Chapter Three 10 страница

So I said as much to Clive, and he expressed surprise and a degree of displeasure at my reticence. He didn’t threaten me with anything specific, but I knew him well enough to appreciate that it was better to stay in his good books.

I agreed very reluctantly, rang her to make a date and, on the appointed hour, went a little apprehensively to her discreet rooms in a Soho side street. I had thought long and hard during the journey, trying to identify why I was basically afraid of Morganna. It was partly her character and appearance, of course; her jet-black hair, pure white skin, glinting eyes and cruel mouth made her pretty awe-inspiring at the best of times, and her normal choice of clothes—skin-tight, black, and usually leather—did nothing to make her any less alarming. On the other hand, she had been pretty considerate during my visit to her. She could have, for example, just lashed into my bottom with the sjambok and not warned me that it was at the extreme end in the range of disciplinary weapons, let alone actually ask me whether I was up for it.

I eventually worked out that my main reason for wanting to avoid her was that I didn’t feel she liked me. She certainly desired me, but I always felt that, as far as she was concerned, I was a body not a person, whereas Chrissie, Jonquil, Susan, Jane, Clive and Greg genuinely liked, and in some cases, really cared for me. All of them enjoyed humiliating and hurting me, but they knew I enjoyed being humiliated and hurt—by them. Even Roger and Jilly seemed to enjoy my company, and were as warm and interested in me when the atmosphere was innocent as when it was not so.

Morganna wasn’t really turned on by spanking and I was. It was then—and still is—just about my favourite sexual activity other than actually screwing, and even then there were and are times when I would rather be lovingly and sensually spanked than bonked. Chrissie, Jonquil and Susan knew how to spank me. Lots of dialogue on the subject of my naughtiness, detailed descriptions of my imminent ordeal, lots of comments and fondling of my buttocks before, during and after they had been bared, and then a slow, steady spanking, giving me plenty of time to appreciate my nudity, the feel of soft thighs beneath me, the sound of a stiff palm hitting my vulnerable flesh, the quivers and wobbles and, gradually, the scorching pain.

It was always delicious with them... but Morganna just scared me.

So I walked through the narrow Soho streets with my heart in my dry mouth, my palms damp, my bottom feeling heavy and awkward, its usual carefree sway changed to a cumbersome waddle. Or so it felt to me. I heard a low whistle behind me and, as I appeared to be the only girl around, assumed it was in honour of my rear and felt a little better.

But as I approached the alleyway leading to Morganna’s place, I became increasingly aware that my sex was damp, and it struck me that the fear of the imminent ordeal was actually exciting me.

As I rang the doorbell there was a bitter taste in my mouth as I finally came to terms with an aspect of my character I’d been trying to keep completely buried.

I was stripped, turned this way and that, forced into any number of increasingly revealing positions and nearly always kept there with the help of her range of ropes, chains, bars and pulleys. And there were two things that were particularly memorable and exciting. The first was that she put a tight leather helmet on me, which covered my head and face, except for a hole for my nose and a removable strip over my mouth. Every so often she would open the strip and either kiss me passionately, or get me to kiss and lick whichever part of her she felt needed attention. Her breasts, buttocks, thighs, sex and anus all demanded my homage. I didn’t really mind, I suppose, as she had lovely smooth skin, was perfectly clean, and tasted very nice. I couldn’t see a thing, which made me feel especially helpless, but as time went on I began to find the smell of leather a real turn on. I had always rather enjoyed smelling Chrissie immediately after I’d taken her leather trousers down, but this was much more intense.

Secondly, she did one thing to me that almost makes me come every time I think about it.

She had me lying on my back on some sort of a bench or table, fixed a leg spreader to my ankles and then brought my knees back and roped them separately to, I assumed, the legs of whatever I was lying on. She had already beaten my naked bottom quite severely, using what felt like a couple of paddles, one probably leather and the other certainly wood, and had whipped me with something thin, biting and excruciatingly painful. I groaned as she doubled me up and the flesh of my buttocks stretched, sending new waves of agony through me.

She then pushed a cushion under the small of my back. I tensed, knowing full well that her eyes would be glued to my fully exposed anus and sex and absolutely sure that she had every intention of hitting me there. I trusted her not to do me any damage, but was still almost wetting myself with consternation.

Time seemed to stand still. My breathing was difficult enough anyway, without the added problem of feeling really uneasy. Then I jumped when something brushed against my anus. I was panting hard, my nostrils flared as the strip over my mouth was firmly in place. I felt something else touch me in the same place, and gasped because it didn’t hurt. In fact, it was fantastic! Not as good as Chrissie’s tongue, but not far short. Whatever it was, it was dry and tickly. A feather? I hoped it was and gradually all the tension left me as I lay back and enjoyed the experience. She circled it around my private opening, and then slowly inwards until I really did feel as though it was just inside my back passage. My burning buttocks faded into the background and I heard myself groaning with sheer lust as the tantalizing little object probed further...

And then I screamed pitifully into the leather gag when she stopped and the pleasure was replaced with a sharp pain right where she’d been tickling me. And then again, six times in all.

Then the feather returned, feeling even more blissful on my punished anus.

I lost count of the times she moved from one implement to the other; my bottom was a sea of conflicting sensations and I was totally spaced out by the intensity of it all.

Then I felt another surge of panic as I felt her fingers touching the engorged lips of my sex, easing them apart. The gloved fingers of one hand held me open and the fingers of the other teased my clitoris until I was writhing hopelessly as waves of pleasure engulfed me, like the pounding surf I remembered one stormy day in the past, walking along a beach in north Cornwall.

I think she even slapped my exposed sex. Not hard, but hard enough to make me shudder, and I could feel my wet labia pulse as warm pain enhanced the thrills.

Then her attention moved back to my bottom and the feather, and then to my clitty until I was really straining against the ropes, bars and chains, my muffled shrieks increasing in intensity. Then I shrieked into the gag as she cruelly pressed a huge vibrator into my bottom and switched it on, turning me on even more, and I came so strongly that I actually passed out for a few moments. Once slightly recovered I was suspended by my wrists, and she used several implements to beat my bottom. But I was beyond caring. I just hung there, the smell of leather as intoxicating as ever, the cheeks of my bottom trembling violently as they were hit with remorseless skill.

After a weary journey home I fell into bed. Chrissie came up with a jar of our magic ointment and cooed happily over all my marks as she kissed and soothed them. I told her about the feather, and promised faithfully to show her what it was like.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-30