0 comments/ 12585 views/ 1 favorites Tangled Passions Pt. 03 Ch. 35-37 By: Jazz E. XXXV. While for Matt life was becoming a baptismal pool in which he could immerse himself in guilt; for Jenn it was a growing freedom she could bathe in – bask in, a freedom from restraints, a freedom from conventional morals and society's morés, a freedom, indeed, from inhibition itself. The morning they anchored outside Singapore, after most of the guests had disembarked for their day in the city, a handler came to take Jenn to the quarters of one of the older male trainers. There were basically three levels of service crew working with the vassals. The keepers looked after them, washing, bathing and feeding them; the handlers escorted them to their various assignments and assignations, and left them ready for whatever awaited them; and the trainers developed their skills – or crushed their wills, as necessary – and set up various scenarios for the guests. The keepers were voyeurs. They got a tremendous vicarious thrill out of being close to the fantasy incarnate but safe from its effects. They sometimes had sex with their charges, and were occasionally involved in light discipline, but mainly they just watched and listened and savoured their rights to touch and feel. The handlers were further up the ladder, as it were. Here were the petty dominants who enjoyed their positions of power and felt important in their escort roles. Neither keepers nor handlers were well paid – room and board and a bit of pin money; they were there simply because they loved their jobs – fantastic positions, indeed. Those staff members were never assigned to particular vassals. It wouldn't do to have them form attachments to individuals. From the point of view of Jenn and Matt – of the vassals, they changed continuously. The trainer accepted Jenn at the door of a stateroom, from the keeper who had delivered her. Without a word, he took her firmly by the arm and led her to the middle of the room to stand before another man seated there in a swivel rocker. "I'll leave her with you, then," he said. The man in the chair only nodded. He was staring intently, looking up and down Jenn's body. Such radiance shone from his eyes that Jenn imagined she could almost feel the visual energy searing her skin. The trainer turned to her. "Mansa has offered to help me with your training. You will follow his direction implicitly." With that the trainer left the room – left Jenn standing silently. A shiver ran over her, like ripples on the surface of a pond. Mansa sat comfortably in a soft leather chair, while Jenn stood naked, waiting. In the interval, another shiver rippled through her body, whether from apprehension or anticipation even she couldn't be sure. After surveying her again, top to bottom, he finally spoke. He was a classically handsome, large south-central African man of about sixty, dressed casually in an intricately embroidered robe of purple satin over a loose pyjama bottom of the same material. Immaculately groomed, he had a sophisticated spray of grey at his temples. With a deep voice, reminiscent of James Earl Jones, he spoke slowly and softly, but there was an intensity that allowed for no thought of discussion – no other consideration. He first ordered Jenn to turn around once, slowly. Apparently satisfied, he informed her that, as a part of her training, she would be required to keep a cock – his cock – in her mouth for a few hours without letting it get soft or sore and without making him come until he was ready. "Have you had an orgasm yet this morning?" he queried quietly. Those kind of questions, out of the blue like that, in quiet everyday voices, never failed to startle Jenn. She tensed and blinked her eyes for a moment, before replying shyly that yes, she had. "How many?" "One." "How was it achieved?" Jenn amazed herself that she could still feel embarrassed about this, as she felt the blood colour her cheeks. "With my fingers, Master." she replied. "Do it again," he said, mildly. Adding, after her momentary hesitation, "Now!" Flustered, Jenn looked around her in a vain search for support, but her hands had already slid from her sides around to her groin. Tentatively, her eyes staying on the face of her instructor, her left hand straddled her labia, easing them apart and holding them wide while the fingers of her right hand began to make slow swirls around her clitoris. Gradually increasing the pace, her orbiting digits dove at random intervals into the folds of her vagina. Now fully open and engorged, she let her left hand drop along the verge of her wetness, stroking and poking, dipping and twirling, taking on more and more of the arousal. At times she had both hands pulling herself open, fingers from each inserted forcefully while her right thumb continuously circled and teased her love-button. Mansa watched intently from his chair, not moving or making a sound. He wasn't looking at her face and perhaps didn't notice her eyes glaze as they lost focus. Jenn could feel a trembling in her thighs and sensations building in her gut like the roar of distant thunder. Then, like a sudden storm lashing the shore, her orgasm crashed over her, bolts of lightning slicing, blinding, rending. Her eyes fell closed as the climax consumed all available energy. Her legs liquefied under the relentless irritation of her own fingers, and only through the courageous struggle of a deep, tiny portion of her brain was she able to keep from collapsing. As the pounding waves slackened, her quaking body stilled leaving her hands finally motionless in the rain forest of her pubis. Only her breathing belied the paralysis that had settled onto her. Gradually opening her eyes, regaining her ability to focus, she met the beam – the fiery beacons that shone from her instructor, penetrating her, pinning her. He gave her a slight nod of approval, before speaking. "Now that you have that out of the way, we can go on.” He began to lecture, his discourse slightly patronizing, verging on pedantic. "I'm not a child," Jenn wanted to say, but her thoughts were interrupted once more, for while he spoke, he leaned forward slightly to grab a handful of her sopping, still sensitive quim and began a forceful manipulation, swirling her clit with his thumb while stirring his fingers inside her. "You will learn to control your responses – focus your attention, your concentration, on the task at hand. You mustn't let extraneous sensations distract you." Jenn noticed the large nut of his penis peeking out from between the flaps of his robe. Her vision began to swim as he continued to diddle; she squeezed her thighs against him, and fought to keep her own hands still, until, with small mews deep in her throat, she surrendered to another orgasm. Finally dropping his hand from her crotch, Mansa stood up. His bulk dwarfed Jenn as she stood naked before him, echoes of her climaxes still quivering through her. In a parody of the classic headmaster he announced, "The lessons will commence in a moment." His robe fell open to reveal a huge erection waving impatiently from his fly-front. "But first..." Placing his hands at her waist, he spun Jenn like a dance partner, catching her in the half turn and placing a hand between her shoulders to bend her over. Without a word, without a hesitation, he plowed himself deep into her open cunt. Eyes widened in surprise, a small gasp escaped her lips as Jenn felt her womb assaulted with a tool as long and as thick as a billy-club she had once experienced at Celebration. It seemed far too large to be real, yet, the man behind her thrust it in and out with quick, deep strokes, his thighs slapping against her buttocks as he pulled her by the hips to meet his spear on every insertion, battering her cervix mercilessly. As her unsupported body flopped around like a rag doll in the jaws of a playful pup, Jenn felt yet another climax shrieking towards fulfillment as it rose from a point just inside her vagina. Her fornicator's rushing, shuddering explosion was complemented by the pulsing, grabbing tremors of her vagina. Jenn felt the repeated spurts of hot fluid splashing off the end of her passage. Then they stood for a few seconds, the only motion between them the gripping and releasing of Jenn's vaginal muscles around its relaxing captive. Abruptly he pulled out and turned her to face him as he lowered himself back into the chair. Jenn's eyes dropped to his lap. Protruding from his open robe, lying slick and semi-flaccid over the top of his thigh was the largest, blackest penis Jenn had ever seen. As she stared at it, glistening there against the satin of his pyjamas, her mind adrift in a confusion of desire and apprehension, he quietly told her to proceed. She knelt between his legs, smelling the ocean scented, cottage cheesy residue of their intercourse that clung to the thick underbrush of his groin. As she licked him clean, tasting her own come mixed with his, Jenn felt the sticky juices of their sex run out of her and down her thighs. The lightest tap on the top of her head communicated his impatience to start. Taking a last good look at the huge flaccid organ, she lowered her mouth and sucked him in. Mansa spoke to her very quietly, running his fingers through her hair. His tone was kind and encouraging. "You must give it your complete attention. Only think of what is in your mouth; concentrate, regardless of distractions around or within you." So Jenn began her marathon. She felated him while he read the paper, watched TV, talked on the phone, even while he entertained visitors. For the most part, he completely ignored her, except for the occasional growing or twitching of his cock. Yet, he would apply a reminding touch if her attention seemed to stray, a murmured warning – "Don't make me come," – if her oral caress became too effective. Jenn’s mind wandered back to an earlier era of her life. She hadn’t always been so super-sensitive – so hair-triggered. It used to be that she needed actual, physical clitoral stimulation in order to reach orgasm; later, she could get there with any sort of general genital caress – the feather touch of a tongue on her labia, or a fingertip softly reaming her anus. Now she could climax from just the anticipation of sex – from just the consideration of the erotic potential of any circumstances. She could, indeed, almost will herself to come. Hence, early in lesson she succumbed to several more crashing, shaking orgasms, the intensity and sudden onset of which almost scared her. But the same quiet voice, with its deep, comforting rumble that she could feel against her cheeks, reprimanded her mildly, reminded her of her task. Anonymous visitors stroked and prodded her, sometimes asking Mansa's permission, sometimes exclaiming in delight, sometimes with a peremptory abruptness that startled Jenn. Inexorable manipulation and caress threatened, time and again, to overcome Jenn. She wanted to yell, "Stop it!" every time someone touched her genitals. The slow arousal was increasingly infuriating, despite Mansa's quiet reproof. How could she control herself? "I'm only human!" she felt like screaming. Finally someone mounted her, and, amazingly, his abrupt penetration calmed her vexation and soothed her jangled nerves with the narcotic effect of oil on water. Then the insertions became plentiful – at some point, almost continual. While some were assaults – violent and frightening, others were caresses – soothing and dreamy. Jenn saw nothing – no one except the dark expanse of groin at which she toiled. For reasons Jenn couldn't understand, she felt this was a very important lesson. She tried hard to capture that control that Mansa spoke about – that single-mindedness. A woman friend came in to visit Mansa and relentlessly fingered Jenn's genitals, while conversing. Whether due to the afternoon's enervation, or her repeated mantra, or a combination, Jenn at last, found it possible to ignore the conversation above her head, and forestall her orgasm despite the excited tingling between her legs. A steely shaft mercilessly invaded her rear, yet as it violently churned in and out of her rectum she was able to concentrate on her own mission and dismiss the outrageous treatment of her bottom. Maybe she could pass this test. Finally, after what seemed like hours and hours, when they were once again alone, Mansa said in his same low voice, "Okay. Now do it to me." Despite her fatigue, Jenn jumped to the call; giving way to her suddenly uninhibited lust, she abandoned herself to their mutual pleasure. She tunneled her hands into his robe to play with his nipples while her tongue danced up and down his turgid shaft. Quickly he began to thrust deep into her mouth. She responded by increasing the speed and depth of her strokes, plunging violently against him, banging his glans hard against the back of her throat. As the inevitable arrived, he held her head still, then rammed his cock as deep as possible, bruising her lips against his pubis, and blasted his seed well down into her gullet. The first pulse of semen triggered another climax for her, and she collapsed in a swoon on his lap. He allowed – ordered her, once they had begun to recover, to masturbate again. Jenn wasn't sure if she could, but he chuckled as he said, "I've got lots of time. Keep me in your mouth until you come again." Dancing her tongue about his deflating penis, she set her fingers to work one more time, rubbing and stroking herself, looking for the magic touch. And it was surprisingly quick in coming. Her sensitive, irritated, puffy genitals, at first complaining, helplessly gave in to the sparkling shimmers of arousal. Gathering into a vortex of sensation, churning within her pelvis, then boiling up her spine, the heat of the impending orgasm stimulated a further erection in her mouth. The catalytic effect spurred Jenn and her instructor on to another amazingly intense mutual climax that left both breathless and speechless. In her frazzled mind, some objective, detached part of Jenn observed that not only did the earth move, but it actually seemed to switch universes beneath her. Something was different; something had changed. She slowly recovered, the flaccid cock still encircled by her lips. Mansa patted her on the head like a pet, then called for a handler to escort her back to her room. She was exhausted – but strangely happy. The handler arrived promptly, and took Jenn by the arm, supporting her around her waist, led her from the room. She could feel Mansa watching, but lacked the energy to turn to him, take her leave of him. She followed the handler like a docile child, trusting and oblivious, through a haze of exhaustion, until an unfamiliar starkness in the passageway shook her from her daze. Jenn felt a shiver of foreboding when she realized that she was not being taken back to her room. "What's happening?" she whispered inaudibly, but chose not to voice the question. "You've leave to question nothing," her training breathed in her mind, "Wait and see – always wait and see." Her eyes now wide, she followed obediently as they – she and her escort – trudged deeper into the depths of the ship, down more stairs than she thought the ship should logically have. There was confusion in her eyes as she caught the gaze of the handler. “New quarters,” she was told, flatly, and as the question "Why?" shouted wordlessly from her visage, he muttered something about needing to make room for some new initiates. Eventually she was shown into a tiny room that was much more of a cell than a dorm. It was absolutely stark. The simple wooden bed frame had rings at each corner, and a seatbelt-like strap across the middle. It had only with a sheet and a pillow at its head, no blankets – the room was, nonetheless, comfortably warm. Along its length, against the wall was an assortment of cushions and bolsters of various shapes and sizes. There was a jug of water, and a lamp on a night table. The windowless inside cell was lit only by a single low-wattage bulb, and the dimly illuminated drabness of the Spartan interior was somehow oppressive yet soothing. Its soft dullness had a calming effect on Jenn, or any occupant for whom egress was not an option. One even felt some degree of safety, albeit it tenuous. The door could open at anytime, requiring one to perform virtually anything, yet, the warm dusky closeness of the tiny room looked to Jenn as if it would welcome and relax a tired, well used player. Her handler, unable to disguise the pleasure he was taking in Jenn's silent response, opened the drawer of the night table to show her its collection of lubricants, dildos, butt-plugs, restraints, whips and clamps. A small port-a-potty sat beneath. Bright white lighting, indirect or intense, he explained, proud of his knowledge and position, was available to the masters. It was, however; exclusively controlled from outside the cell. She could be subjected to the overwhelming studio-like light at the whim of a master, at any time or during any activity. Video taping would be aided by such strong illumination, he assured her. As he closed the door behind him, the handler smirked, "Don't go anywhere," underlining the fact that the inside of the door was featureless. Only a mirror graced the walls. Jenn studied herself in the mirror for a few moments. "Who am I?" she wondered. "What am I becoming?" She felt the sharp edges of a hollow despair scrape across her innards. "Who cares?" she muttered, flippantly and tumbled her dripping, sticky body onto the bed heedlessly. Dreamless sleep engulfed her almost instantly. Amazingly, Jenn awoke to the first morning in her cell calmly and gently. She stared serenely at the white ceiling, wondering where she was – literally, for a disoriented moment, then figuratively. Alone in her cell she asked herself where it was all leading; to what end had they subjected themselves to continued humiliation and degradation; and how would they know when they got there? But maybe the end was of little import. Perhaps, contrary to the popular philosophy, rather than justifying the means, the end just legitimized the means; the journey was everything, the destination nothing. Regardless of where the profound significance lay – if it lay anywhere at all – the absolute freedom from self-imposed restraint was what Jenn relished the most. Her life was, increasingly, taking on the unreal air of a persistent, waking dream. It was continuously sensual, intensely erotic; it had become pure sexual fantasy manifest. Her feelings were, perhaps, inexplicable, but simply inexplicable, or inexplicable in their simplicity. Walls of words, such as those in Henry Miller's Tropics... – ponderously laid line upon line, page upon page – were just not necessary. It was all about passion and lust – that was all. There was no need to define them; she had become the definition. All of the writing – chapter and verse – still missed the essence. Book after book of periphrastics – circumlocution – passionately spoke of passion, alluded to and incited lust; but to know passion intimately, one could only live it. And that's what she was doing; learning the definitions, at last. While Matt, on the other hand, only enjoyed his circumstances as total freedom from responsibility – any responsibility – all responsibility. For him it was all fair punishment for the good times he had experienced; a just consequence to his life and all its sins; a reasonable trade-off for his having had the tenacity to survive. In coming together to share such a strange fate, their lives had diverged. Even if their mutual love persisted, as Jenn was convinced it did, even if their spiritual bond remained intact, their corporeal paths took them steadily further and further apart. It was almost inevitable, yet it made Jenn sad to consider. How much further could they stretch and still keep contact? As the memory of the day before crept back, she rolled to confront herself in the mirror. "Who are you?" she asked quietly. "Does anybody know?" Staring into her own eyes, she let her mind wander back to another world. Tangled Passions Pt. 03 Ch. 35-37 Who knew when it actually started? Jenn could recall times when Matt's urgent dominance made her feel funny. She remembered the confusing delight she felt when his forcefulness became extreme. Her propensity for submission had been latent even in the early days of their relationship, yet it lay mostly dormant through her motherhood. She kept it in check, complained about her treatment when deep inside she longed for it; it was not proper – it was not right. In her reminiscence, she saw clearly Lisa awakening the sleeping dragon. It was during those first stirrings when Lisa directed their budding affair, those early days and nights, doing only what she was told, that Jenn first admitted to herself her submissive desires. Lisa saw it, probably first, probably before Jenn herself realized it, nurturing her subjugation in little ways. A subtle instance, oft repeated, filtered through Jenn's memory. She recollected a composite vision of herself, after several mutual orgasms with Lisa, answering Lisa's request for more cunnilingus, while Lisa made phone calls. She was kept at it by her own desires as well as by Lisa's little prodding, guiding touches to her head. Her conditioning has continued insidiously. Slowly she had been guided – led – further and further towards the mastery of submission – an oxymoron, apparently, yet it wasn't really. Starting with the Libertine Ladies, her acquiescence began to coalesce, take shape. During the early group activities, her forays into the darkness of subjugation honed her docility. Her developing tendencies for servility and compliance were fed and pampered by everyone, and flourished. Flickering images jumped across the silver screen in her head. One night, after climaxes too numerous to count, a fellow, the host of the evening – his name was lost – announced how much he particularly liked Jenn tonguing his nipples. He beckoned her over to the vestibule where he was seeing his guests out and asked her to do it some more. Drink in one hand, shaking hands with the other, he said his good-byes while Jenn orally tended his chest. She was ignored; the departing guests took their leave all around her, yet their comments fired her lust. Finally, as the host's member stood at attention, he pushed her to her knees, chuckling, "One for the road," as she took him willingly, even eagerly into her mouth. Jenn smiled, in remembering her own climax – yet another, as he came in her mouth. He kissed her glistening lips as she stood to follow Lisa out. Such hyper-satisfaction; such overwhelming contentment. It was, even then, too good to give up. Jenn's hands crept to her cleft, wet and open once more. She listened to the silence that lay like a blanket over the white, operating-noise of the ship. As her fingers awakened her arousal, she thought about Matt – sixty-nine with Matt, his fingers up her rear, a finger against her G-spot, and he in her mouth. She remembered the feelings – really plugged and filled – invigorated; she remembered liking it but not knowing why – not understanding it. She also remembered feeling very much in love. She was still very much in love. Her love, however, had changed – changed its consistency, changed its colour, its form, its shape. Slowly, yet inexorably, it had become abstract, until it was almost purely, if not exactly platonic, then asexual. They had managed to completely separate love and lust – love and desire – so that, in that way, their love had become absolutely pure – virginal. But, she pondered, the fires in her loins faltering, what of Matt; did he still love her? And where was he? The gentle rolling of the ship, her bare cell, the quiet peace of her solitude, lulled her. Her mind flashed from thought to thought – association to association. From Matt to Lisa. Had Lisa figured out what happened, what had become of her? Was Lisa, in fact, guilty – if that concept actually applied – of some sinister duplicity? Had she known all along, where they had been heading, where she had been taking Jenn, where that route led? Jenn thought of Lisa binding her; Lisa exposing her; Lisa spanking her; Lisa oppressing her – sitting on her face. A warm glow filtered through her – pooling in her heart. She felt a pang of the bittersweet. Had she ever loved Lisa, or had she just loved what Lisa did? She didn't know – couldn't know. Anyway, that was all in the past. Slowly Jenn sat up, staring blankly at the empty wall. She felt just a little disoriented. Unconsciously she opened the drawer of the night table and began to vacantly finger the contents – toys and tools. She savoured the redolence of the leather straps and whips. Rubbing her hand across and around the variously shaped phalluses, she marveled at the silky smoothness of their surfaces. The dildos and butt-plugs used on the Celestial Concubine were all hand-crafted – lathed, mostly out of fine hardwoods like ebony or teak – oiled and polished to a flawless finish. Although in earlier times they may have used ivory, now, even the people in charge such a spectacle as this, were not entirely without global or environmental conscience; so some of the appliances were made of synthetic ivory, hand-lathed and finished with a glossy coat of epoxy. Some of the 'ebony' instruments were synthetic as well – made of high quality, high-density plastic. Regardless of the material, most were fashioned with a short tab at the base through which a slot allowed leather strapping to hold the device firmly in place. Lifting one out of the drawer Jenn let her imagination conjure up the details of its use. Carefully replacing it and gently closing the drawer with a conscious feeling of reverence, she sank back onto the bed again, and allowed her mind to drift, once more, into mist. A noise at the door pulled her back to her present. A keeper entered, carrying a tray of food and beverage. She smiled tentatively at Jenn, propped up on her elbow. "I'll bath you when you've eaten," the woman said quietly, setting the tray's legs on the bed over Jenn's legs. Gradually, over the duration of the trip, food seemed to have lost its significance. The keepers fed them, just as they bathed and toileted them; but, whereas food had once been a pleasure unto itself, its import had faded to mere necessity. Objectively, Jenn regarded that as a rather sad, if unavoidable, loss. She and Matt used to enjoy eating out – the aesthetic aspects of gourmandry: succulent flavours, smells, textures, presentation, ambience, robust wine, earnest conversation, the sheer delight of a long evening's good meal. Even there on the ship, she had, initially, looked forward to meals; but now, eating had become just another task, just one more expectation not to be questioned or neglected. And it was certainly, Jenn realized, not that the food was especially bland or unappetizing, indeed, their diet consisted of a well-balanced variety of foods, fresh and well prepared. The simple joys of eating had just paled and withered in the shadows of overwhelming stimulation presented otherwise. "Thanks." Jenn poured herself juice from the carafe, and suddenly aware of her hunger, she reached for a warm croissant. As she ate, the keeper stroked her back soothingly, hesitantly. Jenn smiled, feeling the slow migration of her keeper's hands; another day had begun. Although much, perhaps most of the vassals' time was assigned and busy – they were, indeed, kept occupied in ever-exciting, often novel ways – there were intervals of sequestration, hence, time for reflection, sometimes simply left in their rooms, sometimes bound to their beds. During those periods, Jenn often thought about the enigma of her circumstances. Like a conundrum she couldn't solve, she came back to it again and again, reviewing the facts, puzzling. What of the pleasure she derived from submission – the thrill of degradation? Given a chance to experience it – to embrace an opportunity to be totally demeaned – humiliated – mortified – she wondered how many others would find the adventure as marvelous as she consistently did. It was actually sort of funny, she thought, that she could consider those concepts completely aside from their usual negative connotations. On the other hand, she could also appreciate the draw of domination – the pleasure her partners took from playing their parts. Lying on her cot, strapped spread-eagled, and alone, Jenn reminisced about times in Vancouver, some of her very many receding yet recent realities. A young woman named Jewel drifted into her memory. Yes, she knew about the attraction people like Lisa found in dominance. It was through Lisa that she developed a sort of understanding. Somewhat later in the Celebration era, she had been introduced to a new member, a novice of barely twenty years old, who went by the name Jewel. The memories played through Jenn's mind like a well produced video. While not exactly textbook beautiful, this Jewel went together, as a package, with so much aesthetic appeal that she was immensely alluring, even gorgeous. When Jenn had first met her, she was, of course, naked, but, for some reason, Jenn had been dressed. Right away, as Jenn recalled, there was the feeling of advantage. Jewel's black hair had hung loosely to her shoulders, her breasts were pert, her nipples dark; and her classic Korean face radiated an innocence belied by the circumstances. Lisa had proposed that Jenn take the timid initiate under her wing for a week or so, to give her basic training, as it were. Jenn didn't question her; still, she was puzzled. Why would she, Jenn Anderson, the consummate submissive, be given such a job. She was surprised to find out just how rapidly she could take the part – just how dominant she could be under the right conditions. She instructed Jewel in the arts of submission: compliance; passive acquiescence in bondage; servility; responding to discipline; accepting humiliation; and climax control (something Jenn herself had never really mastered). She amazed herself with her ingenuity, the way she constructed such original and imaginative hoops for her charge to jump through. Even lying in her restraints, Jenn felt her moisture let down as blood was diverted to her quim. She thought about some of the lessons – trials she had devised. At one point, she had required Jewel to masturbate repeatedly with a large beeswax candle. Then she had tied Jewel to a bed and orally brought her to further climaxes – relishing the honey flavour of the girl's cunt. Later, they had switched places, with Jenn instructing the dazed young thing on how to do her. Another time, Jewel was bound over a stool and gagged. Jenn showed her a string of amber beads that gradually increase from about half an inch in diameter to over an inch before decreasing again. Ignoring the surprised whimpers and muffled protests, she had carefully threaded them one by one up Jewel's rear. Sternly ordering the frightened young sylph to hold them in, Jenn had proceeded to thrash the girl with a wide leather strap. When Jewel's bottom was suitably red and striped, her face streaming and streaked with tears, Jenn slowly withdrew the beads, all the while caressing Jewel's swollen clit. The whimpers escaping from around the gag were gradually drowned out by Jewel's tremendous orgasm that shook her so violently Jenn had had to steady the stool, even as she herself was swept by an objectively induced climax. A strange urgency had arisen in Jenn. She’d felt, even in that short time, the need to take her charge further and farther. She had watched herself with an odd sense of dissociation as she fitted and fastened on the leather harness of a double-ended dildo, adjusting the clitoral tickler for her own stimulation. Slowly, teasingly, she’d attached nipple clamps and labial clamps to her whimpering student, as she’d lay trembling over the back of a chair. Even then, Jenn had been amazed at her own violence as she drove the rod into Jewel’s backside; somehow proud of Jewel’s helpless acceptance. A sparkling haze had clouded the edges of Jenn’s awareness as she pounded her victim mercilessly, until she, too, had come convulsively against her end of the shared phallus. Still pressing tight against Jewel’s buttocks, Jenn had undone the harness and stepped away, leaving her student quivering and impaled. Certainly Jenn had learned Lisa's intended lesson. She had, by then, really understood why Lisa enjoyed treating her as she did. Although still submissive, Jenn had found the experience of domination exciting and invigorating. She had told Lisa that, on occasion, she wouldn't mind doing it again – although she never did. Still, having been once on the other end of the whip, Jenn's own submissiveness was illuminated, her own responses ever-sharpened. Increasingly, she felt she had become selfless in her submission. Her selflessness was, indeed, almost a sort of altruism. Her complete compliance was guaranteed through her own will. She could be forced into nothing as she accepted everything. She wondered if Matt had reached the same level. She somehow suspected that he had, and was, indeed, correct in her suspicions. Drifting back, she felt the taut pull of her fetters. She waited. There was no point in straining, no point to impatience. What experience would today bring? Who would she be required to service and how? To whose whims would she be made to bend? Of what fantastic ordeals would she partake? Wait and see; always wait and see. XXXVI. Despite a climate of unrestrained hedonism, sex enhancing and mood altering drugs, in fact drugs of any kind, had not been at all in evidence aboard the Celestial Concubine, initially. Certainly, Jenn felt any need for chemicals to heighten or prolong her orgasms; Matt needed no chemical assistance to comply or submit. Of course, like rudderless ships at the mercy of the winds, the preferences of vassals were of no account. They were merely subjects of the whim and will of guests. Not surprisingly, the vices of such profligates as could afford to patronize such a cruise, occasionally went beyond the simply carnal. So it was that, shortly after leaving Singapore, Matt was assigned to a small secretive group who shooed him impatiently down the corridor and into a stateroom, while talking rapidly together about some mutual preoccupation, which Matt properly tuned out. The two women of the cabal and two of the three men collapsed into chairs with giggles and sighs while the other man busied himself at the dresser. Matt stood momentarily neglected, beside the door, his leather collar and cuffs accenting his pale nakedness. He said nothing, keeping his eyes lowered until one of the seated gents, summoned him with a simple, "Here!" Acknowledging his gesture, Matt moved with a sure grace, dropping to his knees and swiftly engulfing the exposed prick with his mouth. Obeying mainly tactile instructions, Matt moved about the room beneath the conversation, sucking and licking. Paying mind only to what was in his mouth or in his face, Matt wasn't aware of the movements of the guests to and from the dresser, yet he soon became aware that something was happening. Suddenly everything was swollen – the cocks were rock-hard and the vulvas were hot and drooling. They, each of them, came heavily to Matt's lingual ministrations, but all stayed aroused, demanding more attention from him. The one who had been at the dresser initially abruptly pulled Matt up by the ears, and, still chattering to the others, steered him over to the dresser. Lying on top was a make-up mirror, upon which lay four little windrows of white powder. Matt's eyes widened, as a length of plastic drinking straw was thrust into his hand. "One per side," the man laughed, "Let's go." "I've...," Matt shivered in the throes of his quandary. He really had never done it before. A hand at the back of his head forced him down towards the glass. "Plug the other side and snort," the voice barked. Matt's heart began to race even before the snowy crystals reached his nose. He closed his eyes and sniffed. Coating the inside of his nostril, the coke stung at first, then numbed. As he did the other side – another line, the first rush hit. He thought his head had been blown off. His erection, which had wilted slightly at the prospect of cocaine, was suddenly rampant. The rest of the evening was a blur. Matt remembered being thrown supine to the floor and ridden by both women to wild orgasms. He vaguely remembered being sodomized, beginning when he was shoved towards the dresser and told to snort another couple lines up his nose. The three men seemed to engage him in a nonstop marathon of butt fucking. He was ordered to whack himself off while taking it up the rear and eating out one of the ladies. It seemed to just go on and on – felatio, cunnilingus, sodomy. He lost track of how many times he came. Among the six of them they must have had three dozen climaxes. Matt was completely exhausted by the time the handler arrived to escort him back to his cell. With his nose and ass both dripping, he was tied to his bed and left, still wired, buzzing without a hope of being rescued by sleep. Matt, of course, couldn't help but replay and analyze the experience. Slowly, insidiously, he came down from the high. Gathering speed, he roared past his usual equanimity and plunged helplessly into the depths of depression. He pulled lethargically against his straps, and wept piteously for hours. Although the heightened sensitivity brought on by the drug had added a previously unexperienced intensity to his priapean responses, the subsequent crash as he lay bound, alone and exhausted on his bed, was so profound that he cried out and wished for an end to his life. His calls went unanswered until finally, overcome with weakness, the crisis passed and he dozed. It had been such a bottomless low he fervently hoped he would never visit it again. A matronly keeper stole into the room very much later to quietly feed and clean him. They said nothing but Matt appreciated her presence in a way he rarely had before. He helped her clean his soiled cot just to stay close. Yet, in the grand scheme, the coke had apparently been an anomaly, an experiment perhaps, for it was, thankfully, never repeated to Matt's knowledge. Regaining its relatively even keel, as far as that could be said of a shipboard vassal, his life proceeded, once again, uneventfully, or at least unspectacularly. Jenn entered the spacious dining lounge behind the handler. He directed her to stand at the end of an immense oak table around which the guests sat. Another handler was already there, standing next to a young male vassal. Lifting her eyes for just a flash, Jenn managed a quick assessment of him. He looked like a forlorn young waif, his tousled blonde hair wild above a body that appeared scrawny and weak. His skinny shoulders drooped as he stood with a sad resignation hanging pathetically about him. He was naked, like Jenn, except for the leather strapping, which she too was rarely without. And like her, his wrists were fastened behind his back. Between his nipples, from simple spring clamps, hung a coarse chain. Jenn felt an almost irrational surge of pride, as, swinging her breasts just slightly, she set her pearl pendants in harmonic motion. Jenn glanced surreptitiously around the table, knowing it was far more politic to keep her eyes lowered. The complement of guests seemed to be rather dynamic. There must, she thought, be some degree of joining and leaving the cruise at various ports, for there were always a few new faces, and a few faces missing – she hadn’t seen René, Gus or Krista in some time. Slowly, through her eyelashes, she surveyed the patrons as they all waited – they chatting easily, she just waiting. Her bare feet luxuriated in the thick carpet. Curiosity: she’d got away with it, again. In her glimpse about, she estimated that there must have been fifty or more people seated for the meal. Standing, waiting – initially, waiting naked increased her humility, now both her nudity and her humility were just parts of her existence, as was her waiting. Her awareness melted away as she effectively killed time focusing on flexing her toes in the soft, expensive shag. The room was comfortable but not warm. Jenn's clamped nipples stood erect from her breasts. The guests chatted idly over the clatter of silver and fine china, without, apparently, taking notice of the patient staff members waiting with disrobed figures at the edge of the spread. Tangled Passions Pt. 03 Ch. 35-37 Jenn detected some similar activity at the other end of the expansive table, but before she could raise her eyes, her attention was secured once again by her escort. A low, angled stool-like affair on casters, the size of a small hassock, had been pulled from under the table and positioned behind her. Without a word, the handler took her arm and lowered Jenn to her knees, guiding her onto the padded surface, from which jutted a phallus. Its angled top was much like an avant garde typist's seat, except that the upholstery was apparently fluid filled. The modest phallus was inserted smoothly into her vagina as she lowered herself. In front of, sort of below the protruding dildo at the front of the seat was something that resembled nothing more than a small rubber squid – a tangle of short flexible fingers – with a leash. As Jenn was threaded onto the shaft, her clitoris came to rest against the tentacled thing, and its springy leash was clipped to her waist belt. As she settled her weight fully onto the device, having at last fully accommodated the artificial erection, she received an eye-opening surprise. Her weight against the cushion top caused the phallus within her and the fingers at her clit to become engorged and firm. With a small, silent gasp she unweighted ever so slightly by rocking forward; simultaneously the artificial erection softened, contracted; the clit-squid wilted. When the handler firmly pulled her hips back into the accepting cushion, the mock cock in her cunt became rock hard and the tentacles insistent against her clitoris once more. Even imperceptible movements of her hips caused the appliances to throb within her, and she could already feel the sensations fanning her volatile libido. The anonymous handler went about his business with her, unmindful of her discomfiture. He attached her waist strap snugly to the back edge of the seat and secured her ankles to the back corners of its base before unfastening her hands. The instructions were simple and concise. She was to orally service the guests, male and female alike, starting with the nearest and not moving on until given leave by whomever she was attending. Jenn nodded her understanding at the unspoken question of confirmation in his eyes, then, without further ado, he steered her under the table toward the knees of the first dinner guest. Judging from the odd glimpses of fuss to the side, Jenn assumed that the skinny kid had been similarly installed beneath the other side of the table. At a final prod in the back, she spread the waiting knees and pulled herself into the vee they made. The tablecloth dropped behind her, shrouding her in an anonymous world of cocks and cunts – felatio and cunnilingus. As she took her first assignment into her mouth – a large flaccid penis, emerging from its open fly front to lay limp over the silk trousers like a lifeless eel, she wondered again, how she had actually come to this. It was actually rather funny, Jenn observed, how she could still be astounded by things. She repeatedly managed to experience genuine astonishment at some of the experiences, some of the expectations, what she saw, what she endured. Perhaps she was not quite as jaded as she sometimes feared. The details of her position circulated briefly through her thoughts. Personal freedoms and liberties, whose guarantees had heretofore been sacrosanct, were now subject to the whims and desires of others. Decisions on when to eat and sleep, copulate and masturbate, even urinate and defecate seemed, eventually, to fall outside of ones diminishing sphere of control; yet there was a kind of comfort in being able to expect the unexpected and tolerate the intolerable. She still didn't know where she was, nor what she was about. So she was slightly vexed as she leaned into the exposed groin, supporting herself on his hips, but as she rocked forward onto it, then back onto the apparatus beneath her, an answer came to her – in the delicious tinglings running through her cunt – the first indications of an impending orgasm. She laved the limp meat with increased effort, and felt it begin to stiffen against her tongue. Her eagerly bobbing head translated to a rocking motion of her buttocks, causing the phallus to swell and deflate inside her, the rubber fingers alternately stiffening and relaxing against her sex. She had barely got her subject hard when she felt the building crisis of her own approaching climax. "Think only of what is in your mouth, Jenn. No other sensations matter right now." She repeated her training like a mantra in her head, and holding her orgasm at bay, concentrated on the still growing erection. Without ejaculating, however, the man's hands appeared alongside her head and gently pushed her away, towards the next guest. Jenn's internal tumult calmed slightly as she carefully propelled herself to the next knees, into the next crotch. The woman wore nothing beneath her flapped open gown. Jenn pulled herself forward, engaging the plump, sparsely forested vulva with her face, and, almost immediately, it pulsed against her lips and tongue. Jenn's simmering arousal boiled again so suddenly she could hardly think straight. Only through a tremendous effort of will – by repeating her mantra over and over in her head – was she able to focus her attention on her subject's genitals. She licked and sucked like one possessed, spreading the inflamed lips with her fingers in order to insert her tongue as deeply as possible. Without a cock to bob her head upon, she was able to still her hips somewhat. Her own stimulation muted slightly as she kept her face planted firmly between quivering legs, her tongue in constant touch with the slick slit. Jenn worked hard and tirelessly until the woman finally began thrusting herself into Jenn's face, reaching her hands over Jenn's ears to pull her hard into the electric flesh. As she approached climax the guest's manifest excitement re-ignited Jenn's arousal. Unable to control her own conflagrant desire while dealing with the erupting violence at her mouth, Jenn could hang on no longer. Gripping the thrashing thighs to keep her purchase at the engorged clitoris, Jenn involuntarily started pushing and bouncing, vibrating on the pulsating appliances as multi-hued sheets of ecstasy swept through her body and over her head. Their energy of release combined geometrically in a shared orgasm – mutually overwhelming guest and slave, one dressed and seated at a lavish dinner setting, the other on her knees beneath the table. Jenn slowly disengaged, her head lolling against the sweaty thighs, under tenderly caressing fingers ruffling through her hair. They took barely enough time to catch their breaths while the soft hands cupped her face and blindly traced fingers across her lips. Jenn sucked on the thumbs as they pried her lips apart to dip into her mouth for a second. Then she was gently, almost lovingly pushed away, to paddle herself, dragging her contraption, over to the next member of the party. Despite her attempts at control, despite her training and mantra, that turned out to be only the first of more orgasms than Jenn could count. In fact, the next was only a few seats along. Jenn was simply amazed at the size of that particular diner. While felating him, his cock just continued to grow larger and larger. Incredibly long and thick, it knocked repeatedly at the back of her throat, bruising her tonsils, making her gag, still he didn't come – just got a little longer, a little thicker. Jenn's lips were stretched tight around its increasing girth, as it butted her pharynx, trying to worm into her gullet. In her struggle to breathe and survive the gigantic invader, in her frenzied mouthing of the massive cock, she began bouncing on her perch, at first incidentally, then frenetically. Suddenly she lost her grip; the uncontrolled arousal that had been churned to spill-point, broke through once again, and, even as she choked on the battering ram lodged in her throat, she fell victim to an infuriatingly long, drawn out multiple-orgasm. Her mind blurred with the onset of climax after climax against the hydraulics of the stool. Only as the last wave retreated, still gasping and sputtering around the monstrous shaft, could she focus once again on her mantra "Feel only what's in your mouth. Think of nothing but the cock." By that time, it only took a couple deliberate strokes of her tongue, sucking caresses of the insides of her cheeks before the tool began palpitating. Even after the point of no return had been obviously reached, the inexorable build up seemed to go on and on, become more and more intense. Jenn couldn't wait. White heat flashed once again through her soul as she pogoed urgently on the steely rod of flesh, forcing it deeper into her bruised throat – deeper than anything had ever been. The searing stars of her own climax removed the rest of the universe, and her own orgasmic explosion finally triggered a violent climax from the shuddering cock, its owner thrusting, his hips shaking, forcing himself deeper into her than possible. She sucked and swallowed repeatedly his jetted tribute, gagging and coughing while her loins grasped spasmodically at the latex sheathed tool that impaled her. She was, in some calmer corner of her mind, pleased that she hadn't thrown up – and that she had swallowed it all without losing a drop. Jenn proceeded around the underside of the table, paddling her cart like a legless beggar, swimming in a miasma of orgasmic energy. She no longer had the energy or will to control her own arousal. After an especially intense orgasm, hands gripping her hair tightly, she was reprimanded for making noise. The voice from on high reminded her that she should be neither seen nor heard, merely felt; but even in reprimand there was a tone of understanding, appreciation, maybe even admiration. Some of the women passively received her attentions while others actively forced her face hard against their sexes. Some of the men pushed her away before reaching climax, one had, while ejaculating copiously, pulled out of her mouth to come all over her face. Most, however, reached orgasm in her mouth, pumping voluminous streams of semen down her throat. Her fog of pricks and quims, come and love juice, quaking squeezing thighs and urgently pulling hands, was punctuated by her own climaxes sending shuddering spasms bottom to top along her spine. Jenn lost all track of time and numbers. She felt as if she had been between the legs of strangers all of her life. She experienced – giving and having – more orgasms than humanly possible, and still she went on. An awareness of another being sharing her domain beneath the table trickled into her perception. She felt her hips and shoulders touch a naked, kneeling body; her castered perch bumped something, as she stroked her tongue feverishly up and down the crack at her face. The woman's hips were beginning to buck, her lubrication soaking her dress and the seat and the tops of her hose. The phantom beside Jenn was working on a male guest, she realized, only moments before Her Ladyship stiffened and drew Jenn’s face hard against the dripping sex, mashing her nose into the matted thatch and crushing her lips against the engorged labia. The woman's climax nudged Jenn over into another of her own, albeit a relatively small one – being the what? – hundredth of the evening? Jenn kept caressing the slick, puffy lips with her tongue until the woman, with a final shudder, pushed her aside and said in a breathless voice, "No more, you demon. Please!" Then she added with a hint of amusement, while giving Jenn a nudge toward the next patron, "Go help your husband." And it was, indeed, Matt bobbing on the cock next to her. The charge of recognition instantaneously revitalized Jenn; although, enclosed in his own world of joys or demons or joyous demons, Matt remained unaware of his new companion's identity. Such a wave of joy flooded over Jenn as she dragged her seat by her impaled vagina, right up against Matt's matching perch. Pausing a moment, she took him all in, noting details in the dimness of the enclosure. He, too, was threaded upon his stool; the dynamic phallus embedded in his rear. Instead of fingers at his scrotum, he wore a small inflatable ring at the base of his cock. Jenn leaned forward, her hands on his shoulder, and kissed his cheek while he worked. He hesitated an instant, before regaining his rhythm; then he contrived to glance sideways. Shock registered in his eyes, yet he managed to smile around the thick cock in his mouth. Pulling herself with his arm, Jenn bent down and tenderly sucked at his breast – flicking the nipple-clamps with her tongue – as he continued his conscientious felatio. Although his slick and matted pubic beard indicated that he had already come at least once, he was again fully aroused and erect. At Jenn's oral attentions, his hard member began to twitch, then bounce. Its swollen, purple glans glistened with fresh presemenal fluid. Moving her lips off his chest, she joined him at the focus of his current devotion. She spread her kisses between his lips and the rampant erection when his rhythm rocked him back off it. Suddenly alive, aware and ignited, Matt traded places, leaving Jenn to gobble the subject's tool while he frantically kissed and tongued her breasts. Slowly, as if checking their limits, determining what was allowed, Matt let his hands travel over Jenn to mould to her mammaries – squeezing and fondling. Keeping the anonymous cock well ensconced in her warm mouth, Jenn snaked a hand through the maze of limbs, to locate Matt's nipple-clamps, once more. Soon they were caressing – pinching and poking, fondling and fingering each other at will, only ensuring that at least one of them was, at all times, worshipping the guest's tool. For a while they took turns on it, kissing and licking, then sharing. Sounds filtering down from above the table, outside the shroud, indicated their cooperation was appreciated. Momentarily disregarding the earlier warning, Jenn, then Matt, cooed and whispered and sighed their pleasure at being together again. The warmth of love that Jenn felt for Matt was heightened by the unbelievable eroticism of the situation, yet it transcended even that. She felt, at once, a peace and an ecstasy beyond description. While she continued to suck on the guest, Matt took the man's balls into his mouth. As he watched his beautiful Jenn bob tirelessly on the turgid prick, he felt a glowing comfort and joy, sitting, nonetheless, precariously on the edge of the crushing guilt and despair that was now permanently resident within him. Even as he basked in its momentary warmth, a part of him knew he didn't deserve it. "Have I really dragged her down to this?" he asked himself, rhetorically, for he firmly believed that her present situation was entirely his fault. As the indicators of impending orgasm became apparent – the balls tightened up, the penis began to twitch, the hips began to thrust spasmodically – Matt moved up to take the throbbing erection into his own mouth again, allowing Jenn to spread her lingual caresses between his face and the man's balls. The climax was sudden and violent, the man's hands appearing to firmly impale Matt on his jetting prick. Jenn kissed, sucked and licked Matt's frantically working Adam's apple, holding one hand on the shaking scrotum before them, the other twiddling at Matt's chest. Almost casually, she allowed herself to ride to another mild yet sensuously delicious orgasm. Meanwhile, the client’s ejaculation was so voluminous that Matt was unable to swallow it all. White come dribbled lewdly from around the wilting cock, down his chin. Without hesitation Jenn pressed her face into his, running her tongue circuitously from his chin to the corners of his mouth, lapping up the dribbling effusion, and licking him clean as the semi-rigid penis slowly, reluctantly withdrew from between his lips. Continuing to lave both Matt and the retreating cock, Jenn purred, complete satisfaction colouring her face. Matt's own cock now commanded attention, bouncing and twitching in frustrated urgency. So, as Jenn blessed him with her radiant smile, she let her hand drop, to come to rest on his jerking manhood. One of those rare moments of silence and stillness followed. Then a voice from above remarked, "Ah, quite a team. Husband and wife you say? Curious." The tablecloth was lifted briefly as a few of the nearby guests took an interest in “our peculiar couple.” Matt and Jenn, their eyes locked together, were motionless. Jenn held his cock in one hand; he held her breast. They remained oblivious to their surroundings, the eyes and comments of those watching. Staring intensely deep one into the other, they were sharing something private and special – a totally abstract yet mutual understanding – something precious. The reverie, the transcendent was as powerful as it was fleeting. "Our little wife seems to be neglecting her marital duties," someone chuckled, "Look at his woeful hard-on." With that nearby chairs were pulled back and two handlers appeared, crouching at the table’s edge, before the stunned couple. Matt and Jenn were hauled out by their platforms, still dazed, and suddenly scrambling to keep their balance, into the light of the open room – out of the protective cocoon of the shrouded under-table. Still fixed to their perches and dragging them by their backsides, the Andersons, husband and wife, were positioned facing each other. Jenn froze in anticipation, shivers, tremors rippling up her back and across her chest. What was about to happen? Matt couldn't pull his eyes from his spouse. She looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her, glistening with a sheen of sweat and come, adorned with the leather accouterments of their position. Why couldn't they still be together, he wondered, hungrily drinking her in before someone removed her again? Some other guests left their places as well, and a small crowd gathered around. Jenn gazed into Matt's eyes, hoping to draw strength from him for she was suddenly frightened – not of the immediate future, but of the long-term. Once again she wondered how the path had led them there. Matt returned her gaze, her confusion mirrored in his eyes. Jenn felt his entire universe suddenly focus on her; it warmed her, soothed her. He was aware of nothing except that he loved Jenn more than anything – more than life itself, and that he was sorry – sorry that he had brought them to this. At the edge of her periphery, Jenn saw his erection wilt a little. Sadness coloured his eyes. Jenn's smile expressed her love and sympathy with an incandescence that was unmistakable. Once the crowd had settled, one of the women leaned over to Jenn and whispered, "There you are, dear.” She pushed Jenn's stool with her foot, towards Matt. Still gazing into Matt's wondrous eyes, Jenn didn't move, her head awash with confused emotion. The woman urged patiently, using the level authoritative voice a teacher might use with a primary student, "He needs you, my girl; needs you to suck him off – before you go." Matt's cock shuddered back to full attention, quivering in anticipation. Jenn slipped forward, smoothly engulfing it in one motion, forcing her lips into his pubic beard. She reached her hands up over her head to play at his nipples as his hands cupped her hanging tits, and his fingers subtly bothered her hardened buds. Then it all hit her. This was real. This wasn't just another cock, this was her husband's cock. This was Matt's. This was Patrick! She instantly forgot everything else and threw herself into felatio with such wild abandon that she drew murmurs of admiration from the spectators; drew gasps and sighs from Matt. As she felt him approaching, she detected, also, the wild surge of sensation rising once again from between her own legs. Her head, bobbing with increased gusto, translated to a frenzy of stimulation from the hydraulics beneath her. Matt's hands left her breasts to clasp her head and pull it hard against his root. He saw coloured lights flashing before his eyes, felt his iron rod begin to detach itself, like a rocket at lift off. He was on the edge of astral projection, the rushing energy of his arousal freeing him from his body. Like the subsonic rumbling of a deep earthquake, they both sensed the distant beginnings of his orgasm. Jenn pulled futilely, trying to swallow him completely, as his member became rigid and convulsive. Nectar boiled from his balls, rippling up the shaft to erupt with such force that Matt wavered, and went weak.