Bisexual Awakenings: The Journal of Bleu_Light_Special

Eagerly I nod, anxious for the tale to begin, cupping her hand as it trails languidly against my skin. A beginning, yes that's something... at least for now.

I sit silently and watch her compose her thoughts, her eyes twinkling at my childlike enthusiasm. "Where to begin, she murmurs, drawing out the moment, and then she decides.

A slow smile claiming her beautiful lips, she turns her face toward the sea and begins to paint a picture of the Spanish explorers during the 1500's, the "Conquistadores" who first landed in their galleons and claimed this land and its treasures for Spain so many centuries before. She speaks of conquest and slavery, the ruthless quest for both the riches and souls of those who lived here. Finally, she tells of "Cibola", the legendary seven cities of gold for which the conqueror Francisco Vasques de Coronado slaughtered so many innocent men women and children...and of her ancestor, a captain in his army and an accessory to the bloody devastation Coronado committed in his quest.

She pauses now. The worst is over. The tale now takes a new twist. "Coronado never found his golden cities," she says, a faraway look in her eyes. "They didn't exist. But the young captain was never the same. Years later, after Coronado had met his Maker far to the south, the tormented Spaniard left the service of his country and chose to take up residence here in the New World, a penance for his sins...and vowed never to see his homeland again. And so the west wing of El Remordimiente de Capitan came into being...'The Captain's Remorse'."

"He spent the rest of his life here in this place," she continues, "Shut off from the people who wandered these lands, shunning friends and his family in Spain. Then finally, one day a young Indian girl was washed up on the beach, the victim of a sailing accident. He was lonely... so lonely by then, and seeing her as a way to partially atone for his sins, he took her in and made her a member of his meager household. Before long a passion began to grow between them, and they wished to marry. But, as fate would have it, her faith and his were not compatible in the eyes of the church, and he was denied the rite of holy matrimony."

She sighs deeply. "Their love, by now, had outgrown the confines of accepted convention. And so, just before their first child was born, they made their own vows before their Gods, right here on the shifting sand, and turned their backs on a world that had failed to accept their union."

"And that, my Precious One, is how my family came to this place, and how the original hacienda came into being. I fear that many of his lineage have been unconventional as well," she whispers, her hand warming to its task once again. "Perhaps you've noticed?"

She smiles at the irony. Unconventional indeed! Why would one wish to be a part of the humdrum world about them with such a glorious existence within their grasp, I wonder?

Once more I feel her fingers ruffle the auburn fur between my thighs, and my passion begins to warm. Then, far out along the shore I spy a movement, someone strolling along this desolate stretch of beach. Who might have ventured this far away from hearth and home, I wonder?

I watch as he closes the distance, my appreciation growing as he nears. He's handsome, this young man, perhaps in his early twenties, and attractive in both his youthful innocence and his striking demeanor. He must have been fair at one time, I surmise, for even now his sun-streaked hair shows the pale essence of his lineage. But, if his skin has ever been ashen, it will never be again, for now it bears the bronze of many days, years perhaps spent beneath the desert sun.

I rise in appreciation, devouring with my eyes the firm smoothness of his body, clad scantily in a pair of severely abbreviated cut-offs. It's only now that Amora joins my preoccupation and waves in recognition.

"That's Kyle," she offers. "He lives here. He's part of the staff...my gardener. Would you like to meet him?"

Tentatively, I nod. I've never had much luck with men, and I'm sure this blond Adonis will be no exception. But, if he lives here, then it's best I be introduced.

Amora rises now, and waving she directs Kyle towards the stairs that lead up to our aerie. Lightly he takes the steps two at a time, with a familiarity that I'm sure he's learned from experience. Then, drawing abreast he takes his measure of our little party.

"MMM, breakfast," he smiles appreciatively. "You don't suppose Liza has any more of those in the kitchen, do you?" he asks.

"Perhaps," Amora responds. "If that's what you're hungry for this morning."

His expression changes now, and he looks with interest at my lover, his eyes caressing her rounded curves.

She, in turn, plucks a ripe strawberry from the basket and places it between her lips, taunting him, daring him to remove it from her possession.

It's an old game...I can tell. Quickly he presses his lips to hers and the ruse falls by the wayside, the berry now forgotten as he swallows it whole and slips his tongue into her waiting mouth.

Silently she runs her fingers across the firmness of his jawline and frowns. "You haven't shaved this morning," she accuses. "You're becoming a savage, Kyle. We'll have to do something about that."

His eyes become glazed at the thought, as though anything that involved Amora would be a welcomed treat. Then, slowly she slides her hand beneath the embarrassingly high juncture of his cut-offs and curls her fingers around his unseen member. He inhales sharply. I rise to give the two lovers some privacy, but Amora halts my retreat.

"You could do with a shave yourself, my Sweet. Perhaps my savage gardener here can accommodate you. I'd enjoy watching him try."

I'm puzzled, but then Amora draws me back into my chair and directs me untie my robe. I'm embarrassed at first, hesitant to expose myself before this bronzed stranger. But then she gestures to Liza, and my robe vanishes to either side, my bared flesh warming before their eyes.

"No false modesty, my Sweet. I want to show you off. She's perfect, isn't she Kyle. Don't you think so?"

If scrutiny were an art, then Kyle would be a master, for his eyes seem to miss nothing, not the tiniest freckle, not the smallest curve.

Amora looks on keenly now, as though forming the second act of this impromptu play. "Get closer, Kyle. Open her legs and drape them over the arms of the chair so that you may examine her more intimately. She's quite beautiful, you know, exquisite in fact."

A smile crosses the young man's features. Has he done this before, I wonder? Am I the first, or just one in a long line?

With remarkable expertise he slips his fingers between my legs, then his palms, until my trembling knees fall to either side and I can feel his warm breath between my thighs. Firmly he grasps, and with gentle pressure he lifts first one leg and then the other, resting them on the arms of the chair until I am fully exposed, and my most intimate portal gapes moistly before his eyes.

"You're right," he agrees. "She's beautiful. So pink... so ripe, but I can see where a shave would help. May I?" he asks, running his fingers through my unruly thatch.

But Amora has already sent for the razor, and in a heartbeat Liza stands before him, the blade and the bowl of whipped cream from the table in her hands.

I cringe. Am I to be the entertainment at this brazen gathering? Am I to have his hands pass the razor over my sex, time and again until they've had their fill?

Amora sees my distress and comes to the fore. "Don't be shy, Little One. We're all shaven here. Would you like to see what Kyle looks like after he's shaved himself?"

Then, turning with a nod, she directs her young gardener to remove the flimsy swatch of denim that binds his loins and share the secrets of his body with me.

Kyle is pleased at the turn of events, and rising quickly, is soon standing naked between my thighs, offering me the same intimate inspection that he so enjoyed only moments before.

Wide-eyed I stare at the beauty of this young man's body. His uninterrupted tan and the smooth taper of his hips do much to highlight the prodigious erection that even now rises before me. He presses forward, inviting me to touch, to taste if I would, but then Amora shifts the scene once more.

"Kneel between her thighs, Kyle. Apply the cream and begin. I'm anxious to watch," she says, drawing Liza into her lap.

Her young man is quick to obey, and in but a few seconds I feel the cool sweetness of the frothy cream being slathered between my legs, against my nether lips in wet profusion...and then the blade.

Nervously I glance at my hostess, but find no reprieve. Instead, Amora has lifted the skirt of her servant girl and is even now dipping a berry deep into a cream of another kind.

Slowly she pops it into her mouth and reaches for another, her eyes never leaving my foamy thatch, her fingers pressing each red fruit deep into Liza's body with slow abandon.

Kyle seems competent at first, drawing the blade with a remarkable degree of expertise until all that remains is the thin fringe of auburn that highlights the very slit of my opening. Here he pauses, and slipping his fingers inside, he forces my lips outward so they might become more accessible to his ministrations. My nails curl into my palms. I mustn't disgrace myself, I think, but what is the protocol here. Would it be unseemly for me to gush into this young man's hand? Of course it would! Would Amora be angry? I must control myself...I must.

I glance once more at Amora, only to find her gazing heatedly at Kyle's last gesture, and at his throbbing erection that now juts heavily between us. Is that jealousy I see fleetingly skimming across her features...could it be? Is she jealous of Kyle...or of me?

She sets Liza aside now, and taking the remainder of the whipped cream from the table, she closes the distance for a closer inspection. Then, with an impish grin, she drops her own clothing and presses closely against Kyle's buttocks, her hands circling his hips...and it's only now that I see the huge glob of white froth in her palm.

I watch, fascinated as she grasps his burgeoning pole with her slippery palms, squishing them forward and back until his shaft and scrotum are thoroughly coated and he squirms with unspent energy.

Kyle bites his lower lip, his control wavering, his hard member blossoming to incredible proportions as Amora continues to stroke and torment him with blatant intent. She presses closer, tighter, and it's plain that she has the upper hand here...this is her game, and she enjoys it.

It's my turn now, and she pulls Kyle behind...spreading her legs in a clear invitation...a reward for a game well played, perhaps. Then, dropping on all fours, she brushes her fingers against my smooth sex, enjoying the naked feel of my flesh, and begins to lick the errant splotches of cream from my oozing slit.

Kyle is in agony by now, his tool fairly bursting with need, and wastes no time positioning himself behind Amora's buttocks. Quickly he wraps his hands around her hips and thrusts himself massively inside of her belly. She sighs within me, her low rumble vibrating irresistibly as he plunges again, burying the full length of himself deep in her body, driving her face against my dripping core with rhythmic force.

Most men would expend themselves quickly, I fear, under such circumstances, but not Kyle. He's been taught by the best, and the best is what he gives. With a skill that belies his years, he reaches around Amora's slender hips and buries his fingers between her trembling folds, his talented digits drawing out her escalating moans as her climax nears.

I can feel her cries of pleasure now, deep in my body, following the line of her probing tongue as it thrusts pointedly into my wet and writhing core. I begin to tense...shuddering. Then like a chain reaction I spew against her face, my flow dripping down her chin in foamy disarray, my fist pressed tightly against my teeth to mute the volume of my cries.

But, what's this? Kyle, and my own trembling orgasm have sent my hostess into spasms of pleasure as well. She now drops to her elbows between my knees, reaching behind her to grasp the scrotum of her young lover, squeezing until he volleys his sperm deep into her body...a final act to her well-choreographed play.

Liza has followed out little play with great enthusiasm, her delicate fingers stroking the tender flesh between her thighs. Her eyes are glazed, and she leans in satisfied repose.

Breakfast has never been like this before, I muse. Will it ever be again? Somewhere, in the back of my mind I know the answer.

It will...

Chapter 6

Sated, we rest ourselves until the spirit moves us to begin our tour of the hacienda. It will take the remainder of the day, I surmise, for this place is grand and sprawling, the product of many years and many residents. I am anxious to know all, and I follow happily as Amora leads me through the courtyard and down a stone pathway toward a modest, Spartan dwelling on the far western edge of the property.

We enter carefully, pausing to allow our eyes to adjust to the darkness within, sparking a candle to light our tour into it's almost windowless interior. Here the opulence of El Capitan is missing, giving way to the hard packed earthen floor of a peasant's hovel. It has been maintained, I realize, for above the thick adobe walls the thatched roof maintains its integrity and the place is immaculately clean.

"This," says Amora, "Is the original casita of the young capitan, Juan Sebastian. Despite the nobility of his birth family in Seville, Juan chose to live a life of impoverished penance here in this hovel, to atone for his part in the slaughter over Cibola. He and his wife spent their lives in isolation here, eventually giving birth to five children, all of whom returned to Spain except for the eldest son. He remained in this place to take up the banner of his father's guilt, changing his surname to de Capitan when the church refused to acknowledge his birthright.

As you can see, it is a meager casa, boasting none of the finery of its age...a place for a man to regain his pride, or lose himself in his sorrow. But they say he was happy here, living in isolation on the shores of the sea with his beloved wife, Maya. Perhaps he was...I hope so.

Amora turns now and leads me back to the main house, to an opulence that speaks to me of great wealth and indulgence. No hovel this, instead this place bears no allegiance to its origins, shunning them in favor of gilded ostentation and bold overstatement.

"This is the main house," Amora explains. "It was built in the 1600's by my ancestor, Luis Hernando de Capitan. It was during his time that the king of Spain ceded large tracts of land in the New World, along the northern coast of California to the Sebastian family. Vineyards, a cattle ranch and mines of precious metals now fell under their control. These, in turn, were given over to the only living member of the family in this part of the world, Luis Hernando."

"Unlike those who passed before him," she continues with an evasive smile, "Luis was not a reclusive man, much the opposite in fact. He used the great wealth that came his way to build a mansion, something to impress the peasantry in the now populated townships across the bay.

As you see, he had a passion for overstatement, curving the great marble staircases around this ornate, gilded fountain which dominates the entryway. Stained glass and crystal adorn this part of the house, imported from the far reaches of the world and brought by ship and ox cart to this spot for his pleasure."

"But, as I said, Luis rejected the reclusive lifestyle of his predecessors, and people from the outside world occasionally made their way across the bay and into his affluent hacienda, some of whom were never seen again."

If I'm startled now, I try to hide it. What does she mean..."were never seen again?"

Amora now leads me to an ancient door, heavy with age and thick, reinforced with heavy oak supports and iron rivets. Here she pauses, and we rest for a moment atop a red, velvet settee by the entryway.

I have a present for you, my Sweet. Something I've thought you'd enjoy for so long. But now you're here, aren't you? There is no longer a need to resist." she smiles.

Then, reaching into a velvet purse, she removes a jeweled collar and four matching cuffs, deceptively flimsy in appearance, but sturdy in the ways that count. My skin prickles. Am I to be shackled, I wonder? Has Amora taken this role of ours, this cyber play seriously?

Eyes wide, I watch as she adjusts them to my ankles and wrists, finally circling the lengthiest one around my throat with a muted click as tiny inset mechanisms secure solidly beneath her touch. A minute silver key hangs about her neck on an ancient-looking filigree chain...beautiful in its simplicity.

"This is very old," she says. "It was a gift from Juan Sebastian to his beloved Maya...the key to his heart. It's my most precious possession. I've had the locks on your bangles crafted to match," she explains, running the chain through her fingers.

"Your fantasy is now complete, don't you think?" she smiles sensuously. "These passionate restraints bear the mark of El Remordimiento del Capitan. I've been hoping you'd enjoy them from the first moment I met you in the 'Bondage Room'."

She turns then and adds one more piece. "I'd like you to don this as well, Little One," she adds, offering me a silken blindfold. "One can't really appreciate the full effect of Luis' curious tastes without it," she continues mysteriously.

What am I to do? My hesitancy is obvious, and I can tell that it disappoints her. "Do you wish to continue, Bleu? It's your choice, you know. Passion is a thing to be shared...or it is nothing."

I think back to my empty existence, to my lackluster days in Tucson, and I think, "Can this be worse?"

And so I don the mask, listening as she strikes a match to light yet another candle, and leads me downward along a flight of winding stone steps toward the dank underbelly of the mansion.

Have we traveled far, or have we just begun, I wonder as my feet cross the chilled expanse of the stone flooring. It's cooler here, and I can feel the damp air seep beneath my gown to lick my flesh with its clammy tongue.

Finally, we arrive, and I hear a heavy door swing wide on its cumbersome hinges before me. I reach up to remove my blindfold, but find my Amora has other plans.

"No," she directs, "Leave it there. I want to give you the full effect of this place."

So saying she guides me backward against the cold stone surface of a wall, raising my arms above my head as she presses closely against me.

A click...and then another. I try to move, but my arms are held fast. What's happened, I wonder in panic? What's come to pass in this loathsome place?

In an instant my blindfold is removed, and I take in my surroundings. It is a cellar of sorts, a dungeon if you will. It is constructed of thick stone walls, into which heavy iron rings have been anchored. It smells of mold and fear...age and debauchery.

Amora waits while I adjust to the dim light of the room, then approaches and runs her fingers along my trembling form. My robe is once more parted, and she gazes in satisfaction at my distended nipples and quivering abdomen. She reaches to my left at this time, and takes from the wall a rod... no, not a rod, but a crop...the type used to whip horses.

"Do you like this, my Sweet One? Is this what you crave?"

I cringe in earnest now as Amora weighs the cruel leather-bound instrument in her hands, deciding what comes next. And then she continues her tale...

"You see, Luis had a little secret...or a large secret if you will. His sexual preferences were, shall we say, as unorthodox as his other tastes."