Message-ID: <59168asstr$1246252202@assm.asstr.org>
From: rivyavtry@myway.com
Subject: {ASSM} (WIP)The Potion {Riv Yavtry} (magic, Mg nc,)
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Date: Mon, 29 Jun 2009 01:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Thanks to the people who provided input to this story. I haven't
taken up all your suggestions by a long way, but I'm grateful for the
help.

Usual disclaimers about this being a work of imagination, with no
relationship to real people or events.

All feedback welcome.

(You can comment anonymously via the feedback form on my asstr site -
http://www.asstr.org/~rivyavtry/)

Having several incomplete works in my hopper, I posed the question
on alt.sex.stories.d as to what I should do with them. At least one
responder was in favour of publishing them, even if incomplete,
marking them as work-in-progress.

This story is one of the more recent to hit a fallow patch. I've
dusted it down, tidied up one or two things, and here it is. There is
obviously a lot more of the story which could be told if feedback was
encouraging enough to incentivise me.

Riv Yavtry





The Potion {Riv Yavtry} (magic, Mg nc, wip)

***** 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 lissome 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 breathe 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.



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