The Power of the Tarot
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Mesmeric Tarot free porn video
“That one,” Annie said, pointing to a card in the middle of the fan-shaped spread on the table.
“Are you sure?” Emily asked.
“Quite sure.” What was the point in changing her mind when, face down, all the cards looked alike?
“This is exciting!” Emily breathed, fake nails gripping the card Annie had indicated, turning it slowly, eyes widening as the image was revealed. “Oooo! The Fool!”
“It reminds me of a court jester,” Annie remarked, staring at the garish picture.
Emily screwed up her face as if to indicate that rank amateurs should know better than to offer hermeneutic suggestions. Out loud she said, “But what does it mean?”
“I don’t know,” Annie replied, wishing she hadn’t allowed herself to be dragged into Emily’s latest enthusiasm. “Something about speaking truth to power, perhaps?”
“If that’s what it means to you,” Emily pouted.
“What does it mean to you?” Humouring Emily was always preferable to contradicting her.
The woman did indeed perk up. “The Fool is all about new beginnings,” she gushed. “About taking a leap of faith. Into the dark, as it were. You need to try new things. The Fool is related to the astrological planet Uranus, which is all about novelty and getting out of your comfort zone.”
“I’m very happy in my comfort zone, thank you very much.” Annie nodded at the card. “Besides, if trying new things means going over the edge of a cliff, you can count me out.”
“The cards never lie,” Emily told her sternly. “Like I said, it’s a leap of faith. There’s a reason why you chose this one.” She tapped on the card for emphasis. “Why your subconscious chose this card.”
Stuff and nonsense, Annie thought. Out loud she said, “I’m sorry, Emily, but there’s no great mystery here. In fact my subconscious and I are on extremely amicable speaking terms.”
Alarmingly her friend fixed her with the kind of stare only the newly converted ever employ. “You just think that,” she declared. “But really there’s all sorts of stuff sloshing around in there.” She jabbed a finger at Annie’s head. “I could help you access it, if you wanted me to.”
Against her better judgement Annie felt that it might be quite amusing to let Emily try, if only to prove to her friend that there was nothing in this nonsense. “How?” she said.
Again Emily went into rampant enthusiasm mode. “I’ve been doing this evening class,” she said. “Mesmeric tarot. It’s amazing…”
“Hold on,” Annie said, putting up one hand. “Mesmeric tarot. You want to hypnotise me?”
“I’ve done it myself,” Emily gushed. “You have nooooo idea who you are until you’ve travelled to the deepest reaches of your subconscious.”
Annie suppressed the laughter she felt bubbling to the surface. “And fallen off the edge?” Seeing that Emily was taking the quip badly, she recanted. After all, there was nothing to fear here. There was no way in hell some half-baked hypnotic technique Emily had learned over an evening in a rented classroom at the local comprehensive would work on her. “OK,” she said, “Go for it.”
Emily lightened up again almost immediately. “This is how it works,” she said, sliding the Fool further toward Annie. “You have to focus very hard on the card and let the Fool clear your mind. Then you start to count backwards from fifty to one.”
Seriously, this was so ridiculous it would be a pleasure to do it, just to help Emily regain her senses.
“Fifty to one,” Annie said, staring at the oblivious character in front of her. “Fine.”
“Only when you’re ready.”
And when am I ready? Annie wondered. She stared hard at the Fool, as much for show as anything, fixating on the bell on the figure’s cap. “Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven…” Emily began to ululate; it sounded like some kind of mantra; nine or ten syllables stuck on repeat. Suppressing her urge to laugh again, Annie continued, “…forty-six, forty-five, forty-four, forty-three, forty-two…”
# # # #
It was just like when she’d had surgery, Annie thought later, in the car. She had no recollection of when she’d lost consciousness, although Emily had assured her that her subconscious had been wide awake the whole time. It irked her that she’d proved so susceptible to what was self-evidently little more than a party trick, even if there was something unnerving about the way Emily had looked at her as they parted. To distract herself, Annie sang along with the tune on the radio, the presenter suddenly interrupting the music.
“It’s coming up to four o’clock, and I’ll be handing over to the newsroom shortly. Don’t forget, in the next hour we’ll be talking about home improvements. The DIY sector is booming, and I want to hear from you. Is there anything more satisfying than doing it yourself? Call now…”
Annie didn’t hear the rest, it was as if a switch had been tripped in her head, and elsewhere, an urge so powerful she had to pull over at once, just about having the presence of mind to hit the flashers as she came to a halt with the right hand tyres resting on the grass verge.
With the engine still running and half the car still on the roadway, she pulled her tunic out of the way and shoved her hand down her leggings, straight inside her knickers. Her clit sparked, triggered by a finger. Annie moaned loudly, adjusting her hand so that she could rub her clit with the heel while her fingers slipped in the spontaneous outpouring. “Aaaaaah!” she breathed, feeling firecrackers between her thighs, pushing her fingers up inside and twisting, her hand simultaneously grinding against her clit; consumed by a form of rapture she could never have conceived of.
A sharp rap on the window brought her to her senses. Glancing to one side as she pulled her hand from the leggings she flinched at the blinding neon glare of the traffic police. Muttering extremely unladylike words under her breath she slid the window down.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the officer said. “You do know that there’s no stopping on this stretch of road?”
“I… I thought I heard something,” Annie breathed, fumbling for something that sounded even half way plausible. “From the engine.”
“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t, but I’m pretty sure that no Road Traffic Act has ever qualified that as an emergency.” He was nodding at her hand, the one that she was still holding aloft, unsure what to do with her sticky fingers, which nevertheless shortly came to smear her forehead as she rested her head on her hand, the full ramifications of the situation hitting her.
“Ma’am. Ma’am!” She turned her head, making sure not to look the police officer in the eye. He was holding a breathalyser. “I’m going to have to ask you to blow into this.”
Possession was instant, normal Annie vanishing, an obscenely coquettish creature replacing her. “Why officer, I’d much rather blow…”
“Ma’am!” the man said sharply enough to bring normal Annie scampering back. “I’m minded to let you off with a stern talking to, but I have to warn you…”
“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I don’t know what came over me.”
But she did. It was all too apparent now that Emily, against everything Annie had ever believed, had managed to not just hypnotize her, but make her susceptible to certain triggers. It was horrible, terrible, and she would phone Emily the first chance she got, but not from the car. She needed to get home as quickly as possible, radio off. The police officer had been as good as his word, but she had the feeling misfortune was exceedingly peeved at having been thwarted.
“You look exhausted,” her husband told her. He’d come to greet her in the hall, spotting immediately that she was out of kilter.
“Oh, you know Emily. Exhausting is her middle name. She’s on some new tarot kick. She’s been doing evening classes.” Annie deliberately failed to mention the mesmerism, along with her brush with the law. Certain things husbands just didn’t need to know.
“Evening classes? Tarot?” Ben sounded amused. “You must tell me all about it, but first, let me put the kettle on, you look like you could do with a brew.”
Just like that the switch in her head was tripped. “No thanks,” Annie said. “But I could really do with having my face covered in as much spunk as possible.”
Ben stared at her open-mouthed, leaning back against the doorjamb in disbelief. “I don’t think…” he began.
“Please! Please!” Annie said, a residue of her normal self just about aware of proceedings, but powerless to do anything about them. “Please cum all over my face, darling.”
“You’re clearly not yourself,” Ben decided. He looked as if he was trying to work out what to do with this woman who had all the outer attributes of his wife, but certainly wasn’t behaving like her. “Perhaps you need a lie down.”
“No!” Annie exclaimed. “I need your spunk. All over my face.”
“What’s happened to you?” Ben may well ask. His wife had always been resolutely opposed to the deposit of seminal fluid on her face, though sensible enough to overlook his occasional online indulgence of such activities.
“Nothing,” Annie breathed. “I just want you to glaze my face so very much.” She’d moved right up to him, her fingers unbuckling his belt.
“Annie…” her husband said, gripping her wrist. But somehow she was too strong for him, and as she exposed his genitals his resistance seemed to melt away. “Are you quite sure about this?”
“As sure as you are,” she giggled, for his cock was stiffening before her very eyes. She grabbed it, using her hand to make the foreskin reveal and obscure the spongy head. Cradling his balls with her other hand, she said, “Mmmm, so much spunk. I can’t wait for it to come shooting out all over my face.”
Normal Annie was appalled, but she was held in severe bondage at the back of new improved Annie’s mind as her lips slurped and slobbered their way down her husband’s rock-solid length. When she pulled back she was drooling heavily down her chin. Looking up to register the gratified shock on her husband’s face, she lashed at his bulb with her tongue. “Give me that spunk!” she urged. “Paint my face with it!”
Then she went down on him again, right the way down with ravenous greed, letting the bulb molest her throat in a way that normal Annie would never have allowed, far less enjoyed. Popping her lips off with a new burst of saliva, she proceeded to work her tongue down the shaft, wriggling it as she hummed with joy. This was good, in fact better than good; normal Annie didn’t know what she was missing.
She took Ben in her mouth again, lips resting just below the glans, slithering her tongue all over the same. That was all it took. Her husband grunted. “I think I’m about to…”
In an instant she’d let him out in the open air, her hand working as she sat there on her knees looking up at him. “Do it!” she enthused, aiming his swollen cock straight at herself. “Spunk my face like I’m one of your little porn floozies!”
The first jet struck her square on the tip of her nose. Feeling a splash dangerously close to one eye, she closed them both, feeling the next spurt strike her forehead and make a dash for her hair. She adjusted her aim, Ben’s cock seemingly inexhaustible as it pumped out warm, sticky seed which adhered to her lips and cheeks and joined the drool on her chin.
With the last drops, the spell was broken. Annie wiped her eyes and opened them to see her husband staring down at her as if wondering what he’d done. “I’d better clean myself off,” she gurgled before darting upstairs – not to wipe her face clean, however, but to phone Emily.
“What have you done?” she blurted down the phone, pacing the bedroom.
“The question is, what have you done?” Emily giggled.
“Emily, this isn’t funny,” Annie snapped. “Have you any idea what I’ve done? You need to come over right now and reverse whatever… hex…”
“I don’t have time,” Emily said. “Not right now.”
“Then I’m driving over to see you,” Annie told her.
There was a brief silence. Then Emily said, “OK, come. Come immediately.”
The by now almost familiar switch in Annie’s head was tripped. She felt her legs begin to tremble, unable to stop herself from crying out as her body tensed. Collapsing onto the bed she shook uncontrollably, her toes curling as she contracted in spectacular fashion. Just about able to function, Annie grabbed the phone, hearing Emily’s witchlike cackle before the line went dead.
Still trembling, and with semen congealing on her face, normal Annie returned, wondering how this could possibly be happening. It was all so much hocus pocus, all that chanting and the stuff with the cards, and yet… Had she been a fool for refusing to believe there might be something in it?
There was a knock, Ben poking his head round the door. “Are you…” Then he stared at her open-mouthed. “I thought you were going to…” he said, indicating his own face. “You always said…”
“It’s not so bad,” Annie told him. Then she put on a smile. “Why don’t you make me that cup of tea you offered earlier? I’ll be right down.”
Her husband vanished, leaving her to make herself respectable again. Strangely, she almost felt sorry to wipe her husband’s spunk from her face. She’d been truthful, It didn’t seem so bad to her after all; in fact a woman could almost get a taste for it. Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t the point. She needed to get Emily to undo what she’d done. What Annie did at home was her own business, but acting like a sex-crazed mad person in the outside world could land her in a veritable lobster pot. She dialled Emily’s number, but this time she was sent straight to voicemail.
The next day, being Sunday, she became only too well aware of how many perfectly ordinary statements had the power to trigger her. After wanking over her face before breakfast, Ben quickly worked out that offering her tea risked exhausting him utterly, but a host of innocent statements carrying unintended meanings made Annie’s day very interesting indeed.
“Make sure there’s plenty of moisture…”
“Where do you want me to put it?”
“They’ll have to come from behind now…”
“You have to get your whole hand inside and give a little twist, even if it is a tight fit.”
Annie’s main problem was not that Ben kept asking what had gotten into her, but what to do about work the next day, since triggers had proved to be all around. She was far too conscientious to pull a sickie. If she avoided listening to the car radio and kept to herself as much as possible, she might just manage, only her boss wanted to see her first thing. As risky as it was, there was no getting out of that.
Arriving at the office without anything triggering her at all (Ben deliberately offering her coffee rather than tea), Annie made her way to Ms Pickawilly’s office, tapping on the frosted glass in the door, only to hear the woman inside call out, “Come!”
For a split second, normal Annie had time to curse Emily, herself and fate, in that order. By the time she closed the door behind her she was already gasping from her impending climax, having just enough time to collapse on the leather sofa at the back of the room before whining and shaking in ecstasy.
Then she found herself staring at her boss, only too well aware of how she must look. “I’m sorry, Ms Pickawilly. I’m really most terribly sorry. I don’t know…”
But her boss was looking amused rather than perturbed. “Well I do declare… I wouldn’t worry about it. I can get a bit itchy myself sometimes.” She paused. “But no hands… You must teach me that trick some time.”
No way, Annie thought. Introducing Ms Pickawilly to Emily was a recipe for disaster beyond anyone’s wildest imaginings. “I’m not exactly sure…”
Ms Pickawilly raised her eyebrows as if to suggest that a woman not knowing how she managed to spontaneously climax was somehow in breach of the company’s code of conduct. Then she indicated the state-of-the-art drinks machine her office boasted, causing a wild panic to grip Annie. She couldn’t let this happen, yet was too slow to prevent it.
“How about a drink?” Ms Pickawilly asked. “Coffee? Or would you rather have tea?”
“No thanks,” Annie said. “But I could really do with having my face covered in as much spunk as possible.”
Dimly normal Annie prepared for Ms Pickawilly to show her the door. “Well, well, Annie, this is an unexpected side to you I’m seeing. Still, I understand; a woman has her needs. It’s not for everyone, mind, but I do understand about needs”
Normal Annie was looking for ways to row back, perhaps claiming some new and exotic form of Tourette’s, but normal Annie was no match for mesmerised Annie, who now said, “I do need it. Spunk. Gallons of spunk. All over my face.”
“Very well,” Ms Pickawilly said. In an instant she was behind her desk, tapping on the keyboard, speaking aloud as she typed. “To all employees. A cumslut among us urgently requires huge quantities of spunk on her face. All who wish to contribute are to report to the conference room ASAP. Pickawilly.”
“Er, wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
It was normal Annie's final attempt to reassert herself, thwarted when her boss dismissively said, “Screw that,” before chaperoning Annie through the corridors, joining the sudden stream of men, and some women, heading for the conference room.
“In we go,” Ms Pickawilly said cheerily, ushering Annie to the front of the room with one arm round her waist. Annie just stood there, the smell of testosterone like lilac to her nostrils, her boss behind her. “Make it easy for them, Annie. On your knees. Now tell them all what it is you want.”
“I want to have my face covered in spunk.”
“Louder, Annie. They need to hear you at the back.”
“I need to feel spunk all over my face,” Annie said, raising her voice.
“Louder, Annie. Shout it from the rooftops! A woman should never feel ashamed of her needs.”
At the top of her voice, Annie declared, “Give me spunk! All you’ve got! I need thick, creamy loads all over my face! I want to feel my face drenched and dripping with spunk!”
A hard cock prodded her face. She glanced up to see Mr Wilson standing over her. “I always knew there was something about you, Annie,” he told her, folding his fingers round his equipment. Stamina proved to be the least of Mr Wilson’s talents, for no sooner had he done so than he was spurting, thick white shooting across Annie’s top lip.
There was loud applause. Ms Pickawilly busied herself unbuttoning Annie’s blouse. Two men who she dimly recognized as belonging to the HR department were facing each other in front of her, their cocks almost touching. Annie’s tongue came out, flicking under their helmets. Then she brought her hands into play, wanking the stiff cocks before sinking her lips over one of them.
She alternated gamely, sucking one than the other, before finally forcing them together and trying to suck on both of them at once, an attempt that was doomed to failure. That didn’t stop Janine, the red-headed receptionist from shouting out, “You go girl!” with her skirt up and one hand down her knickers. Ms Pickawilly had by now undone Annie’s blouse and made sure that her tits were hanging out of her bra.
“Fuck, I could really spunk those knockers,” one of the men in front of Annie said.
“No!” Annie cried. “Only on my face! I want every last drop of spunk on my face.”
“Have it your way.” The man was stroking his cock with speed. Annie tilted her head, but was still taken by surprise when semen shot up over her cheek. She closed her eyes just in time, hearing the other man grunt with pleasure as he too spurted vigorously, straight up the other cheek onto her eyelid.
Ms Pickawilly was pushing against her from behind, hands mauling Annie’s tits. “At this company we value enthusiastic employees,” she said.
Annie didn’t need to be told. “More!” she cried out. “Give me more! Cover my face in spunk!”
Scarcely were the words out before more thick meat was prodding her lips. She allowed it entrance, feeling its owner’s determination as the organ was thrust to the back of her throat, pushing her back against Ms Pickawilly, who tweaked her nipples with fiendish fingers. Drool spilled out of her; she could feel it flooding over her chin and dripping onto her breasts. The cock hardened in her mouth. For a split second she was afraid the man might cum there, but Ms Pickawilly stepped in just at the right time. “Remember that every last drop of spunk is to be dumped on Annie’s face and nowhere else.”
Her mouth suddenly emptied, Annie pursed her lips, feeling an immediate spurt on them. Then she squealed in surprise as another spurt came from the side, striking her nose. Waiting until the dual spurters were quite finished, she cried out, “More! Give me more!” feeling fluid slide over her top lip and into her mouth.
A cry went up. She thought she recognized the voice as belonging to Pete Jenkins, the IT guy who sometimes showed up to lend a helping hand. “Are you OK with us fucking you, Annie?”
Ms Pickawilly was wiping her eyes clean. Annie opened them and blinked, seeing nothing but a huge crowd of people, the men stroking their eager cocks, the women looking as if they were wishing they were her. “Shout it from the rooftops!” Ms Pickawilly instructed.
“Yes!” Annie cried. “You can fuck me! As long as every last drop of spunk goes on my face.”
“Any of you ladies up for a bit of fluffing?” someone called out.
Annie didn’t recognize the man, but Nisha, the new head of marketing, was with him in an instant. “Fuck, yeah!” she cried, grabbing the man’s stiff rod, working it as she licked her lips.
“Be careful,” Ms Pickawilly warned. “Any drop of spunk anywhere but on Annie’s face, will result in a reduction in pay.”
“I want it all!” Annie emphasised as she was grabbed and her skirt pulled down, her tights ripped through and her knickers desecrated with a pair of scissors someone had found lying around. “Oh shit!” someone gasped behind her. Annie spun round quickly and got her face in position right before a thick load swamped her nose and top lip.
“I reckon she just saved your pay, Dave!” someone called out.
“Try explaining that to the missus,” someone else said, “a reduction in pay for not cumming on a co-worker’s face.” There was laughter as Annie was manhandled, pushed forward over the conference table, her buttocks groped and a hard cock rammed into her. She looked back over her shoulder to see Aziz from R&D grinning at her as he worked his cock like a piston, tie flapping. Behind him other colleagues were lining up to take their turn. It was great, but…
“I need more spunk on my face!” she cried.
Men clambered onto the table, hands gripped her hair. She didn’t know if she was coming or going, her tits swinging beneath her attracting roving hands as cock after cock stretched her cunt and made her cheek bulge, other cocks prodding her face or just wanked in front of her. There was a constant flow of semen now, her head being angled to facilitate affairs whatever the source of the liquid soaking her skin and seeping into her pores. When a thick load landed on her forehead and dribbled downward she had to close her eyes again. She could taste her own pussy on the cock occupying her mouth, hear the grunts around her, smell the raw lust and hear Ms Pickawilly and Nisha both crying out as they came from witnessing the debauchery.
Bundled over on her back, she could but lay there with her legs spread and allow cock after cock to strike her depths. Sperm rained down on her face at regular intervals, thick and gooey, coating her face. “More!” she cried out, deliriously. “I want more!”
“Out of the way, guys!” Janine’s voice. What was going on? “Let me eat her cunt!”
Annie wiped her eyes, lifting her head to see the receptionist stick her face between her thighs. Only for a few seconds before her head was yanked round to facilitate oral entry. Cheek bulging with one cock, spunk bubbled onto a cheekbone. Annie just moaned, bucking her hips, Janine’s tongue slithering, making sparks fly from her clit. In no time she was climaxing, screaming out loud as the cream from three stiff cocks splattered onto her face.
She was dragged off the table onto the floor on her knees. “Tilt your head back, dear,” Ms Pickawilly told her. Annie did as she was told, thoroughly exhausted as the last men with standing cocks shot their loads over a cheek each.
“Doesn’t she look a picture?” Ms Pickawilly produced a little hand mirror from somewhere, holding it up for Annie to see her face practically invisible under the thick glaze of semen miscoloured by smears of mascara and lipstick. “A show of appreciation, I think!”
The crowd began to chant. “Annie! Annie! Annie!” She stared at her reflection, watching as her face began to dissolve.
# # # #
“Annie! Annie!”
Emily?
Annie opened her eyes gingerly to see her friend snapping her fingers. Looking around she saw the coffee table, with the tarot cards spread out on it, the Fool still face up. “Wow,” Emily said. “That was some ride. Who would have thought you had all that lodged in your subconscious.”
“All what?” Annie asked. There was a gleam in Emily’s eye that made her uneasy. How was it possible that she hadn’t been able to withstand the bizarre ritual?
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Emily wittered on. “Women have needs. When I was put under… I had so much fun in the vegetable aisle at Waitrose!”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Annie asked, a nervous sensation creeping up her spine.
“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Emily asked.
“You didn’t get me to do silly things, did you?”
“You didn’t cluck like a chicken, if that’s what you mean.”
“What, then?”
“We just explored the canyons of your mind.”
“For goodness sake,” Annie said. “I have no canyons. A shallow crater, maybe, but no canyons.”
“Is that what you think?”
Something was nagging away at the back of her mind, an anxiety that made her feign interest in her phone. “I should be getting back,” she said. “Ben and I have a reservation.”
Her friend looked disappointed. “Are you sure you don’t want to know?”
“Another time, maybe.”
Emily frowned, picking up the Fool from the table and sliding it into the deck before shuffling. “At least pick another card before you go?”
“Why?”
“Just an image of what you need to carry with you, going forward.”
Annie sighed heavily. “All right,” she said. It was always better to humour Emily.
The cards were again arranged in a fan shape. “OK, now pick one.”
Annie stabbed her finger on a card far out to the right. Emily gripped it, taking a peek before turning it. “Ooooooh! This really is your card, isn’t it?”
The Fool. Of course, what else would it be? But what were the odds, Annie wondered? One in 6,084, she calculated; she’d always been good at mental arithmetic. But she knew that she was the Fool for allowing Emily to rope her into this absurd business.
Back in the car she felt relieved to be out of there. Perhaps she should avoid Emily for as long as this new kick of hers lasted. To comfort herself she sang along to one of the old hits from long ago, when she and Ben were courting, annoyed at the way the presenter suddenly cut the song short.
“It’s coming up to four o’clock, and I’ll be handing over to the newsroom shortly. Don’t forget, in the next hour we’ll be talking about home improvements. The DIY sector is booming, and I want to hear from you. Is there anything more satisfying than doing it yourself? Call now…”
Annie frowned. Surely she’d heard that before? It jangled her nerves, but spying a police car approaching in the rear view mirror, she concentrated on sticking religiously to the speed limit.
Back home Ben came to greet her in the hall. “Did you have a nice time?” he asked.
“Oh you know Emily,” Annie sighed. “This time she’s on some weird tarot kick. Absolutely exhausting.”
“Sounds… freaky,” her husband said. “How about you tell me all about it. I’ve just put the kettle on. I’m sure you could do with a brew.”
“No thanks,” Annie said. “But I could really do with having my face covered in as much spunk as possible.”
Rowan
- 19.07.2021
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- Category:
- Mind Control
