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Message-ID: <32162asstr$998572201@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sara H" <sara_h2020@dangerous-minds.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Musings of the Opened Mind (FF,FD,NC,Cons,Rom,Horror,MC,RP)
Date: Thu, 23 Aug 2001 09:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Musings_of_the_Opened_Mind.txt" begin>

"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, okay?

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 less.

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 disarming.

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 compatriot.

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
immediately.

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
beauty.

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 words.

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 wet.

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 it."

"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 blend."

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 whispered.

"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 her.

"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 infinity.

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
question.

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 kneeled.

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 pleasure.

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 known.

Love always,

girl

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*







----

*Please send and comments, requests and suggestions to:
sara_h2020@yahoo.com. Please include the name of the story
in the subject line.*


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