tagLesbian SexCoagulant

Coagulant

byAbraxis©

Glory stroked languidly at the tight golden curls of her vulva as she watched July droplets of rain splash through the screen of her bedroom window. The room's stale heat and the morning's fresh rain joined as in a chemical reaction, causing a rebirth of odors that had died two nights before. Glory breathed in the conglomerate odor of spilled malt liquor, Chinese take-out, and low-grade carpet cleaner. The odor, particularly the antiseptic strawberry quality it possessed, provoked her mind to remember an occasion from the week before. The memory consequentially gave liberty to a small spark of brilliance from the depth of her heart. Glory smiled fondly. The smile was genuine, In its authenticity the smile was rare. It was only Nina and the memory of her that could provoke Glory to smile without contriving it, without invention. The naked woman laughed quietly as she thought, then sighed as immediate reality regained her attention Glory turned to look at the alarm clock, and realized her next client for the day was due to arrive within a half hour. The smile of her happy recollection had gradually shrunk, withdrawing into the part of the dominatrix that no one of her client's ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Glory rose from the scattered pink sheets, closed the window, and locked it. From beside her bed, beside the alarm clock, she took a key chain. On its ring hung three keys, and a plastic representation of a humpback whale adorned on either side with the words: I love to do it in the bay, Cape Cod Mass. Glory looked over the scantly furnished room, then left it, locking the door behind her. She walked down the hall to the bathroom. The room was kept clean, scrubbed and polished with meticulous care. Each tile and fixture gleamed. Within the brilliance she reaches for the heating vent, and lifted it slightly from its fitting. It is where Glory hides her keys during a session. After tucking the keys in a nook between floor boards she fixed the metal grate back into place. She then stepped into the shower. Glory washed from her body any residue of that morning's client, only to wash again after the next. She closed her eyes to rinse the soap from her face, and saw Nina's short black hair, her precious eyes, her bright juvenile smile, her smooth shoulders. If it had not been a business day Glory would have reached her fingertips between the lips of her vulva, and manipulated her clitoris to the images of Nina's small white breasts and buttocks. But for the sake of her lover Glory calmed herself, storing the memory away in the most secret part of her mind before it could ever be tainted by the slightest filth. It

amazed Glory when she thought about it, how there actually existed a part of herself to keep secret. It was very fortunate, after all those years, all those somnambulant years.

Glory not only quelled the arousal out of personal need, but also for the sake of her clients. She was a business woman after all, and business had to be done correctly. She took sometimes over two thousand dollars from a single client for an hour's session, and believed they should receive their money's worth. And what their money bought them was absolute confidentiality, a secure private environment, fulfillment of whatever pleasure of displeasure they cared to experience, and an Oscar-worthy performance on the part of their hostess. Glory could not fake insatiability without a solid foundation. If she caused even one small orgasm within herself just prior to a session that foundation would be substantially loosened. It not only meant a transparent performance, but it could also mean a potential breech of control. Because during every session, whether Glory is or is not genuinely aroused, whether she is the giver or the taker, no matter how dominant the client pays to be, she must have absolute control. Glory has never lost command of a situation. Clients can be broken down to weeping sniveling heaps of flesh, or be enraged into fits of auto-mutilation, but Glory will always keep her focus.

There were clients like Joan Hammond. She paid to have her vulva shaved bare, so that Glory may carve in the word "rose" with a straight edged razor. There was David Jakes. He brought one of either to women whom he commanded to eat and drink, then relieve themselves over his naked body. There was a trio of women who called themselves the Andrew sisters. On one another they would perform such acts as harsh whippings to the buttocks, poking clitoris' with sewing needles, and urination upon each others bodies. They were some of Glory's most regular clients. They had the tendency to call upon her services more than three times a month. For all outward appearances they tended to be well-to-do sort of folk. Some were housewives with rich husbands. Some, like David Jakes, were CEO's or vice presidents of various corporations. Others were career women, no husband, no children. Some had been coming to Glory for years, and despite how abused, defiled, and degraded they paid to be, they always came back again and again. Joan Hammond was her most valued client. She was an intelligent woman who, despite her proximity to the age of fifty, weather clothed or otherwise, could overwhelm the senses. She was a generous benefactor, a constructive aid in the enlistment of clients with similar temperament and class, a trusted associate. Joan Hammond once proposed the idea of a partnership, business and otherwise. But that was an impossibility for the sole reason of her having sought Glory's services in the first place, thereby restricting her from any worthwhile intimacy.

Glory stepped out of the tub, reached for the towel, and proceeded to wipe the tepid glistening beads from herself. The day's next session was to be introductory. Joan Hammond had recommended Glory's services to a man who chose to be referred to as Howard Hughes. This was all well and good with Glory since she herself chose not to divulge her real name. Not even clients as old as Mrs. Hammond or Mr. Jakes knew her true name. Nina knew it, but that was Nina. The dominatrix blow dried her shoulder length hair, and applied a lilac body spray. With each motion the face of her lover was full in Glory's mind. As she walked to the master bed room, which for her purposes served as the play room [the dungeon], Glory recalled the last night Nina had visited her. Her body shivered, new to the sensations brought on by emotions she there to fore never ever experienced.

Glory's gaze crossed the span of the room. Against the south wall stood the armaments rack, complete with ropes, chains, four types of whips, rubber hoses, leather straps, and variously sized clamps. On the floor below the rack was a trunk full of wire mesh, leather, and rubber costumes and masks. Against the opposite wall was a chest of three drawers, on which an economy sized box of lubricated condoms, a large roll of plastic wrap -the size used in restaurants, and one jar of K-Y jelly. What filled the three drawers were dildos and vibrators of various width and length, anus plugs, nipple clamps, three boxes of Polaroid film, and one Polaroid camera. Glory drew a great breath, and smelled faint traces of Lysol, and scented oils.

She stood in the center of the room, and looked at the stage set against the west wall. The platform -six inches high and seven feet square- was a short and flat frame of 4 by 4's, covered in plywood. It's surface was done in do it yourself linoleum, the color of egg shell. Affixed to the wall were pulleys, iron rings, and clips. Supported by an upright six foot post of oak -anchored back stage center, and supported at the wall by two joists- was braced a smoothly sanded beam of pine that projected out, over the center of the platform. The bean was also fitted with iron rings and pulleys. Glory stared blankly at the stage, and thought it was getting to be about time she retired, and in thinking the word retired brought once more the image of her lover. As the door bell rang, the dominatrix told herself to stop telling herself that Nina was too good to be true.

Jane, as Glory chose to introduce herself, casually returned to check her hair, and to put on a slight notion of cranberry lipstick. She then slipped into a pair of four inch heels that had been waiting for her by the bathroom door. It was her custom, her style, to greet her clients wearing only a pair of heels. Neighbors of the highest moral intent could not complain about any illicit exposure on the part of Glory, since the small home in which she lived was surrounded by a quadrangle of seven foot wood plank fencing and gate. If the parents of the community could not keep their male children from staring at the woman while she sun bathed, from their perch atop a pyramid of milk crates they'd collected, it was no fault of hers. Glory's nudity was a matter of comfort, whereas Jane's was a tactic of business. It helped her to establish control from the beginning. Her nudity was, in itself not greatly intimidating. But the imposing yet feminine muscles she worked hard to get, and her six foot five inch frame, was enough to warrant undivided attention. And so she has answered the front door since her business began six years earlier. The bell rang twice more before she answered.

"Ms...Ms. Jane?" muttered the man, visibly taken aback by her, "You must be Ms. Jane. I'm Mr. Hughes. May I come in?"

"You may." she slinked away, turning her back to him, "Please close the door, and lock it. Thank you. Would you follow me please?"

Jane led him around the corner, to the living room. She turned to ask him to sit, and realized that he was as tall if not taller than she. The stoop, or how he had stood upon it, had caused a false perception. And in seeing him she then realized that he was the first perspective client to ever reach her height. It gave her cause enough to be extra firm with him, regardless of Mrs. Hammond's emphatic testimony on his behalf. Through her long time client Jane knew the man's pleasure was nothing new, nothing beyond Jane's ordinary. Mr. Hughes wanted to be hung from the beam, and bitten until he told the giver to stop. She saw that he was not looking at her. She began to feel a sense of routine. She would bite him if he wished, if he passed her inspection and inquiry.

"Look at me Mr. Hughes." Jane demanded, standing before him,

"Don't stare at my vulva, Mr. Hughes. Make eye contact with me, please. I'm not some fucking dollar-a-peek strip club bitch. I'm sure you are aware of the fact that I am above all that. Mr. Hughes, don't turn your eyes away when I'm speaking to you."

"I'm sorry." he spoke softly, "I'm very sorry. It's just that this is so very new for me, and you-...you're such a beautiful woman."

"And you're such an unattractive old man. How old are you Mr. Hughes?" "

“Fifty-one."

"Really? Well, you look about seventy-five to me."

"I know. It's the stress from my job I guess, coupled with the fact that I had a terrible plastic surgeon."

"That's very funny Mr. Hughes."

"Funny as it may sound to you Ms. Jane, its the truth."

She watched him for a moment, cold and penetrating. He tried to keep his eyes to hers, his nervousness more evident with every blink. He cleared his throat, once, twice. She relented suddenly, and strode to her black Italian chaise.

"How long have you known Mrs. Hammond?" asking him as she sat.

"Oh, two years now. She came to our investment firm, I was assigned to her, we began dating, and I suppose we'll stay that way. Since her divorce Joan's been sort of leery. well, .you know. Uh,she and I, we could begin by letting me into a usual session between you and Joan. So that you would be absolutely sure of whether you-"

"Believe me Mr. Hughes. If I had any reservations about taking you on, you'd have known already. Now I'm just concerned with the formalities. May I see the results of your STD tests."

He fumbled through his pants pockets, came up with a four by five inch slip of paper, and handed it over. She took it, read the positive results, found Joan's doctor's signature, and handed it back. Her eyes met his. She stared ardently, stroking a finger back and forth across her upper lip as she stared. He waited, fidgeting in his seat, appearing to her that even if she gave him clearance she would never see him again.

"All right Mr. Hughes." she said, her tone grave and sensual, "Let's discuss schedules, and see when we can fit each other in."

Then, casting his eyes with all most robotic repetition toward every direction between Ms. Jane and his shoes, Mr. Hughes smiled. Yet as timid as he was, Hughes had returned two weeks later. Joan had scheduled two sessions, to which he was invited. For the majority of the first hour he merely watched his companion's reactions to the casually violent stimulation of Jane's needles and pins. By that session's end Mr. Hughes had partially disrobed in response to Mrs. Hammond's wish that he allow Jane to stick him in his most erogenous places. For those last ten minutes Mr. Hughes grew erect, blood filling the sponge-meat of his penis with each tiny puncture Jane left in the skin around his chest and hips. Then in the final minute, with the immediacy of frenzied lust, Mrs. Hammond pulled the erection from its confinement. She took it full into her mouth for a time, then proceeded to sink her teeth into the swollen head. He grunted once, and she released him. The result was a substantial ejaculation splashing her face. Mrs. Hammond then slowly eased her semen slick face across the man's chest. Glory looked on, and wondered why they even needed her at all.

The second session was more intense, and the dominatrix learned where she was to fit into the new triangle. It began with Mr. Hughes in Jane's place, poking Joan's clitoris, licking it with a fitful tongue. His fully naked body was not as worn by age as was his face. It was lean, his skin smooth and taut in the places the sun rarely saw. He instructed her to bite his rump. She did. He told her to bite harder. She did. Ms. Jane saw the marks her teeth had left across his buttocks. Mr. Hughes then sluggishly twisted onto his back, and tossed the needle to the floor. Joan raised herself from the floor, then facing Jane, eased her vulva onto the man's face. It was she then who told Jane to bite, bite his lower abdomen, his legs, his inner thighs, his buttocks, She told her to pull his scrotum, to pluck its hairs with her teeth. From beneath her Mr. Hughes grunted. Joan nodded, then lowered her face to Jane's.

"Make him bleed." she whispered, "Make him bleed."

"I have rules Joan." Jane said, quiet and sure, "You know that."

"Please Ms. Jane. Please draw blood. I'll give you an extra five hundred. Bite his cock, bite his cock for him."

"That kind of mess is not worth any money. Damn it Joan, you know better than to put me in this position!"

"Well then bite something else, something that won't make a mess."

Glory watched the woman rise away from her, shivering with orgasm. As Joan came, Glory could hear Mr. Hughes whimpering between his partner's legs. She smelled his scent, the age-stale musk of him. She saw the bite marks she had left around his sex, saw the deep marks she knew were not her own. The man cried more fitfully, and she knew that if something wasn't done the whole session would lead to no payment. All she needed was a few more thousand, just a few more thousand and she'd be gone. Slowly Glory brought her open mouth to the man's belly. Gradually she sank her teeth just left of his navel. It was only seconds later that she felt the hot blood fill her mouth, seconds later when he pulled Joan's ass onto his face and ejaculated. seconds later, Joan writhed and whimpered with her second orgasm. The blood rushed from the wound as Jane pulled away, wiping the semen from her cheeks and chin. Her clients fell limp, breathing ferociously. Jane stared vacantly as she reached for a cloth to wipe her face, and another to stop the bleeding. It was a half hour more before Joan and Mr. Hughes were washed and clothed, their wounds treated, their appetites temporarily satisfied. Joan apologized for pushing so hard, and handed her the cash. Hughes smiled as he handed her an extra fifteen hundred for the inconvenience. The smile was strange, snide.

"Can we come by next week?" asked Joan.

"I'll be away next week." Glory answered, "Next week and the week after."

Hughes seemed to cringe at the news. He began to fidget, switching postures. His thin gray eyes, blood shot from having wept during the session, switched rapidly from Glory to Joan and back again. Presently, he cleared his throat.

"We hope we didn't scare you away..." he said quietly, "I'm sorry if w-"

"I don't get scared off Mr. Hughes." interrupted Ms. Jane, "Some lines just shouldn't be crossed. I become concerned. If you want to bleed to death, do it somewhere else."

Her stare rigid, and vacant, she drew nearer to him.

"I know what happens to a man," Jane lowered her voice to a whisper, "When his full prick starts to bleed. It doesn't stop Mr. Hughes, it just doesn't stop. And I'll take responsibility for degrading you with my piss and my shit, and displeasuring you within reason, but I will not be responsible for killing you. Joan, if I don't answer your calls two weeks from now, don't be surprised."

"But..." ,Joan hesitated, wanting to call her Glory, imploring her, "But Jane, please be reasonable."

"Don't say another word Joan. I'm already disappointed in you, don't make it worse on yourself. Now just leave, just leave."

Throughout Glory's condemnation Joan's expressions changed tempestuously from contentment, to disbelief, to anger, to sorrow, to finally shame. She said nothing, and walked briskly out the door. Hughes had not said another word. Glory knew she would have Joan back. Her expressed disappointment in the woman was a reflection of the degradation and pain Joan paid for. Joan loved her shame, however destructive it was to her soul. And for her shame, to suffer the arousal through debasement she would do whatever it took in order to continue her relationship with Ms. Jane. That meant Mr. Hughes would not be a regular client, by no means what so ever, no matter how much Joan wanted him to be. But there existed the possibility that Hughes could service Joan's sado-masochism more effectively than she. Which if that was the case, there were always other clients.

However, as Ms. Jane had said, she would be spending the next two weeks away. No calls, no schedules, no clients for two weeks. Three months prior Glory had booked two weeks at the Top Mast Resort, a quiet little place on the bay side just a half mile from Province Town. There are those who have a favorite place to be in the world, and for her it was the Cape, the sand, the sun, the swooping gulls, the slow serenity of the bay. She had booked it before meeting Nina. If there had no one to accompany her, Glory would be no less satisfied with her solitude. But Nina was joining her, to share the experience, to embrace whatever intimacy developed, to lose themselves in each other, to disclose. The relationship was new, shallow water for them both. They knew only four dates worth of one another, enough time to be interested, to be tantalized, to be hopeful, to chance diving into the depths.

If Glory had not treated herself to a movie that night two months ago-having chosen to see it in the city, for no other reason than just the sake of seeing it in the city- the couple would not have met. Having purchased her ticket Glory made her way to the snack counter. As she drew nearer to the line of patrons she began to study, as did most others around the counter, a lovely woman paying for her pop corn. The lobby was full of beautiful women, but the woman was not drawing attention solely for her beauty. By all outward appearances, she was blind. The woman left the counter, and slowly made her way toward an awaiting usher, tapping her cane gingerly as she walked. Out of all those who stared no one moved to help her because it was after all New York City. They walked about her as if she was diseased, as if the energy around her was too thick to pass through. Glory followed her. She thought to help the woman, but say she in fact needed no help at all. Glory felt an admiration for the stranger, something she there to fore felt for no one but herself. She followed the woman into the dark theater, followed her to the eighth aisle from the front, followed her to the fifth seat. Glory stood waiting to take the seat beside her when suddenly the blind woman stood.

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