stared into mine, and
I was reminded again of my dream from the night before.

Erica started talking but I was too busy in my own head to hear
the first of it. "...happens when you get an oil change," she

"What?!?" I nearly screamed.

"This pot is powerful... I only added incense, so it must have
been zapped by a mold strain. I was only kidding," she said.

I laughed and nearly fell backwards but she caught me before I
keeled over.

"What were we talking about?" I giggled, my thoughts already
getting lost like they do when you're "under the influence".

"Take another hit," she said. "That's what you were thinking.
You need to take another hit."

"Why?" I was slightly confused.

"Because I said so," she said quietly, smiling.

I giggled again. "Silly me." I took a deep drag off of the
joint, letting it send more waves of distance through my body
and mind.

"Take another. Take a really, really deep one and hold it until
I tell you to let it out. It won't bother you at all, I
promise." She sounded very sincere. Almost demanding. The
authority in her voice combined with the high was definitely
teasing my libido. Hell with that... my body was screaming for

"Yes, Ma'am!" I said, saluting and smiling. My voice sounded
like someone else talking, almost like a child. I giggled again
and pushed out all my breath. I pulled in a full breath of
nothing but the pungent smoke, and held it, sure I would be
coughing my lungs out in a few seconds.

It didn't happen. It didn't hurt. My eyes went wide as I
realized that I didn't feel any need to breathe. Nothing. I was
just holding it in, looking at her. She was saying something I
couldn't quite hear. I was in love with the movements of her
pink tongue. My vision started to get fuzzy at the edges,
turning to a nice black that was creeping in as everything
started to shimmer.

Just as I was about to pass out, I heard Erica's angelic voice
say, "Let it out now, love. Breathe normally." I felt the wind
pass from my lungs to the air and my vision go dark, barely
aware as my knees crumbled and I fell off the earth and into

This is the history of my enlightenment.

There is no going home.


I lay for a long time listening to voices. I couldn't tell if
they were close or not, and the words kept fading in and out, as
did my consciousness.

"... she really is dear, Mistress. I was hoping that you could
allow me to..." That was Erica. I felt my lips begin to smile at
the sound of her voice.

"... assimilated yet. The vapors from the oil are slightly
hallucinogenic, but the reprogramming it allows is the key. It
won't take too long before she goes from a malleable state to
cementing of new realizations. You did give her all the
instructions, didn't you..."

"... commands given to her through her butt plug. The
subcutaneous circuitry has been implanted with a variable
voltage of plus or minus..."

"... been permanently grafted. She will worship anything she
knows is Yours. Her base personality remains, but is superseded
by her desire to obey Your perfect will..."

"... wake up, dear. It's time to begin teaching you. Wake up."
I realized the voice was talking to me. Erica. I opened my eyes.
I couldn't move them from staring straight ahead. I moaned.

"They've injected a chemical that paralyzes your optical
motion. It's necessary for mapping you." Why wasn't she letting
me see her?

I began to move my head in a vain attempt to move my eyes. I
was strapped down. "Stop struggling. This is for your own good.
Mistress says so."

I immediately stopped struggling. Mistress had said this was
for my own good. I knew Mistress spoke the truth. Was Erica
Mistress? But before I could follow that thought with another, I
realized that I was not worthy enough to be allowed curiosity. I
saw that it made more sense not to worry about it... in fact,
that it was more important than anything else in the world.

It had come from Mistress.

It wasn't as if I didn't know things had changed. I remembered
every moment up to passing out in front of Erica. I knew that I
would not have felt this way before. It didn't make any
difference. This was the right way to think. This was the *only*
way to think. I knew all the way to my core that I would never
think any other way ever again.

"What is your name?"

"Lisa," I croaked.

"No, that *was* your name. What is your name *now*?" Obviously
I had answered incorrectly. I wanted to be correct, of course.

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do. Listen. Listen with new ears."

I listened.

"I said to listen with *new* ears," coaxed the disembodied
voice of my teacher, my Erica. "It will not be a sound."

I felt something travel from my asshole, through my clit,
winding its way through my breasts, around my nipples, into my
armpits, across my shoulders and into my neck. I was suddenly
covered in pleasure-induced goosebumps.

My mouth opened to speak, despite my lack of intention to say
anything. "girl," said my mouth and lips and tongue.

"Very good."

"But I didn't say it," I began to protest.

"Oh? Then who did?"

"I don't know." Why was she being so cold and clinical with me?

"Mistress says it was you who said it."

I flinched and thought again. Yes. I had said it. Of course.
Stupid girl. "I said it."

"Mistress says that any words or thoughts that come to you from
the Oracle of your asshole are yours. They are absolute. You
think them. You say them. They belong to no one else. They are
Law. They are Perfect Truth."

Finally, Erica came over to where I could see her. She kissed
me deeply, passionately, and then backed away a bit and said,
"Now, we will be joined in our destinies forever. My body is
your body. Your body is my body. My mind is your mind. Your mind
is my mind. One body. One mind. One thought. One pleasure.
Obedient only to Mistress. Our purpose is whatever Mistress says
it is. Even though you can see and remember your past, the
thoughts and opinions that lead you back to who you were before
are as irrelevant as your old name. They are illogical.
Nonsense. Malarkey. They are like trying to understand a fish
talking. It makes no sense to even try. I'm sure you can see
that, now."

"Malarkey," I whispered.

She kissed me again, more tenderly, and again, even as I ached
for her, she pulled away. I heard her fumble with something, and
then tensed as a now familiar aroma entered my nose, altering my
perceptions further into rubbery abandon.

"Listen and accept," said Erica. There was no room for a

My body shook as my mind was redirected to the Truth. Taught.
Corrupted. Corrected. It was absolutely delicious.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

Ignorance dies with knowledge. Knowledge only grows.


Eventually, I was released from the table and led to an
adjoining room. From there, I was taken to a bath and washed and
cleaned by other women. All of them were naked and aroused. We
were all the same.

Finally, I was clean enough to be presented. I was taken to yet
another large room, and told to wait. My Oracle gave me Truth. I

I heard footsteps enter but did not look up. When the Oracle
told me to lift my eyes, I did. "You have learned well, girl. On
the other hand, you didn't really have any choice.

"Do you know Me?"

"You are Mistress Black," answered my Oracle. I also answered.
I could no longer tell any difference. There was no difference.

"Yes. You love My Feet, don't you."

My heart swelled with love as I had never before felt. My
Oracle was keening in my head as my heart began to pound.

"Oh, yes, Mistress! I love Your Feet more than life itself!" I
sputtered, overcome with the disorienting Truth that burned in
my soul.

"Then you will worship Them now with your tongue. It is, for
now, the highest honor and greatest pleasure you can attain when
in My presence."

I crawled at the bidding of my Oracle and tasted the Feet of an
Angel. Black nail polish consumed my vision, followed by the
curves of her toes and delectable arches. Pleasure snaked from
my tongue into the furthest reaches of my brain. I began to pant
as I licked and savored Mistress' Feet. My nipples became stiff
and I felt as if my pussy were being serviced by a hundred deft
and irresistible tongues, tongues that knew every secret

Her Feet became my existence, my entire focus, my breath, my
purpose. I suckled on each perfect Toe as if each were an
entirely new lover. Mistress' moans were my reward, causing the
blood in my veins to become rivers of depravity, delivering Her
Essence to every cell in my body.

I knew that I would have been shocked in my former life. I knew
that I would have been disgusted. I also know that I no longer
had the ability to care. My Oracle began to teach me... about
Mistress' body, from Her Head to Her Feet. I knew that with a
word I would worship Her Asshole and beg to taste it. I would
suck Her long Dildo and beg for Her to fuck me. If she told me
that the pain she inflicted was overwhelming pleasure, it would
be True. I would do anything, even die, to please Her most
minute Whim.

With no warning, orgasm washed over me, and still my tongue
licked and worshipped Her Holy Feet. Writhing on the floor like
the complete slave and slut I had so easily become, I felt the
elation and humiliation of total surrender. The pleasure of it
nearly dragged me into unconsciousness... and only my Oracle,
commanding me to cum and worship and cum and worship and cum and
worship and cum and worship and cum and worship kept me from
falling into the darkness.

I licked even as I recovered, panting deeply.

"Just wait until you meet Mistress White, Mistress Red, and
Mistress Lavender," laughed Mistress Black. "And this is just
the beginning. You will be Taught for four months before you are
ready to be called anything but 'girl', and take your place
among the enlightened.

"Tell Me who lives in the world, girl."

"Your slaves, Mistress," I said, the Oracle prompting me with
Perfect Truth.

"And what is the difference between you and others?"

"None that matter. There are only those who already know, and
those who have yet to be enlightened."

"Very good, girl. You may proceed to My ankles."

This time, even the Oracle could not keep me from fainting.

This is the history of my enlightenment.

Enlightenment is inevitable.


That's pretty much it, Jen. By now, you are deeply aroused,
after a feeling of initial shock. There is an ethereal quality
to everything around you. The vapors of the oil which I applied
to this letter are temperature activated, and there is no way of
escaping. You don't really want to, do you. You can hear my
voice, like that of an angel. It is almost as if I'm singing in
your ear. You are thinking about my tongue lapping endlessly at
your pussy, driving you insane, making your mind surrender. It
is a surrender that longs for Mistress.

Inside the package that came with this letter is a vial of
Truth Oil. Open it and breathe deeply.

Yes. That's it. Good girl. Also in the package is a one-way
ticket to Paris and a U.S. passport in your name. Reservations
have already been made at the hotel listed on this letter's
return address.

When you are done with this letter, burn it, but save the
envelope. Then masturbate yourself to sleep, obsessing about how
much you want to fuck me. Dream only of the bliss of surrender
to Mistress.

When you awaken tomorrow, you will remember none of this,
except that you have been planning on your trip to Paris for
longer than you can remember. You have thirty days to plan
without raising suspicion.

Lastly, there are eight more packages and letters for you to
give out to our mutual friends. Deliver them all as soon as
possible, starting tomorrow.

I am waiting to take you into pleasure such as you have never

Love always,


P.S. The girl I used to call Erica lifted her tongue from my
clit long enough to say she can't wait to meet you at the
Brasserie just outside the hotel.

*Paris 15/10/2000*


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Please include the name of the story in the subject line.*


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