0 comments/ 15037 views/ 1 favorites Tangled Passions Pt. 02 Ch. 23-25 By: Jazz E. XXIII. Jenn looked around. She saw naked writhing bodies; smelled the redolence of sweat and love, sickly sweet in the air; she heard the low inarticulate animal roar of lust. She was both a part of and apart from her surroundings. There was a paradoxical tranquility deep in the throes of group sex. They say drowning is a peaceful way to go. Perhaps she was drowning – smiling into the video camera that so often ran now during the evenings – she felt herself plunging, falling deeper and deeper into strange, uncharted waters. Where Matt had shed his responsibilities with his clothing, Jenn shed her reserve. She cloaked her nakedness in a veil of promiscuity. Yet, it was much more than simple promiscuity. Jenn had a desperate need to know what her earlier life had kept so well hidden. No longer sheltered by the protective shroud of middle-class domesticity, she felt exposed. And with that exposure came desire. She wanted to expose herself to everything – every stimulation and experience that mainstream society had withheld. Now she could decide what, if anything, was too much. She hadn't found any limits yet. Jenn reveled in complete freedom from inhibition; freedom to indulge in every sexual variation, realize every sexual fantasy. In some perverse way, she felt that she had finally found what she had always been looking for – something to satisfy that indefinite but persistent longing; something to fill that vague emptiness. She had an odd feeling that it had been a mistake that she – they – hadn't been doing this before. As much as she didn't understand, she allowed her own feelings of gratification to carry her along further and further into the labyrinth of sexual adventures – sexual domination and submission. Lisa had been rushed and on edge after class. She hadn't allowed them time to shower, rushing both Jenn and herself back to the apartment. However, the moment they had got in and closed the door, she pushed Jenn roughly to the floor. "Get your clothes off," she ordered. There was an edge of impatience colouring the passion in her voice. Within moments, following a violent whirlwind of Spandex clothing, Jenn found herself lying on the carpet with Lisa pinching her nipples, pulling her labia and licking the sweat from her. A climax was forcefully ripped from Jenn’s body. Only in the breathless aftermath of her own spending could she begin to concentrate on servicing Lisa – serving out the slow, relentless stimulation that invariably, eventually brought Lisa to orgasm, without the interference of Jenn’s own arousal. Lisa was admittedly egocentric. She had often declared that she wanted Jenn's undivided attention. At times, they would find it necessary to stop midway, just to get Jenn's next orgasm out of the way, before proceeding with Lisa's. "Sometimes," Lisa said impatiently, while sitting on Jenn, holding Jenn's head to her bush, "your hands just seem to be a bother.” She pushed Jenn's hands away from her super-sensitive nipples. “Maybe we should tie them out of the way." At that, Lisa jumped off and pulled some silk scarves out of the bedside drawer. Still recovering from her own orgasm, Jenn passively allowed Lisa to arrange her on the bed, and fasten both her wrists to the corner posts. But once done, Lisa began mercilessly arousing Jenn's clitoris. Inevitably, Jenn's legs began to writhe involuntarily. “Will you stay still?” Lisa scolded. “I can’t,” Jenn whimpered in reply. “That’s it then!” There was obviously a need to secure her ankles. Jenn watched dreamily as Lisa tied her ankles to the bed’s lower corners. Stroking Jenn’s sopping sex, Lisa repeatedly brought her to the very precipice before pulling back and demanding an orgasm of her own first. She rode to climax after climax on Jenn's face, sometimes allowing Jenn a release in between, sometimes not. From that point on bondage became, if not a regular, then a frequent part of their day. Lisa became very proficient at tying the passively cooperative Jenn to a bed. Presently a routine developed; Jenn, strapped spread-eagle on the bed, was aroused mercilessly. Repeatedly teasing her to the edge of orgasm with fingers, feathers, vibrators and balms, Lisa would suddenly stop and demand oral tribute, lowering herself, frontwards or backwards, onto Jenn's face. Other times she would just sit back to study the situation; still other times she would actually leave the room. Jenn would cry out piteously for what seemed to her hours, sometimes to no avail. “Would you be quiet in there?” Lisa called from the other room. “You’re squalling like a spoiled baby.” Jenn tried to stifle her complaints, dropping her entreaties to a hoarse whisper. Still, on the pretense that she was making far too much noise, Lisa rolled an extra silken scarf and tied it around Jenn’s head, effectively gagging her. During subsequent sessions, Lisa would do this immediately after her own orally affected orgasm. It had come about so fast. Suddenly they were right into it, and, although she wouldn't initially admit it to herself, Jenn soon relished the helplessness of her own bondage. Essential bondage had transcended effortlessly into the physical realm. Once again, Lisa secured Jenn to the bed, this time, however, with cuffs and matching anklets she had recently added to their regalia. Thick laminated black leather, they were about two inches wide, with large D-rings integrated opposite the strong stainless buckles that were riveted securely, fastening on the outside. Only the padded inside surface, covered with supple suede, touched the skin. They fit firmly but not uncomfortably, and fastened easily to sprung hooks at the end of the tie-downs attached inconspicuously to the corner posts of the bed. The collar that came with the set was virtually the same as the cuffs and anklets except that it had rings on either side as well as at the front, opposite the buckle. “It’s just for the aesthetic completion of the outfit,” Lisa explained as she fastened it. Something about the fitted leather appliances excited Jenn at a base level. She was almost embarrassed by her delight. To say she got used to them immediately was an understatement. “They’re actually a lot more comfortable than the scarves,” she rationalized with herself. Then, firmly secured to the bed, Jenn watched appreciatively as Lisa presented her with a studded leather and rubber buckled ball gag. Jenn was ecstatic. Something – some primitive emotion or feeling – something she didn’t understand deep within her psyche suddenly glowed bright. Even so, some more objective part of her mind considered the bizarre strangeness of the situation as Lisa fitted the device. How could she be so thrilled with such a frightening, perverse object? How did she get herself into this? And she wasn't just accepting it, she loved it. Oh, what a tangled web we weave. Occasionally Lisa left Jenn bound and gagged all night, tormenting her now and then by bringing her to the edge of a climax and abandoning her – again and again, throughout the night. Of course, other times she would just masturbate Jenn continuously, bringing her to dozens of nonstop orgasms. Along with the accessories of submission Jenn, it seemed, had donned a hungry willingness. In many ways, she was as much perpetrator as victim in their apparent oppression. Lisa had only to say, "Get on the bed!" and Jenn would feel the let down of juices in her sex. Unable to wait for Lisa's order, Jenn whispered, "Tie me." “Oh, aren’t we impatient?” Lisa replied with a sinister tinge. Without another word she tied and gagged Jenn, then proceeded to bring her to the very edge of orgasm and keep her teetering there for a few minutes. Then, abruptly she left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Tied and gagged, eyes wide, thighs quivering, Jenn waited and waited. But Lisa didn't return until late the next morning. The unrelieved, unrelievable frustration of the night, compounded by a full bladder in the morning, was excruciating. Standing at the foot of the bed, Lisa surveyed her victim, listening to Jenn’s desperate moans around the gag. “I hope you’ve learned something tonight. Goodness knows what you’ll be denied if you ever ask again.” Thrilling in its own torturous way, it was not an experience Jenn was eager to repeat. For a while, their forays into the world of bondage remained theirs alone. During communal sex, their relationship stayed one of gentle curves as opposed to kinks. Jenn knew she still had a lot to learn, a long way to go. It was where she would be when she got there that was never too clear, but, for now at least, the thrill lay in the journey. The orgies – parties with their endless parade of cocks and cunts, ever varying, ever the same, consumed two or three nights most weeks. Why they hadn't yet tired of it was beyond Jenn, but she hadn't. She luxuriated in a sea of eroticism and sensuality. It was Erica Jong's zipless fuck to the Nth degree. It continued to be wonderful. Left again, bound and gagged and highly arouse, Jenn lay alone with only her thoughts. Lisa had disappeared for what seemed like a very long time. “Not the whole night, please,” Jenn worried, running the evening over in her head. Had she done something to raise Lisa's wrath? She couldn't think of what she might have done wrong; of course, maybe she hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe this was just something else – another lesson. When Lisa finally returned she had with her, to Jenn's admittedly irrational horror, another woman. They talked in the room as if Jenn wasn't there; talked about her as if she couldn't hear; then the visitor, whom Jenn could not remember ever having met, walked to the bed and proceeded to bring her to multiple climaxes while Lisa just sat and watched. Being able to see Lisa sitting so demurely only served to heighten Jenn's excitement. Mewing around the gag, she tensed and relaxed her limbs against their bonds, flopping her head from side to side as the sensations peaked. "She comes very easily, doesn't she?" the woman remarked, wiping her face on the proffered towel. "That is sometimes a mixed blessing." With that, Lisa and the stranger left the room, leaving Jenn to ponder the significance of the stranger and her cryptic parting remark. It had been simply an initiation into a new aspect of her life, Jenn was soon to discover. For in the days and weeks that followed, they were visited under the same circumstances by lots of different women, many of whom Jenn knew or recognized. Always bound when they arrived, Jenn was initially treated as she had been the first time – without any direct communication. They would eat her out or work her with a large dildo, until she was gushing and writhing. If her gasping and whimpering and tossing became too much for the author of her response, the woman would, without a word to Jenn, stab her with a double ended phallus and, baring her own sex, climb aboard to ride to an orgasm of her own. One, as often as not, Jenn would share. Gradually, however, the loose routine changed as they first spoke to her, then, bit by bit, began to loose her bonds. First it was Agnes, who, after drawing several orgasms from Jenn, could stand no more herself and removed the gag to lower herself onto Jenn's eager mouth. Slowly others followed suit. "Here, let me undo these so you can pull your knees up," "Do me with your fingers." The straps had done their job. Jenn had learned her lesson. She remained motionless on the bed whether the bonds had been released or not, and only moved in response to specific instruction. Again, the odd, perverse thrill of essential bondage – again and again. Lisa had a small tattoo, red with a blue outline, on her left breast. It was a very dainty heart. Not until one got very close did it reveal the inside detail. It was in fact, a heart with a leering fanged mouth. Jenn was fascinated, and admitted that she had often toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo. "A little surprise for Matt," she said quietly, suddenly saddened by his absence from her life. "Maybe I should get one, for when he comes back, eh?" she said, almost to herself. She wasn't sure if he ever would, now. Lisa just smiled. Only days later, they were in the tattoo parlour looking at possible designs. Jenn suggested getting a small butterfly on her shoulder. “Oh, Jenn,” Lisa pooh-poohed, “really! That’d be entirely too commonplace for you – the new you. You need something with some sting to it.” “Like what?” “Oh, I don’t know. How ‘bout ‘BONDAGE BABE’?” “You’re kidding?” Jenn looked at her friend and mistress incredulously. “Well,” Lisa admitted, “maybe that’s a bit over the top. But what…?” After more discussion, Jenn was convinced to get the words ‘LOVE HURTS’ inscribed high up on her inner thigh. She was embarrassed but thrilled to lie in her skimpy panties on the table for the ex-biker artist. It seemed to be all one to him, but it was the smiles she exchanged with Lisa, standing there watching, that promised excitement later. It had all started out as an adventure but it had become something of an obsession, and finally, effectively, an addiction. But Jenn was not only addicted to the thrill of the forbidden, she found herself becoming addicted to the orgasms – her multiple, multiple orgasms. Sometimes her life seemed to be just one continuous orgasm. It became apparent that this was more than pleasure-centre association; it was pleasure-centre dependency. And like any addiction, she found she needed more and more to satisfy her craving; it became harder and harder to sate her desire. Having turned down work too often, she was no longer called. It was just as well. Her whole existence was spent in anticipation or pursuit of sexual charging and sexual release. At some point Jenn casually let it out that she had only had anal intercourse with Matt a few times. "An almost virgin dirt chute?" Lisa declared, "That's no good." She paused before pointing out, "The anus is, you know, generally speaking, the most sadly neglected erogenous zone." Leaving Jenn with a leering wink, Lisa went about her business. Jenn thought about why she had withheld that aspect of her body from Matt. In light of her new and progressively bizarre –perverse – experiences, such moral reluctance seemed rather pointless. All things considered, now it was basically a question of 'sheep or lambs'. Over the next relatively short era of Jenn's ever-changing existence, Lisa began, not infrequently, to position or tie Jenn face down, with a pillow beneath her hips. In that presentation, Lisa could, and did, start introducing phalluses to Jenn's backside. Initially pressing small, slim vibrators against Jenn's puckered rose until it just began to give way, Lisa inexorably, over a few weeks, increased the size and pressure of the assaults until she could satisfactorily insert the large double ender into Jenn's ass and ride it herself to orgasm. The novel sensations that emanated from her plugged rectum and stretched anus were very soon assimilated into Jenn's repertoire of delights. Inevitably her penchant for butt-bucking, as they called it, became known to their inner circle of women friends and Jenn's backside became a source of pleasure for many of them. Alone together, Jenn's relationship with Lisa was forever dynamic. Jenn realized that while they were at home – Lisa’s home –Lisa treated her more and more like a slave; the beneficent mistress, giving orders, setting tasks. “Do this.” “Get that.” “Bend over.” The adventure continued; to Jenn, it was still part of an interesting game – and perhaps it still was. She played along in any case. Naked, or just clad in a garter belt and a choker necklace – suggestively submissive – or, more often, wearing only her leather accouterment, Jenn served food and drink to Lisa, drew her bath, laid out her clothes, made the bed, and performed any other menial task that Lisa required of her. Jenn wasn't sure why she allowed herself to be treated like a common servant. She wasn't sure how her sense of dignity, her sense of self tolerated it, yet she never balked or complained. She acquiesced to all Lisa's demands without hesitation. It was all part of the fun, part of the thrill. Presently Lisa took to dictating Jenn's attire – what to wear, what not to wear, and when. So Jenn wore, at Lisa's insistence, even out in public – especially out in public – tights with open or split gussets at the crotch under short skirts or baggy culottes. When she wasn't braless, she wore push-up half cups or peek-a-boo bras. Lisa explained, "I want you, not just to be ever accessible, but to feel ever accessible, as well." And, as if to constantly remind her of her openness, Lisa's hand, surreptitiously stroked between Jenn's legs, unexpectedly – any time, any place – invariably arousing her. It was a welcome invasion Jenn could never quite get used to. Although she came to expect, even anticipate Lisa's fingers burrowing suddenly up into her cleft at virtually any moment, Jenn was always surprised when the assault came. It always took her breath away. But before Jenn got too used to Lisa's fingers, Lisa began inserting a small vibrator or electric Be-Wa balls into Jenn's cunt or sometimes up her bum, just before an excursion to the mall or the library. Reminiscent of incidents – experiences from early in their relationship – health balls in Chinatown and Mexican restaurants came to mind – Jenn still found this very public stimulation mortifying yet delicious. Lisa would activate whichever device she had implanted at whatever inopportune moment she chose, then just watch Jenn attempt to deal with her orgasm in whatever public place had been chosen. Easing her hand up between Jenn's thighs, Lisa lightly twiddled Jenn’s clit, while they stood in the lingerie, ostensibly discussing underwear. Lisa skillfully moved Jenn’s arousal inexorably toward crisis. Removing her fingers slowly from beneath the short skirt as they approached the sales desk Lisa reached for the battery pack and controller, conveniently located in Jenn’s back pocket and nonchalantly activated the vibrating egg just as Jenn was about to be served. Stepping back in a detached sort of way, she watched, once again, Jenn wrestle with her self-control as intense waves of pleasure washed over her helpless companion. “So,” she demanded, later in the afternoon, “what did you think of that? And what about that poor young clerk.” Lisa took some perverse pleasure in talking about witnesses. “She thought you were having some sort of seizure. Did you see the look she gave you? Maybe one day you’ll have to explain what is happening – to them all.” With that she laughed, before adding with an intense seriousness, “Tell me – what did it really feel like?” Lisa always wanted Jenn to describe the sensation. These were obviously lessons in humiliation. Jenn slowly understood that she was being taught to abandon her pride or her shame; nonetheless, she felt a kind of pride as she overcame each hurdle, every mortification Lisa arranged for her. In confronting her humility, surrendering her will, Jenn was discovering more abstract strengths within herself than she'd ever imagined existed. She uncovered monuments to her uniqueness, to her individuality – hidden in the back alleys and cul-de-sacs of her being – her id. To be submissive and compliant, Jenn realized, was a path to absolute self-awareness. And whether this was profound truth or rationalization, it was the reason Jenn continued to let herself be led passively who knew where. Keeping up a relentless pressure of demands and expectations, Lisa seemed to be forever looking to for ways to keep Jenn off balance. It was with a strength of silent rebellion, that Jenn tried – and usually succeeded – to contain and control any surprise at or reaction to Lisa's suggestions. Her compliance was more the result of inner fortitude than weakening spirit. She complied nevertheless. At Lisa's insistence, Jenn submitted for periods of several days at a time over the course of a few weeks, to keeping her rectum plugged at all times, except, of course, when nature required relief. The procedure would make dildos, especially the double ender, easier to accommodate and more comfortable, Lisa told Jenn. Not that she had ever complained, Jenn thought to herself. Starting with a thin phallic shaped bung, she was re-threaded every couple of days until she, at last, held a six inch tree shaped cone affair that was four inches in diameter at the widest point and about an inch and a half at the shaft. In this way her anus was stretched making her ass much more accessible. The loosening would be permanent as long as she was frequently exercised there. Jenn never questioned why. She merely went along with Lisa's wishes; choosing, once more, to be an accomplice in her own corruption. She knew it, but so what? And she wondered, yet again, if there wasn't some deeper, darker meaning behind all this – some end, which she could not see. Unwilling – and, perhaps unable – to wait, she rushed towards her unknown destiny like an arrow. Tangled Passions Pt. 02 Ch. 23-25 Serving Lisa's breakfast, as the morning sun peeked around a more easterly building to filter through the thin curtains, causing a muted dappling on the wall, Jenn was made suddenly aware of her white nakedness by a single sunbeam that shot over a corner of the curtain and danced brightly across her shoulder as she moved past the drapes. "It's too bad we always have to keep the curtains closed." Jenn felt an unexplainable longing to have the morning sunlight wash her clean. "Actually, I don’t suppose we do," Lisa replied, moving to the cord to draw them open. A flood of blinding sunlight seemed to fill the room, encompassing Jenn's nudity in a fiery brilliance, highlighting by contrast her leather collar, her cuffs and anklets. "There!" Lisa drew her thin gown about her before reaching out to draw Jenn fully before the window, into the light. Jenn closed her eyes to let the sun bathe her face. Without even looking, she could somehow feel anonymous eyes – other residents standing out in the glorious morning light, glancing down or across – probing her nakedness, pondering her accessories. "What about the neighbours?" Jenn whispered, as Lisa grip effectively kept her from moving. "I could care less, about the neighbours," Lisa snapped in a tone of insolence, her grip tightening almost imperceptibly on Jenn. "Couldn't..." Jenn quietly and automatically corrected, immediately regretting opening her mouth. "What?" Lisa regarded her suspiciously, letting her grip relax and fall from Jenn. "Couldn't," Jenn muttered self-consciously, "You couldn't care less." She raised her eyes to look at Lisa's mildly confused, or perhaps amused face. "If you could care less," she stumbled on, "then you must have given it at least some degree of importance, which..." Lisa's look had subtly changed to one of disbelief. Jenn stopped. "Considering your present role, my dear," Lisa placidly advised, "you would be wise to stay more in character. Remember who and what you currently are. Nobody expects or wants the school teacher in you to emerge during these times." Jenn saw the implicit warning being made even before Lisa worded it plainly. "It will never be the place of a submissive to correct her mistress – or master." XXIV. Jenn hadn't slept in her own bed for the better part of a month. Ever since Matt had departed, it hadn't really felt right – it hadn't really felt like her bed. Something was missing of course, and there didn't seem any way to replace it. Lisa never actually fit in there. Neither she nor Jenn ever really felt especially comfortable sharing that bed. Jenn had hardly heard from Matt for the better part of a year. It had been easy to desert her cold empty bed for the welcoming warmth of Lisa's, despite the 'small print' conditions that accompanied it. She had kept up a pretense of sleeping at home for months, and during that time, after her rapid plunge into bisexuality, Jenn had prepared a letter for Matt, on the long chance that he should actually return home unannounced. She had written a small perfumed note card, rather melodramatically, professing her undying love. She had also made up a video tape montage to prepare him – or something – she wasn't really sure why? Both the note and the cassette were placed conspicuously on the entry hall table with a vase of silk flowers. Now, much later, she checked them and rearranged the presentation any time she stopped back home. She knew that she would not be there when he returned, yet, somehow, she had become certain, in the past few weeks, that he would return sooner or later. She always made sure the condo was left clean and tidy, although she could never quite disperse the sad air of abandonment. The card referred to the accompanying video cassette on which, so the note said, he would learn of a phone number at which, if her cellular was not on – it rarely was nowadays – he could reach her or leave a message. She would, said the note, come to him as soon as humanly possible. When she first put the montage together, and later, the couple times that she reviewed it, she smiled at the thought of his reaction. He would read the note, then, his curiosity piqued, play the tape. Wouldn't he be surprised as the compilation of ever-raunchier clips from blue movies unfolded? Then again, maybe he wouldn't. Still, she knew his mouth would gape when he saw himself in full colour degradation, and his jaw would stay slack as he caught glimpses of her, the little woman, his middle-class wife, in wild, wild cuts of unrestrained group sex. Matt did eventually return home. And, as she had expected, Jenn hadn't been there. When the call at last came, she had to smile to herself thinking of him watching the video, copying the number down, staring at the phone for how long before he got up the nerve to call? She was pressed sweatily amidst two guys and another girl, basking in the afterglow of yet another climax. "Is there no limit?" she pondered once again. In the middle of it all, among the contorted grimaces of orgasm, a wisp of a smile touched her lips. “I feel like the Everyready Bunny with its batteries in backwards.” The thought seemed almost random. “I just keep coming and coming and coming!” The noise in the room had died just enough, coincidentally, for her to hear the message as it was being left. "Uh, hi. I'd like to find... to get hold of – or leave a message for my – uh – for Jenny, er, Jenn Anderson. If she could call me at home – the condo – uh – I'll wait for her to call. It's her... It's Matt. Uh. Thanks." It surprised her that, even then, that voice, that wonderfully recognizable voice, that soothing, almost pathetic voice could stir such a tingling in her core. "My husband," she gasped almost inaudibly, jumping up and disentangling herself from her partners. "I've got to go!" Suddenly she felt like a child going to see Santa. She almost didn't shower, but decided in the middle of pulling on her clothes that she'd better as she was literally dripping with bodily fluids and lubricants – her own and others'. "Are you all right?" Lisa asked, leaning nonchalantly against the bathroom doorframe, having disengaged herself when she saw Jenn suddenly flee. Concern edged her question, or was it a little bit of asperity? "Couldn't be better," Jenn almost sang as she danced towards the shower, stopping for only a moment to force her tongue as far down Lisa's throat as she could. "Love you too," she chirped. "You're not leaving, are you?" Besides the air of disbelief, there was a touch of fear in Lisa's voice – a touch of vulnerability. At one level, Jenn was sorry. Suddenly – unexpectedly, their positions had reversed. It was Jenn who seemed to wield the power, at that moment, at least; and she fully understood that Lisa might be feeling a little scared – just a little betrayed. But that was a problem Jenn couldn't possibly deal with right now. She felt so full of some undefined joy that she could almost burst, and she wasn't about to let anything sully it. "I'll be back, silly." She couldn't think of anything else to say that wouldn't take less than three or four hours, so she just smiled, kissed her fingers before touching them to Lisa's nose, then hopped into the hot spray. After a shower that was hardly more than a wetting, she donned a dress and shoes – that's all – and grabbed her purse. Breezing through the still writhing crowd, she gave a general bye and left quickly. Luckily her cell was still charged, so she placed a quick call home as she drove – and once again, it was 'home' –. He answered on the first ring, sounding dazed and confused. Although she wanted so much to talk with him right away, she simply said, "Don't move. I'll be right there." She got home and found him still sitting beside the phone. In retrospect, she saw that she had told him not to move. He probably hadn't even realized how literally he took it. He was momentarily unsure of his welcome, but her hugs and kisses and coos and tears showed him where he stood. Her thinly covered breasts, still impossibly perky for a woman of her age, were comforting against his chest; her nipples boring into him were welcoming. They carried on like the lost lovers they were. They screwed right there on the floor. He was most impressed with her attire – or lack thereof. The sex was adequate but both realized that adequate was hardly satisfactory. Despite the growing ease with which she could respond to sensual stimulation, Matt was still her husband – the man with whom she had grown to adulthood, the father of her deceased children. Something in that realization prevented Jenn from achieving her sexual apogee with him. Some residue of respectability still tethered her and kept her from reaching her upper limits – attaining the new heights – the complete abandon that highlighted her sexual response with others. Hence, it was nowhere near the standards they were, by then, expecting from sex. However, if the sex was disappointing, it was more than made up for by the contact. The marital bond renewed was wonderful – wonderfully calming, soothing. They both became, for a long time, tranquil, entranced. In a haze of content exhaustion, they made their way to bed. And it was, however temporarily, once again, their bed. They snuggled in, their naked bodies fitting smoothly together like puzzle pieces, the tactile memory untarnished by their separation. Then they began to talk and they talked for hours and hours. Without feeling the need for detail, yet wanting to be completely open, Matt told of his short, intense affair with Dara. In generalities, he told Jenn about The Club – his initiation, his acceptance and employment. Jenn told him about how Lisa had taken her on a journey from aerobics to blossoming self-awareness. They both spoke in loose terms about the roles they played – their submissive persona, and they laughed at the general similarities of their positions. Their talking was interspersed with cuddling and kissing. Jenn felt the physical contact warming to the very depths of her soul; she suspected, by his responses, that Matt felt the same. They dozed from time to time, secure within their spousal arms. Still, the few attempts at sex were mostly unsatisfactory to both. Even though, once she regained the familiar ease of being with Matt, Jenn could again climax almost at will – and did repeatedly – they were pleasantly mild orgasms, much tamer than she had come to know. The peaks lacked the intensity that she gotten used to – or at least come to expect, for could she ever get used to those soaring heights? They lacked the shock wave intensity and the keen edge of raw emotion, indeed, as much as they were climaxes, they were mostly drab and almost colourless. And after the initial one, Matt's orgasms were only gained by hard perseverance. Each time, he was usually willing to stop after Jenn had come once or twice. Matt was interested but not all that surprised when he discovered Jenn's tattoo. He seemed to accept it as more or less inevitable. It was, to him, an undeniable truth. He was still undecided about his future – his course of action, although a decision had really already been made through months of indecision. Still, Matt was so confused that he couldn't really even see what his choices were anymore. Jenn felt so sorry for him. As baffling as it sometimes was, her way seemed so much clearer. Jenn knew that Matt still looked for ways to blame himself for everything. Although he ascribed the changes he had undergone – was undergoing – as a search for self and a search for meaning – even though he had said, though not in so many words, that he was driven to his current extremes by a need for self-gratification, Jenn suspected – more than suspected – intuitively knew that it was much more a form of self-inflicted punishment than a quest for the ultimate thrill. He had actually said to her once – long ago – that, perhaps, if he'd been a better father or a better person the girls would still be alive. Although Jenn thought that she might even understand where Matt was coming from, she was much more realistic – in that regard, at least. She knew that nothing, absolutely nothing she could have done, nothing she could have foreseen could have saved their daughters. No one could have anticipated their tragic fate. Jenn was determined that she would, in no way, ever shoulder that blame herself. It wasn't her fault; it wasn't anyone's fault. Where Matt saw it as a personal failing, Jenn interpreted it as just one more proof that, as the old song says, "We're here for a good time, not a long time." When Matt had first left, exposing the vulnerable belly of her being, Jenn realized that the wound left by her children had never actually healed. She still suffered, if subtly and indirectly, from the loss of an integral part of her soul. But unlike Matt, she would not let the hole – the void – consume her. She slowly began to fill it with novel experiences and previously unknown delights. More and more, as she progressed deeper and deeper into the uncharted waters of self-gratification, she saw the tragedy as just another justification of hedonism. Enjoy living while you can because mere existence is incredibly fragile and tenuous. "Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first," she would often remind herself. And this was her dessert. So, as Matt had become more complaisantly bisexual, Jenn had become increasingly – what? – omnisexual. She delighted in, thrived on all manner of sex. Her thirst for thrill and her lust for sensuality were becoming more difficult to merely satisfy, more complex. She was loath to let anything – especially anything as plebeian as popular morals – impede her in her quest for sexual fulfillment. Jenn and Matt talked the whole next day; not leaving the condo, not getting dressed, they drifted among the bedroom, the kitchen and the living room. The phone rang but they, neither one, made a move to answer it or check on the message. They drank only a little wine, preferring to stay clear headed; it was much too important – the information they shared. Jenn realized that they had never been so open with each other – never exposed so much of themselves before. As darkness brought their second night together, the torrent of confession and explanation slowed. Climbing once again into their marriage bed, they welcomed the warm comfort of familiarity, and when they finally slept in each other’s arms, they curled together and lay still, in an envelope of peace and security. The mutuality of their feelings was a sort of codependence that bordered on symbiosis. They needed each other; not for sex or protection, but for the ease and comfort they provided simply with their presence. Jenn slept more soundly than she had in months. They seemed to wake together, and, still holding one another, spoke softly of the architecture of their love. It was Matt who suggested – Jenn agreed – that they had very nearly achieved the perfect love, yet they were becoming more distant in terms of complementary sex – they were caught in a convergence/divergence paradox. Knowing that their love was as strong, indeed, stronger than ever, they knew they would remain married and occasionally share a bed. But it was painfully obvious that their conjugal sex was far too mild – almost insipid – for their acquired tastes. Their relationship had, it seemed, transcended sex; it was essential – ethereal. So what if their carnality no longer meshed? It wasn't really necessary. Occasional contact – hugs and kisses, that was all they required physically from one another. Love or lust – both need to be acute to be worthwhile. They were acutely in love; they would continue to satisfy their respective lustings elsewhere. After a second full day together Jenn felt that she understood Matt better than she ever had. Without the pressures of physical need obscuring things, she could see him, and possibly herself, clearer than ever. They resolved to return to their respective groups, their respective lives. Satisfied that their relationship, though decidedly unconventional, had just managed, despite the uncertainty of their situations, to grow stronger, and given the new assurances of mutual respect and freedom – they could throw themselves back into their orgies and debauches with renewed vigor. Still, a faintly echoing sadness filled Jenn's heart as she watched Matt walk out the door again. He had promised to keep in touch this time, though, and she knew he would. He said he would drop by the condo now and then, and leave messages for her. They could keep the odd date, she suggested, and he agreed, though nothing definite was set up. Then he was gone. While she was confident she would see him again, Jenn still sat and stared out the window as the aching emptiness dissipated. Then she lifted the phone to call Lisa. It had been less than forty hours, yet Jenn felt a little apprehensive, just a little strange. "Hi!" she said, with more alacrity than she felt. Lisa's voice was filled with icy suspicion, but Jenn soldiered on. "Matt's gone again. Can you come over? I'd like to tell you about it – about us, Matt and me." She was straight up – no submission, no role-playing, just a friend in need of a friend. There was welcome relief in Lisa's reply. "Sure. Now?" A warm melancholy swirled through Jenn. Time enough to put the costumes back on; time enough to get back into character – dominance and submission, mistress and slave. "Yeah," she smiled, "see you soon." XXV. How they heard about it, through what channels such news traveled, Jenn didn't know, but several of their acquaintances found out about a 'private club' being born in the West End, looking for charter members. Some of them, those who could afford it, had already quietly joined up. They told Lisa who took Jenn for a visit to check it out having first made an appointment by phone. It had previously been an obscure little club, situated inconspicuously beneath another successful nightclub on Davie Street, just off Burrard. It had stood empty for several years, being used only occasionally as an overflow room for the club above. The owners of the upstairs nightclub, which was of a definite gay bent, owned the building, and if they knew anything of what was planned, indeed, what had already begun to go on in their tenants' premises beneath, they said nothing. As Jenn and Lisa slipped between buildings to find the discreet door on the alley, Lisa took Jenn’s arm and held her close. “Listen,” she whispered, “serious evaluation is needed here, eh? So we’ll just set our chosen roles aside for the moment, know what I mean?” Jenn nodded mutely. “I’m serious, Jenn.” Jenn thought it strange, but Lisa seemed to be almost pleading. “I want your real opinion about this place. Not, for Christ’s sake, just what you think I want to hear. Okay?” “Okay,” Jenn whispered. She wasn’t actually sure of just how much cloak she wished to throw off – how much of herself she wished to bare. But she’d take note of everything, that was a given. When they were greeted at the door Jenn stood back demurely and deferred to Lisa anyway. Their comprehensive tour was a rather close inspection of the entire facility. The plain black door, which gave no indication of the activity within, opened into a long dark hallway that ran to a central foyer. As much as it was a basement suite, it seemed reasonably expansive with several rooms out the back and a large lounge area in the front. The lounge was finished in dark stained oak paneling halfway up the walls, with an old-style patterned fabric wallpaper – a subtle geometry on a dark dusty-rose background. The sidewalk level windows were painted black, and covered on the inside with thick muffling curtains. The room was furnished with solid coffee tables of the same dark oak as the paneling, and chairs and couches upholstered in either burgundy leather or velvet of the same hue. Several sensual nude paintings hung on the walls, and old fashioned freestanding boudoir mirrors stood in the corners – waiting. A couple large chests sat near chairs, more or less in place of tables. “Judicious storage for various toys, restraints and other paraphernalia,” their host explained. There was a good-sized, well-stocked bar at one end of the lounge. Amongst the bottles, behind the bar, hung a rack of leather tack – collars and cuffs, straps and buckles, tawses and paddles. Jenn and Lisa immediately loved it; notwithstanding its recent inception, it oozed a sort of old, well used comfort with its low ceilings and dim elegance. And despite the forbidden quality of its atmosphere, the air of quiet danger and adventure, it felt somehow safe – insulated against the outside world – the real world. Tangled Passions Pt. 02 Ch. 23-25 After a hastily whispered consultation, Lisa applied for membership for herself and Jenn – mainly just blood test results and contacts. The owners knew Lisa by reputation so references and sponsorship weren't necessary; so Lisa, and Jenn by association, were readily accepted and welcomed. Jenn paid the somewhat excessive initiation fees, designed to, besides provide capital, ensure exclusivity. Jenn also arranged for the monthly dues through pre-authorized debits. Within days they were full privileged members, coming and going as they pleased. Although there were some new faces – new bodies – most were familiar from one event or another. The sweat and semen would be the same as always; just the venue had changed. Lisa's apartment slipped back into the domain of private, peaceful trysts, and, like Jenn and Matt's condo, became more a sanctuary than a playground. On the other hand, their new association provided activities and opportunities into which they virtually immersed themselves. Jenn was a puppet at the hands of her mentor and lover. She was given no say in decisions, no chance to protest, and no room to balk. It was that external direction of her life that she increasingly cherished. Once again, she exercised her strength and pride in her ability to completely comply – her total submission. Although some members called the establishment Circus, in reference to The Retinal Circus, a club run in the same premises around nineteen seventy, and others favoured Elegance, in reference to The Elegant Parlour, a club operating there during the early sixties – a Vancouver celebrity, who went on to become something of a minor star in the American entertainment world, was rumoured to have been the proprietor all those years earlier – it became officially called Celebration. Up until that point, other than the odd playful slap, there had not been any corporal punishment administered in the group – at least not to Jenn's knowledge. And that was just fine with her. Lesley's thrashings, described so graphically in both the self-titled book and Gardens of the Night, as wall as, to a lesser degree, O's ordeals in the chateau at Roissy, seemed to Jenn to have gone far beyond the realm of eroticism – much too far into the world of pain and terror; sadistically cruel rather than stimulating. Consequently, Jenn felt her ardor cool slightly at the early introduction of discipline – a euphemism for thrashing – at Celebration. Still, if it came as a mandatory part of the package, she knew that she would be forced to embrace it; forced, she knew too, by her own desire, her own willingness, her own abandon; not by pressures outside of herself. And in that case, virtually anything would be tolerable. Lisa and Jenn had been invited, among others, to witness, what Jenn considered, a rather severe whipping in the one of the back rooms. Two of the four back rooms were eclectically furnished old English parlours, with several heavy chairs – some upholstered, some bare; a few tables of various heights and sizes; a single leather divan; odd freestanding mirrors and lamps; and a collection of bureaus and cabinets. The other two rooms were dominated by large four-poster beds. Comfortable leather chairs were placed around the beds, and a dresser stocked with make-up and drink stood against the wall. The head of the bed was flanked by two three-drawer end tables. Both bedrooms were colourfully decorated with draped mirrors abounding. Their subdued lighting could be accented by the high intensity halogen lamps that stood in the corners. It was into one of the parlours that Lisa and Jenn followed the group of perhaps ten others. Lisa sat in one of the chairs that had been arranged in rows, and directed Jenn to sit at her feet. The victim was a exceedingly submissive, effeminate guy of maybe thirty-five or forty – Jenn's age, more or less. He was strapped over the back of a chair, and gagged, then whipped mercilessly; first with a long thick single strand bullwhip, then with a cat-o'-nine-tails type of thing, then with a switch or riding crop and finally with a perforated paddle. The whipper was a large black American of about twenty-five. His southern baritone drawl growled slowly when he spoke. He proceeded under the direction of an older grey-haired woman who sat nearby and watched with studied interest. Midway through the black man had to strip to the waist as the sweat ran from him in streams. The victim’s buttocks and thighs changed from white to red striped to mottled mauve to deep purple over the course of the ordeal. Blood oozed up in dotted lines, as the beating stopped long enough to revive the victim before continuing. Interesting at first, maybe even very slightly arousing, Jenn soon found the scene disquieting. Her distaste changed to horror as the brutality seemed to go on interminably. She tried to look away when she thought she could stand it no more, but a sharp command from Lisa brought her reluctant eyes back to the savagery. After it was over, back in Lisa's bed for the night, Jenn could hold back no longer. "That was horrible, Lisa. More than horrible, horrifying. How could they do that to him?" Lisa pulled her close and whispered into her hair, "A chaque son gout – to each his own. He engaged them to do that, my dear." Jenn could hardly believe it. "But they went so far. They killed all the eroticism. It was just plain sadism." "Masochism," Lisa corrected. "Please, don't…" Jenn wasn't sure exactly how to phrase it. She could see that there may be some merit to a little reasonable discipline, but surely what they had just seen went way, way too far. "I don't like the idea of that sort of ritualistic whipping, I mean, is it really necessary? It's sort of the antithesis of what we're really seeking, isn't it? I couldn't ever go that far over the line, you know what I mean?" "I understand." Lisa nuzzled, before adding, quietly, "Don't worry, I can't see us ever going that far." Shivering in her disturbing preoccupation, Jenn pondered. "It's weird. Still, I guess you never know until you try. Not," she added quickly, "that I'm anxious to try." Lisa apparently respected Jenn's apprehensions, for it was some time before anything remotely resembling corporal punishment insinuated itself into their scenes. Initially it was just a slap to increase her sensitivity – to promote stimulation. Jenn had been taken quite by surprise by the first sharp smacks placed high on each inner thigh, but the sting was very brief and they set her thighs sparkling. The echoes made her upper legs quiver. Later, the isolated slaps progressed to bona fide spankings. Bare open hands quickly became wooden paddles colouring her cheeks bright red during the short but intense periods of stimulation. As much as she was always fastened or held down, and usually gagged she couldn't have protested or avoided the spankings, but what really surprised her was that she didn't really want to. She understood that it was a necessary experience. Even from her perspective as helpless victim, the ends justified the means; she was so highly stimulated afterwards. The paddle gave way to a leather strap – like a short, thick belt – and the stinging whacks across her rump, spread to include her thighs as well. Never actually arduous, the well-placed leather would lay a crisscrossed pattern of bright welts in only a few short, painfully intense minutes. She was sometimes positioned over the back of a chair – hands reaching, holding the chair arms – and fastened; although more often she was arranged at a table – sometimes with her hands pulled to the far corners, her breasts flattened, standing with the edge of the table against the fold of her hips; or on the table, spread-eagle and flat out – sometimes with her knees up under her chest, sometimes with a pillow or bolster under her hips. It was excruciating but invariably the pain keyed up her receptiveness to further stimulation. When a flogging stopped her tingling rear was electric with sensation, and her adrenaline, mixed with tears and sobs, served to hone her arousal to a knife edge. And after a thrashing she would invariably be fucked – sometimes vaginally, sometimes anally, sometimes once, sometimes innumerable times by a parade of anonymous cocks. Still, she didn't want a steady diet of it. There were so many other ways to enhance her response; and bruises on her thighs the second day were not arousing, only sore. She hadn't, so far, been subjected to the interminably brutal beatings she had read of in Matt's books. They didn't bear thinking of. She could handle – could appreciate what she had. She would not look to the future but would accept that aspect of her lot one day at a time. As it turned out, the whippings seemed to be just a phase that she was guided through, but which she never completely left. For a short while corporal punishment was almost her exclusive lot – heaped upon Jenn at every visit to Celebration, but slowly the frequency reduced until thrashing became just another of many strategies, occurring only sporadically. Jenn wondered about what was happening to her. She didn't exactly worry about it but, when she was alone, she wondered and wondered. Was she still sane? Did any of what she did really make sense? Had she become a nymphomaniac? She could come at just about the slightest touch. Random passing thoughts could bring on an orgasm if she let them. It wasn't just that they could, either. Lately, she was often unable to resist the onset of a climax, regardless of when, where or how it was being caused. Her life really was becoming just a long series of orgasms. What then? Jenn would be arranged on a table or divan for an evening's entertainment – sometimes on her back with her knees up and spread, in what they called 'ready position' bondage – that is, with her arms straight out to the sides, attached at the wrist cuffs and her ankle cuffs clipped to rings at the sides of her belted waist so that her knees were up against her biceps. It required substantial flexibility – at least the flexibility of youth – to lie still, opened up wide, with her thighs tight against her body and her calves tight against her thighs – as an isometric exercise it increased her suppleness, and became increasingly easy to bear. Sometimes she was placed on her knees with her head on her arms. At times she was strapped into position but other times she was just ordered to stay like a well-trained dog. And she did: continuing to forge the invisible shackles of her essential bondage, she would endure hours of casual, anonymous poking and fondling. Jenn had always savoured being brought to the boiling emotional frenzy of sexual release and she realized very early that she relished the 'being brought' almost as much as the 'boil'. During marathon sessions – ordeals so long that even she became so enervated she could no longer reach orgasm – she still derived extreme pleasure from the salacious acts performed on her body. Although Jenn had never actually chosen to join the bizarre scenes in which she found herself a willing participant over and over again, she realized that somewhere along the way she had effectively granted authority to Lisa – and the others – to do with her what they would. Her fate was not always – not usually – her own any more; it was increasingly plotted and executed to satisfy the whims of people around her. She couldn't understand why she had let that happen, but she knew that, for now, at least, she would continue to do so. Despite the impersonality of it all, it left her warm and satisfied. She would stay her course for the time being; she could see no pressing reason to change. For had she not discovered a kind of liberty in subjugation? Whatever truths lay in that conundrum were far too baffling to be unraveled as yet, and any investigation into the logic of such a revelation must need be tabled until a more rational time – a future time when she wouldn't be seeing everything through such an miasmic, orgasmic hazy. Her wrists and ankles fastened securely once again to its corners, Jenn lay gagged and exposed face up on the low table at Celebration. A burly young Jamaican, his chocolate brown skin contrasting artistically with Jenn's paleness, lowered himself to his knees in the vee of Jenn's scissored legs. Her eyes, characteristically wide yet calm, observed him closely. The single stroke of his fingers up the confluence of her creamy thighs was enough to make her huff around the ball that firmly filled her mouth and puff like a train through her nose. She could see the subtle appreciation of her abundantly moist vagina flicker across his eyes. He reached toward her with his left hand and, taking the nipple between his fingers, he energetically massaged her right breast. She felt the slap on her pubis, as he flopped his massive tool against her. Grabbing her other breast with his right hand, he remained motionless for a moment, except for the kneading of her boobs. His cock lay semi-erect, like a sausage, in the groove of her labia. He watched her eyes intently while his hands worked her chest silently. Jenn looked for clues in his face; clues or what, she wasn't sure, but she looked for clues as she always did for as long as she remained lucid. The weight of his penis – its weight and warmth – caused a maddening suspense to bubble through her genitals. Like an itch, just out of reach, the more she thought about it – how big would it have to be to have such mass – the more she anticipated the inevitable. Becoming impatient to a fault, Jenn tried to provoke some action by pulling a pelvic-tilt to run her vulva along the immobile shaft. A trace of reprimand narrowed the deep brown eyes for the briefest moment, and twin, sharp, painful twists of her nipples warned Jenn to behave herself – to wait appropriately. Then, almost imperceptibly, his hips began to move. Slowly sawing the still growing pole between Jenn's puffy lips, he began to actively irritate her clitoris. His impressive cock continued to engorge, gradually and steadily, increasing in length and girth, plowing deeper among the folds of her genitalia. Jenn found the exterior stimulation terribly, wonderfully bothersome and she bucked and squirmed in an effort to move him. Every time she bounced and twisted, within the limits of her bonds he tweaked her nipples. A sly trace of a grin tickled the corners of his eyes, his set jaw and pursed lips quivered for an instant. Sweat began to glisten on his forehead, and form droplets above his lip. Tiny high-pitched whimpers escaped the corners of Jenn’s mouth while her breath, puffing hard through her nose, became laboured and rough. The wild fires of excitement raged through her nerves, and she wanted to scream out, "Fuck me, now!" She wanted the now solid shaft in her, not on her. As a sensual fireball swept up her spine, she executed a series of complex pelvic rolls, but not until the third attempt was she finally able, with a last quick flip of her hips, to catch the swollen spearhead in her labial opening and pull him in. Her vaginal sheath grasped and squeezed the steely rod as it accelerated into a pounding frenzied rhythm. The last thing she saw, before her vision was overwhelmed by orgasm, was his eyes close as his mouth opened and his head was thrown back. Barely audible above her own sensual storm, she thought she heard him roar like a wild beast. His fingers dug into her breast as he tried to tear them from her chest. Slipping for an instant, he released her mammaries, letting them bounce back onto her torso, only to grab her nipples and stretch them far above her, taking them to the limits of their elasticity. Jenn's eyes opened wide as the pain became momentarily excruciating before fading back into sensual overload, as he let them too snap back into place. He, meanwhile, reached forward to pull against her shoulders, as if he were trying to climb bodily into her. She felt a spray of sweat shake from his face, tasting the delicate salt on her lips. Then the multiple sensations of his hot seed spilling as he shoved her tight against her ankle straps with the power of his thrusts, bruising her womb, set off in her a cataclysmic release of erotic energy. Jenn felt disintegrated – crushed by her own orgasm as it hit her like a fast train. Although Jenn had quit working completely and basically supported Lisa and herself with her own private income, Lisa continued to teach a couple aerobics classes a week. For a while Jenn still attended those classes but she and Lisa were much too mutually distracting, and they found it necessary for Jenn to get her exercise elsewhere. Nevertheless, Jenn worked out at a gym several times a week to keep herself in top physical condition. If Lisa was able, as she claimed, to totally forget Jenn and Celebration, and her raunchy avocation while teaching a class, Jenn found it impossible to escape the constant imagery that wafted amongst her senses. Recollections of past scenes or anticipations of impending parties were forever warming and moistening her during her exercises. Sitting up at the butterfly arms of the Nautilus machine – elbows out, arms up, chest thrust forward – an unbidden vision of herself being speared by a thick dildo as a faceless body bounced atop her would cause a sudden letdown of vaginal lubricant – the soaked crotch of her leotard smearing onto the vinyl of the bench as she fought to complete the routine. Sometimes, despite her resistance, she would need to pause midway through the training circuit, while the sensation blossomed into a short, mild orgasm. Arranging herself supine on a lounge table at Celebration, Jenn waited, as always, for direction. There were enough possibilities that, whatever the orders, she was always a little surprised at what was expected of her, yet it was with a private feeling of pride that she believed she rarely betrayed that surprise. While Jenn waited – exposed and patient, her hands resting on her flexed knees, keeping them wide, keeping her open sex visible – Lisa spoke earnestly with a fellow patron on topics seeming not to include Jenn. Jenn began to drift away from the buzzing conversations of the lounge, drift into her distant past, her erotic past with Matt. Stylized visions of the conceptions of their children melded and mutated with scenes from movies and stories, until her reverie was abruptly interrupted. "...masturbate," came the deep voice of Lisa’s male companion, "I'd like to watch her come." Her eyes suddenly open, her pulse slightly elevated, Jenn saw, between her knees, Lisa nod subtly, almost imperceptibly in at her. Slowly, without a second thought, Jenn moved her hands off her knees. Her right hand gently dipped into her bush while her left hand cupped her breast, catching her nipple between her thumb and forefinger. It seemed to her such a natural move, such a natural position, as the fingers of her right hand began to swirl slowly over her moist flesh, and around her waking clitoris. Once her hands were in motion, she began to drift again, but this time the visions were more focused. She reminisced about the first time she had ever done that – the first time she had ever masturbated to orgasm and she marveled at what a slow start she had been. It had been with Lisa; early in the game. And Lisa had been very blunt. "Let's see you masturbate," she had said. "What?" Jenn remembered replying, dumfounded. "I want to see you bring yourself to climax for me." Jenn had blushed and protested, but Lisa had kept at her. "There's no one here but us. Come on." So she had – slowly and self-consciously. Lisa had sat watching her silently until she had finally come. She remembered the terrible, onerously building tension. She remembered how approaching release would be stymied by the sudden realization of her position. She had got to the very edge several times, and become afraid she had lost it for good. She had worried irrationally that she might have to lie there fondling herself forever.