8 comments/ 66646 views/ 5 favorites Bisexual Awakenings: The Journal of Bleu_Light_Special By: Katherine English 2 "I want to taste you," he said, the words wrapping around me like a warm mist. "I want to suck your warm, sweet juices until you scream for more. I want to make you beg...and then I'm going to plunge deep inside of you, plundering your wet, sexy body until you can't breathe...until you can't think." My eyes widened, my body beginning to prickle. His words, so bold, so intimate, sent a delicious shiver between my thighs. What would he do then? Would he want me to taste him as well...to lick his 10" tool until it spewed his hot seed all over my face...down my throat? Would he flip me over on the floor and penetrate me from behind? Maybe he'll bind my arms and legs and take a slow, tortuous perusal of my body while I squirm beneath him in sensual agony. I'd like that. Sighing, I checked my watch and ran a comb through my long, auburn curls. Well, he'd better hurry then. He's the fourth one this morning, and I have to leave for work soon. This Internet is going to get me fired yet... January 1: Dear Diary, Has it only been six months since my first computer came through the door, a present for my twentieth birthday? It's hard to believe! How did I exist before it came into my life? I can still remember the maze of decisions that came with it...what hardware...what software...what server? Finally I chose a cable server, a high-speed connection that had been praised by my boyfriend, Jess. Was he right? I have no idea. What is considered high-speed in a world where even the most modest connection can have you enjoying intimate communion from your bedroom in Tucson, with a man on the other side of the planet in mere seconds? It amazes me. No, more than that...it consumes me. At first I isolated myself in my word program, keeping records, a journal, a few recipes. But then I began to "search" for more...information on this and that...bringing both great minds and small right into my bedroom at the drop of a hat. Then had come the day when I'd discovered "chat". It had been a modest adventure in the beginning, popping into various rooms devoted to hobbies, entertainment, talking to people who enjoyed the same television shows that I did. Soon, however, it began to fill my mind, my dreary days with thoughts of my next connection... my next cyberspace "fix". My solitary existence began to fade into the distance, to fill with the faceless people that populated my nights. My life had become transformed from that of a little mouse in a frightening world, to that of a woman of consequence...someone to listen to...someone who counts. And it was good. It was exhilarating...and addictive. Then had come the day when I'd found the "adult" rooms and entered the world of men...tall men, short men, men who caressed me with their words as no others ever had...men who took me to dark places inside of myself, behind my innocent, blue eyes and sent me spinning into the unknown. I live two lives now...two irreconcilable existences. By day I am Jillian, shy little store clerk at the local Z-Mart, but every evening, when all is said and done, I become "bleu_light_special", queen of the night. January 2: He touches me softly my long, auburn hair curled against the pillow, the dedicated passion of His fingers twining itself deep within my wet folds. I shiver at the thought of Him, at the promise of His body so close to mine. Moist swirls of delicious intoxication overcome me. Anticipation...anticipation... What marvels will He share with me tonight...what sensuous delights? What gilded cage shall I swing from for His pleasure? I don't know...I don't care. His touch is my opium, his will my commandment. I pass the long hours each day waiting for his name to cross my screen once more. He consumes me. Someday we'll have to meet... January 3: I think this internet is going to be the death of me yet. It's all I think about anymore...that, and the man who calls himself "the_captain." It all started so innocently, so unremarkably. One day I had a bare desktop, and the next, there sat my new computer...virginal and untouched. Do you know how hard it is to work when everyone who passes your way reminds you of some anonymous, intimate encounter? That man, the one with the rose tattoo on his left arm, could he be "trans_american_4u", the guy who tore my clothes off on the floor of his garage and sent me off at a million rpm's? Or that guy, the one with the red hair and the incredible biceps...is that "red_ hot_daddy", the one who likes 'em young...really young? My mind spins, and my work falters. I hear the manager over the loud speaker saying "Attention Z-Mart shoppers. For the next ten minutes, we'll be selling pantyhose in the lingerie aisle for an incredibly reduced price." I hear, but in my mind I'm thinking "Those would be so nice wrapped around my wrists, tied cleverly to the bedposts, wouldn't they?" Finally, it's time to go home, to the blessed confines of my apartment, home to my cat and my computer...my life begins again. I am once more bleu_light_special. Quickly I take a TV dinner out of the freezer and turn on my answering machine. A message from Jess awaits. He won't be coming this weekend. His mother is sick...again. Oh well. Sometimes I wonder if it matters. Am I her surrogate, or is she mine...an interesting thought. Jillian Johnson would care, but not bleu_light_special. There are so many choices out there in the big, hairy world. Why quibble over a single man wielding a thermometer when men like "the_captain" await? Quietly I feed my cat so that I may once more settle myself peacefully atop my empty bed, my keyboard resting on my warm, firm thighs before my monitor. I gently caress the power control and it comes to life, greeting me, welcoming me home. Carefully, I select a chat room to fill my evening while I wait. What will it be tonight? So many choices, so many men...my palms itch at the prospect. Finally, I settle on the Bondage Room...Doms and subs, Masters and slaves cavorting and posturing for each other...a risqué fantasy, and it suits my mood tonight. "Yes, Sir. As you wish, Sir. On my knees, Sir?" Like an erotic mantra it swirls in my mind, as visions of stern Masters in leather-bound chairs rise before my youthful, all-seeing eyes. I'm known here...known well, and in mere seconds the messages begin to fill my screen. Some are crude, some demanding...some know how to play the game and some don't. And for some this is no game at all, it's a way of life. No, it's more than that...it's life itself, and for this brief space in time, I become one of them. Pensively, the heat building between my thighs, my full breasts beginning to ache with need, I scan their overtures, their profiles, searching for one who knows what I know...that tonight will be something special. Then it happens, and the_captain's screen name passes before me! I know that he will require nothing but my best performance. He's the real thing. He won't accept a fake, and I won't disappoint him. We're linked in a way that only someone in this peculiar relationship can be. I can feel Him thinking. I can hear Him measuring the miles, forming the questions. "What have you been doing with yourself today, Bleu?" He asks, as if He doesn't know already. "Nothing, Sir" I respond dutifully, the lukewarm passage of hours melting away into obscurity. "Have you touched yourself today?" He demands to know. "I want the truth." I feel the hot curl of His words insinuate itself deep in my belly, His question eliciting a moist rush between my thighs. "No, Sir. You told me not to, and I've obeyed." He pauses, and repeats once more my fatal shortcoming. "I'm looking for someone in real life," He replies, bluntly. "You know that. I want to touch you with more than words." Now it's my turn to pause, but quickly I hide my disappointment. "I'm sorry, Sir. 'this one' is available only online." Fearfully, I expect to see Him curtail the conversation at this point, to fade back into the maze of fonts that parade before me, but He doesn't. Instead He allows the game to continue for another night. "Are you hungry now?" He asks, "Does your body ache for what only I can give you? Would you like to touch yourself?" I quiver. I know what comes next. I yearn for it...crave it. It's something I need, and he knows it. "Yes, Sir." I type, my pulse racing, pounding in my head. "Proceed then," He demands, and I feel my nipples begin to harden. Once more I begin my carefully composed dialogue. "I await Your arrival from the office, Sir. I wear only a thin, gold chain about my waist, and the collar that binds me body and soul to Your service. I reach out and relieve You of your briefcase, setting it aside as I lead You to Your favorite, leather easy chair. I want to touch myself, but I know I can't. My body belongs to You now, and only You may give vent to my passions. And so I wait, kneeling on the floor between Your knees, my naked thighs spread wide, exposing my glistening sex, my hands resting atop them, palms upward in submission." Words...words...how can simple words squirm inside my belly like living things, writhing in wild abandon at the very core of my sexuality? "Very nice, Bleu," He comments, "You've been trained you well. You know your place. Have you anticipated My arrival tonight?" He questions. I lift my gaze to the monitor that conceals His muscled thighs. "Yes, Sir," I reply. "What would You have me do, Sir?" I ask anxiously. His words are bold now...commanding. "Open yourself, Bleu. Prove your willingness to please Me." He demands. I know what He wants...what I want. A good slave always does. I part my legs even wider...wider yet as my quivering hand slides beneath the elastic of my panties...until my moist petals gape wet and quivering before His cyber-gaze. Then, pinching my labia between my thumb and forefinger I open my sex so that he may gauge my readiness. His tone now registers His approval. "That's satisfactory, Bleu. Now entertain Me. I want to watch you pleasure yourself before Me." Oh..He's good! He knows how to keep the game interesting. Quickly I rearrange myself atop the coverlet, sliding my panties down the length of my legs and off, my skirt hiking high around my waist. I'll have to type with one hand now, but I've become proficient over the months. This will do nicely...very nicely. The distinction between reality and cyberspace begins to fade, a hot flush insinuating itself beneath my flesh. I feel my fingers penetrate the downy red fluff between my legs, a familiar thrill coursing through my body. Eagerly I begin to massage my throbbing bud for His pleasure, feeling the moisture begin to flow across my fingertips as the tension mounts. My breath becomes labored and my body begins to tense. More..more... "Stop," he demands. Stop? He wants me to stop! This is different...terribly different. How can I do what He wants when I need it so badly? How can He ask this of me? "Stand up, " He orders, "and turn around. Bent over and straddle My thighs. I want to inspect my property." I'm beside myself now. My body aches for fulfillment, but it isn't to be. My Master has commanded me to stop, and so I must. He pauses once more, and I expect to feel His hand probing between my legs, feeding my hunger, but once more He surprises me. "No," He says. "This won't do. How far are you willing to go for Me, Bleu? How desperate are you to experience the completion that only I can give you?" Desperate? I've never thought of myself as desperate. Does He think He knows me that well already? Can He see, even through the haze of cyberspace how much I need Him...how much I need this? Again I feel the frustration build deep in the pit of my stomach. He won't leave me now, will He? I want Him to stay...to play the game...to fill the void I've carried all day. And suddenly the word slips quivering from my lips, mouthed silently as my fingers tap the keys. "Anything." What have I done? What will He demand now? But, in my deepest reaches, I know. I know even before He continues, before He seals my fate. "Meet me at Gringo Pass in two hours. Wear a blue dress...full and short," He demands...not a request. He knows what He wants. I'm to obey without question. I pause. "Should I bring my passport, Sir" I ask, my fingers shaking as I read the words they type. Have I lost my mind? Will He take me into Mexico, I wonder as I watch the local name for the Lukeville border crossing taunting me from the screen? What will He do then? "No," He replies. "You're property now. Mine. Property doesn't require a passport." And then, with two final words, He leaves me to my trepidation. "Be there. You'll be watched." I sit, stunned at what I've just said, what I've just done. He was nearby all along! What should I do? What will I do? I can hear the heavy echo of my own breath in my ears, the erratic pounding of my heart. I'm frozen in place, I'm sure that I can't move, but then I do. I rise and head for the bedroom...and begin to pack a suitcase. Chapter 2: The ride to Lukeville, along the Mexican border, is long and dusty. Alone on the barren highway that crosses the desolate reaches of the desert, it's hard to keep my mind from screaming that what I'm doing is wrong...so wrong. Shallow graves lie in the wastelands that surround me, filled with just such foolish people as I. They'll never be found...missed only on special days of remembrance...lost to the ages in unmarked interment. The hours fall behind me and soon the sun has given up its perpetual demands on the parched earth. Night falls, and my isolation is complete. Strange lights appear in the sky over the Air Force gunnery range to the west. They seem to follow me, to mock me. Are they harbingers of my fate...testimonies to my folly? Have I lost all sanity on this wayward diversion to my safe, but boring life? Finally, far in the distance I see the halogen lights that herald the border crossing. Their gravity takes hold and I'm drawn foreword. There's no turning back now. Like a moth to a flame...I'm their prisoner. It nears. Now I can see the American crossing guards at Lukeville, their Mexican counterparts nearby on the Sonoita side. A parking place...where is a parking place, I wonder? And then I see it, a small turnoff to the left, tucked intimately beneath a copse of palo verde trees. Numb, I pull my insignificant Beetle to the right and turn off the engine. I'm here. Now what? A soft breeze, something unseen from the desert wafts gently through the trees, rustling their branches above me as I wait. Suddenly a man, raw boned and huge appears in my rear-view mirror. His eyes are as dark as the western suit He wears, as sharp as the creases in his oh-so -expensive pants. He crosses the dirt-packed parking area and approaches my car. Could that be Him, I wonder, taking in his massive size and stern demeanor? He could crush me like a bug. What have I done? Without hesitation He strides up to my window, His hand motioning for me to get out. I obey. What else can I do? "Give me your keys." He demands, His voice low and husky. "Someone will take care of your car." Take care of my car? What does that mean? Then, reaching inside, He tucks them neatly behind the visor to await the mysterious "someone" who will soon claim them. He turns, His eyes assessing me, undressing me in the variegated gloom of the shifting trees. They probe me, touch me, weigh and measure my acceptance. "Lift your skirt." He orders, as though we were not a mere 50 yards from the border guards. "Now." Trembling, I step back into the uneasy privacy offered by the shadows of the trees and lift my skirt to my thighs. He waits. I lift my skirt higher, higher until His eyes register that I've done his bidding satisfactorily. I expect some sign of appreciation for my body, I've been told it's nice...but none appears. Instead a frown forms a furrow across his brow. "Panties...pantyhose." He murmurs. You weren't supposed to wear those." Then, without preamble He thrusts his ham-like palm down the front of my dress. "And a bra," He rumbles, his hand painfully squeezing my trembling breast. "You were told to wear a blue dress. Nothing was said about undergarments." He turns then, as if making up His mind about something, and gestures me toward a car parked about ten yards away. A Hummvee. Black. The kind that gentlemen drive...gentlemen with money...lots of it. He flicks his finger in the direction of the vehicle. "Get in." He directs curtly. "I want to watch you walk." My knees tremble. I feel His eyes follow me across the hard, packed sand until I reach the SUV and open the door. Quickly I slide into the passenger seat and hear the soft click of the door latch behind me, dropping the curtain on this humiliating peep show. I wait, but not for long. In mere seconds He is beside me, my suitcase tossed like so much offal in the back seat, His long legs unfurling beneath the dashboard as the monster roars to life. The inside of His car is impressive...black leather... custom interiors, I'm sure. This Hummvee has never seen battle, at least not the kind that makes the 6 o'clock news. The dashboard is alive with lights, reds, greens and golds that indicate things over which I can only guess. He reverses, makes a turn, then pulls forward toward the crossing point, toward the only stop sign for a hundred miles in any direction...but He doesn't stop. He doesn't have to. Even the guards seem to know that, and they display their deference by stepping away as He passes. How many times has The Captain done this, I wonder? An established pattern is beginning to form, and I'm a part of it. Does one survive such a thing? We drive silently through the small border village of Sonoita, then take a left-hand turn in the direction that a sign says leads to Puerto Penasco, an ancient shrimping port along the Sea of Cortez. In no time at all, we're swallowed up in the moonlit vastness of the desert, alone on a road that leads to the edge of the known world. We drive in silence for about 20 minutes, long enough for my heart rate to calm and my knees to stop twitching, but then He slows. Are we there, I wonder, searching the barren scrub brush for a house of some sort? But no, we are on the side of the roadway, alone in a place that even the prairie dogs would shun. In a cloud of dust He pulls off to the right and kills the engine. "Get out," He orders, seeing the fear rise in my eyes. "And stand beside the car." Slowly, I open the door and slip out into the desert. Is this where He defiles me, rapes and tortures me, then tosses my broken body out into this vast wasteland, I wonder? I tremble once more, and feel the solidity of the fender supporting me from behind. "Stand away," He says, knowing I can do nothing but obey. "Stand there, in the headlights." I swallow hard and circle toward the front of the car. What will He have me do now? I don't have to wonder long. "Pull up your skirt again," He orders. "And take those damned panties and pantyhose off." Here? In the headlights? What if someone drives by...if someone sees? But, again I have no choice, so quivering, I slip my fingers beneath the elastic of my pantyhose, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other as I slide them down the length of my thighs. A flush, red and hot rises and consumes me...and I turn away. "No!" He commands sharply. "I want to watch you. Face me!" Once more I turn back towards my tormentor. He is in command...the power is all His. "Now the panties," He continues, His voice taking on a dusky tone. I feel fear. I feel shame. I feel curiously aroused. Slowly I peel the thin lace of my panties down to my ankles, the soft breeze caressing my pubic hair, until finally the wispy garment lies in the dust along with my pantyhose. Bisexual Awakenings: The Journal of Bleu_Light_Special Without a word, He reaches out His hand for them and I hasten to obey. Quickly, I gather them into a tight ball and hurry toward the side of the car to place them in His outstretched palm. Have I done well this time...have I finally pleased Him? I watch as He reaches into the car and removes my purse, stuffing my undergarments into it with disdain. "You won't be wearing them anymore," He says abruptly. "But I won't litter the highway with them either." Again, His eyes take my measure, but this time He reaches for me and presses my hips against the right, front fender, bending me backwards like some sacrificial offering, all stripped and ready for sacrifice. It's His hands now that lift my skirt, His hands that slide roughly over my pale, vulnerable flesh. "Open your legs," He demands, His fingers already probing where only one man has been before. "You've been around, haven't you?" He questions thrusting his rough, thick fingers inside of me. "How many men have you fucked?" I begin to shake...His touch...His touch. He smiles. "You like this, don't you, Bleu? You like me inside of you like this. Answer me!" "O-One, Sir," I stutter. "Only one...just one time." "And you like this..." "Y-Yes, Sir," I lie...or am I lying? My fantasies come crashing around me, and I no longer know. He probes me once more...hard...rough and I cry out. Again, he smiles, and I watch wide-eyed as He reaches into his pocket. What appears now brings me no consolation, for in his fist I see a knife, ivory handled, scrimshawed and large. A folding knife with a heavy blade...customized? It snickers open in the darkness, and I feel my bladder threaten to betray me. He hears me whimper, and it appeals to Him. Then, with a sadistic smile, He strokes the flat of the blade along my inner thigh until I can feel a tiny trickle of urine escape along my quivering flesh. He likes that too. He runs his fingers through it in satisfaction and smears it up and down my thighs. Tears well up in my eyes, I can't control them, but still my tormentor escalates His abuse. This time He cuts the buttons from the bodice of my dress, exposing the pale pink film of my lacey bra, stretched over my taut nipples. "Nice," He mutters raising the knife upward along my body. Then, with a quick thrust He slides the knife against the tiny bridge of satin between my breasts and snips it cleanly in two. I cry out in alarm, my voice lost in the vast emptiness of the desert. Then I hear a sound...far away, coming closer along the lonely desert track. A car. Has the cavalry arrived? He has to stop now, I think...doesn't He? But He doesn't. His eyes never waiver, never shift for a second as the car nears, draws parallel, then passes in the night. He knew...He knew. No one would dare stop Him...not The Captain. Again the blade flashes, and again...and now I feel the straps give way and my breasts freed beneath His gaze. Then, brusquely He takes his left hand...tugs, and the bra comes free from its hiding place. I watch as He deposits it unceremoniously atop the car. He takes my wrists, and pinning them far above my head along the cooling metal of the hood, He mutters "Stay," as if commanding His dog. And I do. I am at His disposal now, and He touches me, curling his fingers between my thighs, thrusting them deep into my belly. And then I feel it, the handle of His knife insinuating itself roughly into my vagina, and I gush once more. I'm wet, so wet...humiliatingly wet...and He knows it. He smiles, a crooked smile that doesn't reach His eyes, then closes His mouth over my distended nipple. He bites...hard...harder, and I whimper. I'm on the edge of an orgasm so complete, so earthshaking that I can't control myself. Then my dignity shatters, and I fall with a shudder, whimpering, into a swirling abyss that I can no longer hold at bay. Suddenly, I hear His zipper sliding softly in the silence, opening Him, freeing His sex. Then, with a lunge He grabs my hair and I am at once on my knees beside the tire, between His thighs. "Open your mouth, Bleu. Do it!" He orders, thrusting His hips against my face. I feel His massive knob press unrelentingly against my lips until I obey. Then, once inside He plunges deep into my throat, engorging me with his monstrous tool, capturing me between His jutting frame and the ebony fender. I gag...I choke, too much...too much, but yet He continues. I try to hold Him off with my hands, but He grabs my wrists and pins them to the metal behind me. He grunts...low and guttural...harder...faster until I can feel Him quiver deep in my throat. Another brutal thrust, and He fills me with His hot flesh...His molten seed until I gasp for air and feel the earth begin to swim about me. Then He stops. He stares at me kneeling in the dust as he wipes His sex with my ruined undergarment. "Clean yourself up," He orders, tossing me the flimsy shambles of my bra. "Then stuff it in your purse. We need to be going." Soiled and tattered, I do as He says until I feel I have made myself presentable once more. The front of my dress will have to remain open, I have no choice, and my nipples brush shamefully against the loose fabric. I slip into the seat next to my Master, wondering if I've passed the test, if I've pleased Him. "Don't sit on your skirt, Bleu. You're to sit directly on the seat. You need to get used to the feel of leather on your body now." He says. "And open your thighs. Always open...parted...never crossed unless you're told to...and your palms on the seat beside you. Upraised. Understand?" Quietly I nod, sliding my skirt from beneath me and opening my body as I've been directed. I feel so vulnerable, so helpless...so curiously erotic. Will I soil the fine leather seat? I hope not, but in my condition, how can I help it? We drive onward now, past the skeletons of saguaros, the scrambling disarray of Joshua trees until a sign appears in the gloom. "Bahia la Cholla" it reads. Cholla Bay? I know that place. It's a remote suburb of Puerto Penasco, a small congregation of American expatriates convened on the distant edge of the Sea of Cortez in a remote bay along the coastline. But this isn't the way I remember. That road was graded, even paved in places. This one is crude, little used. It bears the traces of shifting sand and occasional flooding. Is this where He lives, I wonder? It must be, why else would we be here? Time fades, and we travel through an electronic gateway until I spy the welcoming glow of a house in the distance. No...not a house, a hacienda. A huge, rambling affair standing alone against the black backdrop of the sea. It's old, if I'm any judge...almost ancient...something from another era. Its adobe walls and curved archways blend harmoniously with the heavily tiled roof, a dwelling made to last for many lifetimes, many centuries As we make our approach, tiny lights begin to fill the window frames...soft, muted lights that do little to spoil the ambiance of the place. They push back the darkness as we enter the courtyard, pulling alongside the massively carved staircase that abuts the heavy oaken doorway. Immediately He approaches the passenger side, my suitcase in hand, opening my door this time and waiting until I rise to join Him. Then, gesturing toward the portal, He follows me up the stairs to my fate. The door opens, and a young woman, perhaps 18, dressed only from the waist down in white, bleached muslin pantaloons greets us. She's beautiful, I think to myself, accessing her proud breasts and slim waist. She's of Asian ancestry, possibly... but perhaps not. It's hard to tell. Softly, she steps away to allow us entry, then motions toward another doorway, set into the far wall. My Master nods silently, and leads me across the white, marble tiles, past the small trickling fountain that adorns the center of the room, and outward once more through a set of wide French doors into a private courtyard secreted in the center of the ancient complex. Here I find a pool, luminous in the dark and shifting night, surrounded by a myriad of twinkling tiki lights, all flickering in the soft breeze. He motions now to a chaise lounge, low and sturdy, sitting by a companion piece upon which I surmise He will settle himself as well. But no. Instead He turns, and in a whisper I hear his voice. "Say nothing. Be careful," He growls softly. "You don't want me for an enemy." Then, wordlessly, He leaves me to my own devices, alone beneath the starry sky. And so I sit, wondering what to do now, where to go...what is expected of me. Minutes pass...how long I have no idea. Finally, I see a woman break free of the shadows on the far side of the pool. Did I say a woman? Well, a woman she is, but like none that I have ever seen before. If the one at the door could be considered a woman, then this must be a goddess. She's tall, this deity, perhaps 5'9", with a tiny waist and large green eyes that set off her full lips and heavily tanned complexion. Her hair is black, the glossy black of a raven's wing, woven into a heavy braid that hangs the length of her back and curls against her buttocks. She's naked...and magnificent. Her full breasts and slender torso flash in the dim light as she curves her body in a graceful dive into the pool before me, barely disturbing the surface in her passing. I watch as she nears, slipping cleanly through the clear, transparent water until she once more surfaces at my feet. Then, in one, silken movement she stands dripping before me, nipples erect, a single silver ring adorning her left breast...her body is perfect. She reaches for a gauzy pareau, one of those South Seas garments that adorn the hips of island princesses, and ties it loosely below her navel. She smiles, and crossing the distance between us, she settles upon the chaise beside me. "Hello," she says simply, her voice softly caressing my mind. "I'm the Captain. Welcome to my home." Chapter 3: My name is La Dona Amora Isabella de Capitan. You may call me Amora if you wish. And you, my beautiful Bleu, do you still have a name when you turn off your monitor as well?" she jokes. I find myself speechless. I don't know what to say. If this beautiful, exotic creature is the Captain, then who was my tormentor? Jillian...Jillian Johnson," I murmur almost incoherently. "I...I...". She sees my confusion, and hurries to fill the gap between us. "You weren't expecting to see a woman here, were you?" she smiles again, almost apologetically. There were times when I thought you knew...times when I was sure of it. Are you terribly disappointed?" It's my turn to speak now, but the words refuse to form in my mouth...in my mind. Did I know? Deep down in my heart, had there been some remote sense of kinship, a feminine bond between us? I wasn't sure. "But you acted...you spoke..." "As a male, an "hombre", correct? I confess to encouraging that impression...a small luxury I extend to myself," she replied, her full lips curling against her pearly, white teeth. "I enjoy the company of women at times," she confessed. "I enjoy their intelligence, their sensitivity, their smooth, firm bodies. Are you shocked?" I knew I should be! I'd been deceived, deluded into a terrifying rendezvous in the middle of the night by someone who had misrepresented her sex, her intentions. "Then you're not a Master...not a Dom," I burble inanely. This has all been a hoax! I've been played for a fool! This woman has used me as an object of amusement! She reaches for me then, her hand softly stroking my arm as she gazes intently between the open folds of my gaping bodice. "Not a Master, no...but one who appreciates the sensuous response of a beautiful woman, certainly. The guests in my home are not bound by force, but by an abiding passion that they share freely and earnestly. They are treated well, treasured, and when their time passes they may go as they have come, neither harmed nor diminished by what is said or done in this place. "Are you shocked?" she asks once more. "Are you horrified?" Her finger now traces the curve of my lip, her shell-like nail etching a patter that makes me want to extend my tongue, to lick her wandering digit as it moves against my delicate flesh. "Did you think that passion has a gender, Little One, that only a man can light the fire between a woman's thighs? Consider this, who better to know what kindles a woman's desires than another woman?" Her voice becomes hushed now, a siren song that lures me deeper under her spell. "So beautiful," she murmurs, "So beautiful. Your skin is like porcelain, so fine...so pale, and your hair like the last scarlet flush of sunset. Close your eyes, Little One...close them and feel yourself drift away on the tide of my voice. There are places I can take you, my beautiful, beautiful Bleu...places that you've never been, places that will open your mind, your heart to another world." I feel her finger travel downward now, along my collarbone, between the valley of my breasts as she teases the fabric to one side. "Where have your buttons gone?" she whispers suspiciously, "Did you remove them for me? No matter. We have no need for such conventions here at the hacienda." I hear the soft intake of her breath as she bares my flesh. I should stop her, I think...tell her that she's made a mistake. But I don't. Instead I wait, preening at the words of praise that blanket me, hungering for her approval as she cups her long, slender fingers beneath my breasts. "Magnificent," she whispers huskily. "So perfect, so milky white...and the delicate pink of your nipples...you are angelic...angelic." Her finger departs now, only to return wet...wet with what, I wonder behind closed lids? Then, gently she circles my aureole and I feel myself rise into the warmth of her palm. This is a woman, I remind myself...a woman, not a man. Surely a woman has nothing to offer me...has she? And yet as I feel her tease my taut nipple in the moonlight, her voice stroking me, seducing me, it gives me pause. Is she smiling now? I should open my eyes...stop her...but I can't. Could she be right? Is the true key to a woman's heart really another woman? I feel her breath on my rigid flesh, the soft, pointed dart of her tongue as she flicks it back and forth against my nipple. Her hand slides upward along the inner curve of my thigh, raising my skirt, baring my pale flesh in the flickering light. I gasp. No misguided probe this, no perfunctory grope in the darkness. Instead I feel her warm fingers tracing the delicate folds of my labia, teasing them apart as she dips tantalizingly into the deep well of my sex. Then, as quickly as it began, she pauses and I hear her moan of appreciation. "Delicious, Little One. I knew you would be," she says, her words muffled by the finger between her lips. "Open your thighs for me, Sweetness. Let me see you...let me please you once more." Again I think I should stop her. Am I ready for this? Am I? And yet, when she calls me "Little One" I feel as though I am indeed hers, that I want her touching me, her delicate fingers caressing me, her warm mouth devouring my... She moves against me now, her motions soft and silken as she parts my thighs and slips quietly between them. "Wider, my Sweet," she cajoles. "Wider." My heels touch the cool stones of the pool deck now, my legs parted until they rest on either side of the chaise beneath me. My skirt is furled about my waist. I am open...exposed...and hungering. But I haven't long to wait. Amora gazes appreciatively at my offering, her green eyes sliding across my quivering flesh like tiny fingers. I blush. Then, straddling the chaise she brings her hands upward, stroking my inner thighs until I quiver beneath her palms. She watches in satisfaction as a tiny trickle escapes from between my intimate folds and makes its way along the fissure of my sex in anticipation. "Soon, Little One, soon" she murmurs. "Women have the luxury of time...all the time we need...all the time we want...a bonus, you'll find." I feel her probing my trembling slit now, her thumbs pressing deeply within, parting my sex like some ripe fruit, juicy and waiting to be devoured. She pauses to admire. Again a puzzled expression crosses her features, and I see her eyes flash, a brief menacing look that passes almost as soon as it appears. "Has someone...? No. Lay back, my beautiful Bleu. Close your eyes once more and let me make love to you. Instinctively my body tenses, but as I feel the warm, tantalizing touch of her tongue circling the hard bud of my sex, I can do nothing but submit. Warm waves of pleasure wash over me, and I drift on a sea of passion such as I have never known. Surely neither Jess, with his thermometer, nor the Hummvee man and his scrimshawed probe have ever elicited a response such as this. I feel myself flowing against her tongue, copious floods of passion passing between her lips as she strokes me with her all-knowing fingertips. A butterfly flickers back and forth in my belly, chased by a mad stampede of thundering beasts that threatens to overtake me. I shudder, my thighs tightening, closing as it carries me away, my discordant cries of passion rending the stillness of the night. Her forearms hold me now, pinning me in place as I writhe beneath her, my fingers diving into her thick, black braid. I moan...a guttural ovation that sounds alien and apart from me. Stop...stop a voice whispers in my mind. But no...she doesn't stop, and I'm glad. Relieved. Finally it's over and she raises her lips, slick now with my offering, and smiles. "You'll be a pleasure to teach, my Little One. So responsive...so passionate! We'll do well together. So saying, she raises her hand and the young woman in the muslin pantaloons approaches. Has she been watching all along, I wonder? "This is Elizabete...Liza. She'll escort you to your rooms now. You must be exhausted. I'll be along shortly to tuck you in," she assures me, a twinkle in her eyes. "I have a brief matter that demands my attention before I retire tonight." And with that she turns and glides across the patio through the French doors and vanishes from view, leaving me to the delicate ministrations of her serving girl. Chapter 4 My "rooms" as my hostess calls them, are nothing short of magnificent. My small studio apartment would fit in the closet alone. All about me are the trappings of opulence...Tiffany, Chippendale, Irish linens and Belgian lace, a gently flowing collage of color and tasteful understatement. The boudoir itself is dominated by a large four-poster bed, sturdy and with a coverlet of white hand-sewn candlewicking. The window to the west is no window at all, but a wall of sliding glass overlooking a well appointed balcony, and beyond that the sea. There are no curtains here to sully the view, for none are needed. No huts clutter the shore in this place, no condominiums. Not a living soul exists for miles around if the roadway by which we've arrived is any testimony. Beyond this place only sand and sea hold reign. We are alone. Liza places my modest suitcase on an ancient chest at the foot of the bed, hand carved and polished to a warm glow. "Shall I draw you a bath?" she asks, her eyes sparkling at the prospect. A rush of embarrassment rises upward along my collarbone, burning against my cheeks. She knows. She saw everything. What does this woman think of me? I choose to remain calm, collected. "Yes, please," I reply, forcing the squeak from my voice. "That would be wonderful." Quickly Liza leaves by yet another door, through a sitting room of sorts that boasts in its heart of hearts an enormous, rough-hewn fireplace. The furniture here is of a different ilk...massive and designed for comfort, for sensual dalliance, perhaps an intimate rendezvous before the flickering flames. My skin prickles. Will I lay atop these fluffy throw rugs with my lover? Is this to be my classroom? Bisexual Awakenings: The Journal of Bleu_Light_Special I pass now through the far doorway and on into the bathroom...and the illusion is complete. Liza has filled the room with flickering candlelight, I see...scents of jasmine and sandalwood fill the air. Here a garden tub, blue-tiled as the sea, dominates the outer wall. Already the fragrant, swirling water calls to me, beckoning me to immerse myself in its welcome care. She waits. Then, heavy lidded the young woman approaches and begins to disrobe me. Surprised, I still her hands. "I can do this myself, Liza," I assure her. But she is not to be denied. "But Miss. This is my job," she replies, her voice soft and insinuating. "The Mistress will be angry with me if I shirk my duties." Again she smiles, a winsome look that pleads for understanding. "Alright then, if you must. But I'll talk to your Mistress and ask if I may spare you this task for the remainder of my stay. Would that be alright?" I question. She looks disappointed, but she nods in acquiescence. "As you wish, Miss," she replies, fingering my belt. "Your bodice, Miss, it's missing all it's buttons. If you have them I'll be pleased to sew them back on for you," she offers. My buttons. I haven't seen them since his knife sliced them from my breast on that forlorn strip of desert. He didn't seem to mind littering the dunes with them, I reflect darkly. "They're gone, Lisa. I no longer have them, but I do have a question." "Anything, Miss," she replies, her hands lifting my one and only garment over my head. "It's my place to make you as content as possible during your stay at El Capitan. " El Capitan...?" I ask. "Is that what this place is called? Why is it named that?" "Why, Miss? This hacienda is called "Remordimiento del Capitan"..."Captain's Remorse". It's very old. Some parts date back to the time of the Conquistadores. It has been named that for centuries, but most people simply call it 'El Capitan' now." Her eyes, so warm and golden, now take in my naked form, searching for a sign...any sign of offense. She passes her tongue along her lips, her fingers caressing the fabric of my dress in her hands. "But, you had a question, Miss? If I may be of service to you, please let me know. Your pleasure is my fondest wish." I pause. How do I ask this without raising suspicion? Finally I plunge headlong, hoping not to give vent to my fears. "That man, the one who brought me here...who is he?" I ask, controlling the quiver in my tone. Her lips become taut now, and I see the same fear grow in her eyes as well. "He is named Carlos...Carl, but sometimes also 'El Toro' when he can't hear...because of his exceptional size, Miss" I nod in understanding. "And what does he do here?" I ask, hoping that he has no position of authority in this place. "What part does he play in this household?" Vehemently she shakes her head. "None," she spits. "He is a servant, just as I am. It is his place to drive the cars, to keep them well serviced and run errands for the Mistress, nothing more. He is a chauffeur to a woman who never goes anywhere, never leaves her hacienda...a truly useless position! Why do you ask?" I ignore her question and step toward the tub. Here Liza moves quickly, hurrying to take my hand, pressing it to her bare breast and steadying me as I step into the swirling water. "Would you like me to wash your body. Miss?" she asks hopefully. "Perhaps a warm massage would sooth your nerves after such a long journey?" I shake my head. "No," I reply. "I'm used to bathing myself. I think I can manage," I laugh. "You must have other things that demand your time." "Oh no, Miss," she contradicts quickly. "May I wash your back for you at least before I go?" I've come to the conclusion that I must give in at some point, or this young woman will never leave me, and so I nod. "That would be wonderful, Liza. Please...just my back, and then I'm fine on my own, alright?" Smiling, she strips off her pantaloons and takes a place behind me on the edge of the tub, her thighs bracketing my shoulders between them as she pours a warm, slippery pool of liquid soap into her palms. This is more than I had bargained for, and I start to protest. But then her fingers begin their magic along the back of my neck... the curve of my spine, and I'm rendered speechless. She grasps me between her thighs, holding me like a lover, and I smell the fragrant oils with which she has anointed her intimate furrows. My mind begins to wander, to drift with the passage of her hands on my flesh. So soft, so soothing. She draws me back against her now, my head pressed against the softness of her belly, my neck curled against her smooth and shaven sex. Once more she fills her palms, but this time she begins to lather my breasts, circling each rounded orb, caressing each nipple until they harden like tiny pink rosebuds beneath her touch. I sigh. This feels so good...so good... Again she fills her palms, but this time she reaches deeper...deeper beneath the waterline, between my warm and waiting thighs. I feel her gentle breath in my hair, her soft hands probing my body... And then the voice of my hostess intercedes. "That will be all for now, Liza. Perhaps another time," she offers my erotic handmaiden. Liza rises, her disappointment obvious, but she obeys. She is nothing if not an obedient servant. Then, taking my dress in one hand and her discarded pantaloons in the other, she walks naked from the room and vanishes beyond our view. "She's taken a liking to you, I see," Amora smiles. "That's good. Liza is a lovely child...giving and sensuous. I was afraid she would be jealous." She turns her attention to me now, her eyes alight with the vision of my pale flesh in the candlelight. "You've relaxed," she observes. "The tension has gone from your eyes. Perhaps a soothing massage will put your day to rest?" She smiles again, and taking a heavy white towel from a nearby warming rack, she gestures for me to rise and display my pale and dripping body before her in the candlelight. "You're more beautiful than I thought, "she whispers. "You seem surprised! Hasn't anyone ever told you that before?" I hang my head in embarrassment. I've never known how to take compliments. There have been so few in my limited world. "Well, we'll have to remedy that, my innocent one. In my care you'll blossom. Do you believe that?" I nod, more to placate Amora than anything, but somehow I believe her. She wraps me in the warm towel, running its stubby surface against my pink and molten skin. She is clothed now in a thin sheath, something filmy and feminine that does nothing to hide the muted form of her body beneath. Again her perfection shames me in comparison. "Do you like what you see, Little One?" she asks, releasing the shoulder-ties and dropping the flimsy barrier that separates us. "Would you like to touch me? Or, is it too soon?" I see now how totally exquisite she really is. If I had been impressed by her perfection before, I am fully in awe of it now. Her breasts are full, heavy and voluptuous, but upright and proud...her nipples large and the color of dusky rose against her golden skin. Her body tapers smoothly into one of the tiniest waists I have ever seen, small enough for a man to span it with his bare hands. It would seem that her hips should be narrow then as well, but not so. Here again she excels with a womanly curve that excites and entices...that frames her smooth and shaven mound. Oh, how I want to touch her! But I can't, not yet. I'm not ready, and I know it. She smiles a knowing smile and leads me past the sitting room and back into the boudoir. Then, flipping the coverlet back, she lays me face down upon the smooth cotton sheeting. My eyes widen. My purse, I notice, has materialized beside the bed. Has Carl been here? Was he nearby while I dallied in my bath? I choose not to think of that now...not now. Amora settles herself beside me on the firm, padded mattress, her fingers exploring the slow curve of my buttocks. "You're like a China doll," she says in hushed tones. "So fair and perfect...so flawless. You would mark easily should our tastes run toward leather and restraints. We'll have to be careful." Leather and restraints! And then I remember. We met in the "Bondage Room". That I would have a taste for leather and restraints would be an obvious conclusion for her. Again the rashness of my actions this night flashes through my mind. "Raise your arms, Little One, and relax. You have nothing to worry about," she says as though reading my mind. "We'll take things one step at a time. You are my treasure. Why would I wish to harm one such as you?" And with that she leans forward and raises my arms high above my head, her hard nipples grazing my back. "For now this is enough," she whispers in my ear. "Take them in your hands, Sweetness...grip them firmly while I relax your tired body." Grip them? What is she talking about? And then I know, for there beneath my palms, inset into the massive posts of my bed are heavy iron rings, the purpose of which I dare not wonder. I shiver...in fear or anticipation? And then I feel her hands, so smooth and comforting, stroking the length of my back. The smell of almond oil wafts through the air and I lower my head to the soft downy pillow, luxuriating in the sensations that engulf me. Gently she touches me, her slick palms gliding seamlessly along my spine, curling against my waist, cupping my backside. I feel her knee between my thighs, and I understand her unspoken request, parting them for her pleasure and mine. Immediately I feel her long, slender finger sliding smoothly between my buttocks, massaging the untried portal that puckers beneath her touch. She presses inward, and in an instant she penetrates my narrow, unyielding ring of muscle. Startled, I gasp. She laughs, a low tinkle that brushes against my ears. "So tight! You've never had a man...here, have you?" She questions. "It would be interesting to watch you the first time...interesting to see the expression on your face as he thrusts deep inside your tiny passage. Would you try to resist, or would you beg for more. I wonder?" Again she presses her unerring digit forward, deeper as she feels me squirm below, and then abruptly she withdraws. "Rest easy, Little One...no more for now. We have so many pleasures to share with one another," she sighs, "And we have all the time in the world." Then, turning me onto my back, she once more oils her palms and begins to stroke my pale, glowing flesh. "Grasp the rings once more, my Sweet. Pretend that you are bound to them...that you are at my mercy. Pretend that your body is mine to do with as I wish. It's a most erotic frame of mind, don't you think?" I try to smile, but I'm nervous. Will I someday be bound in earnest? Will I enjoy it then, I wonder? But, I do as my Amora has directed, and once more I feel the cool iron of the rings in my grasp. They offer solidity now...security...something to waylay my awkwardness. This time my Goddess raises her leg and begins to straddle my pelvis, her shaven mound pressed intimately against my own. She's wet. Even through my thin covering of pubic hair I can feel her juices blending with mine...a fact that seems apparent to her as well, and pleases her immensely. "So quickly you learn, Little One...how quick to respond. The days ahead will be filled with endless pleasure for both of us, I think." And then, as before, she anoints my body with the fragrant oil, this time massaging it into my nipples, swirling it around my breasts until my eyes close and my hands loosen on the rings above me. I feel her shift then, laying her body atop my own, covering me with her flesh as she presses her lips to mine. A kiss...from a woman. Should I be repulsed? Should I? But somehow I can't find it in myself to deny her even this small intimacy as I feel her tongue probing the yearning opening before her. Slowly it curls, like a living thing, like something with a mind of its own deep within my mouth...and I feel myself responding. She's good...so good. She tastes of chocolate and passion, sweetness and sin, and I fall immediately under her spell. I feel her shift again, sliding her hand lower, between our bodies, foraging insistently within the moist union we have so recently formed. Her fingers probe, swirl, and my lips part in astonishment. She's so unerring, so precise. She knows how to touch me, and where. Perhaps it does indeed take a woman to know how to lead another woman to the pinnacle. Could it be? She continues, her hand drawing me out, driving me maddeningly toward the inevitable, but then she pauses. Oh, please I scream silently. Don't stop...not now! But she does, and I feel her stretching, reaching toward the nightstand. The drawer whispers on will-oiled tracks and she holds something before me...something I've never seen before. It's long, this thing, shaped like the penis of a man but larger. A dildo...a toy, but unlike any I have ever seen. This one is thick, perhaps 2 inches across, and has two heads, one at each end, both of them huge and formidable. It is translucent, and the candlelight filters through it like delicate fingers, but it is the extreme proportions of this monster that overwhelm me the most. It must be all of seventeen inches from one massive end to the other! My eyes open wide, and my lover smiles once more. Wordlessly she draws her tongue against the glistening surface of this weapon, wetting it as she raises her hips above my own. Then, sensuously she closes her eyes, and in a single, fluid motion she imbeds one end into her own moist flesh, deep into her own vagina as I watch in amazement. Here she pauses, slipping it in and out of her body as her juices flow between us. She sighs, a long, drawn-out sound as it penetrates her again and again... and then I feel her hands upon me once more. Leaving this massive totem in place, she parts me, much as she did by the pool, watching with pleasure as my milky fluid oozes before her heated gaze. Again her wandering finger finds my core and she strokes the center of my passion, bringing me to the edge of nirvana. But now the script changes, the plot thickens as I watch her rub my juices on the unused portion of her appendage, the silhouette of which makes her sex appear similar to that of a man. She captures my eyes, and with a quick thrust of her hips she impales me, deeply, with the weapon she bears between her thighs. I gasp...I squirm. Have I ever felt this full before...this tight? It's as though Jesse and his diminutive tool never existed. We are joined now, body to body, sex to sex, fused by a two-headed monster that batters repeatedly within me. My hands loosen their grip, but she lies atop me once more and replaces them at their posts. "Hold tightly, Sweet One...hold fast," she whispers heatedly...and again she thrusts...harder this time. Our bodies now begin to adopt a tempo, an erotic dance of liquid and fire. My flesh warms and I begin to respond, meeting her thrusts with ones of my own, welcoming the growing tension that this moment...this woman has to offer. The friction between us builds, and just when I'm sure I can't stand another moment...another penetrating moment...she reaches between us and touches the spot that sends me into oblivion. I cry out in the night, my body wracked and trembling with an unquenchable urgency beyond anything I've even known. She's like a demon now, hips thrusting, body lunging until, with a final feral cry she collapses atop me, her gasps ruffling my hair, her heart pounding against my breast. Long moments we lay this way, until, finally her renewed strength allows her to roll to one side and slip her rigid tool from my weary flesh and hers. Dreamily she gazes at its surface, a white froth coating either end, no longer the pristine sculpture of moments before. With pleasure she parts her lips, and runs her tongue along the shaft that so recently filled my intimate canal, licking with satisfaction until, with a final motion she pops the knob deep into her throat and sucks the remainder of my juices into her eager mouth. Then, turning it around, she takes her finger and slides it upward along the glistening surface, coating it with her own cream and bearing it toward my lips. "Lick," she directs. "I want you to know what it's like...what I taste like." She presses the slippery digit to my mouth, trailing the milky offering until, like a child trying some new cuisine, I extend my tongue and sample her wares. I am prepared to dislike it instantly, to tolerate it for her sake and hide my feelings as I have for Jesse and the chauffeur...but I find that this time I don't have to. If my flavor is sweet, then hers is like a fine wine, clean with a wildness that reflects her spirit and elan, something that could be bottled by only the finest vineyards. She sees my pleasure and it brings her great joy. "Let me hold you, Little One," she says, dropping the toy between us. "Lie here in my arms, in my embrace until the morning sun warms us with its rays and the gulls are chasing their dreams far out at sea, and then I'll show you the hacienda and tell you the tales of El Capitan." And so we drift off together. Another day passes... and a new life begins. Chapter 5 Day has dawned clear and brilliant over the waking sea. I feel my lover's arms about me yet, as they have been the long night through, as they will be for many nights to come. She stirs, and I feel her fingers trail over my breast once more. "It's late," she says, "We've slept the morning away. You must be starving. I know I am." She places a tiny kiss along my collarbone, then rises to greet the warm rays that creep into our chamber. My body still tingles from her love-making of the night before, and I find myself wishing that it was last night once again. But, there is a time for everything, Amora assures me, and we have all the time in the world. Resignedly, I rise as well and don a thin silk wraparound with a sinfully low neckline that has been laid out on my nightstand for my use, tying it securely about my waist. Has Liza been here in the night, I wonder? Who else would have been so thoughtful with my morning apparel? For Amora, there is a filmy, white confection, a sarong of sorts, clasped high on one shoulder by a massive brooch of turquoise and silver, leaving her left breast with its understated, silver nipple ring gloriously exposed. I see now that we have indeed had company, for out on the terrace a feast of Belgian waffles, still warm and toasty, and an array of fresh fruit with whipped cream awaits. The smell of fresh-ground coffee assails my nostrils, and I find myself at once ravenous and hungering. Our breakfast nook overlooks the white sand beach and the shifting breakers beyond. The breeze is brisk today, but warm, and it swirls sensuously beneath the flap of my dressing gown, caressing my naked flesh in its passing. And then I remember. Today I learn the secrets of El Capitan! Today the shrouds of mystery drop away and all becomes clear. I pluck a ripe strawberry from the basket and listen anxiously for the tale to begin. Amora, on the other hand, refuses to be rushed. With some sort of perverse delight she sips her coffee and gazes out at the whitecaps, prolonging my impatience until I can stand it no longer. "You said you'd tell me today," I remind her timorously. "About the hacienda...don't you remember?" Silently I watch as the very corner of her lip curls upward. She's toying with me, I think. She has a captive audience for her tale, and she knows it. Then finally, abandoning her little game, she turns and runs her hand along my thigh beneath my clothing. "Parts of this place are very old," she begins, "With something of an infamous past. It would take long to tell, but even a beginning is something, don't you think?"