tagBDSMFamous Blue Raincoat

Famous Blue Raincoat

byNatalie Nessus©

Inspired by the songs of Leonard Cohen

Part 1: Sisters of Mercy
(Oh the sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone.
They were waiting for me when I thought that I just can't go on)


I purchased the blue raincoat in 1986 from the Camden markets as a celebration when I finally finished fashion school. The coat was of soft leather, dyed navy blue and had those wonderful marks and creases that demonstrated its age. I guessed it was from the sixties or seventies and as I was into the retro sixties look at the time, I bought it. It was a little tight over the chest when I closed it as I do have large breasts but I was going to wear it mostly open any way. When I wore it over a black skirt, turtle neck and boots with my long blonde hair hanging loose on my shoulders, I fantasised I was Jane Asher or some terribly chic chick from the mod era with a boyfriend in the Beatles.

My boyfriend at the time sneered at it when I twirled around to show him. "It looks crummy, Marianne," Lenny said in that exaggerated south London accent of his. "It's too old, darl."

"I don't care," I said defiantly, "I love it."

Lenny had left school as soon as he could and became a mechanic, focusing on motor bikes. Now, at twenty-eight, he owned a small Ducati dealership, rode bikes all the time while dressed in his brand new red leathers and black helmet. He and his friends would take off on weekend jaunts across the channel and ride through France or Spain, leaving me behind in dreary London. I didn't like his friends much, all lads who swilled lager and whistling at girls while ogling my breasts, so I didn't care.

However, I would have liked to have gone to Paris with Lenny and enjoyed a romantic weekend but he didn't seem interested. His only interest was quick sex and boasting to his mates. At twenty-five, I wasn't interested in becoming his chief cook and bottle-washer that he could give a quick unsatisfying poke to when he felt the urge but I didn't know how to disengage from the relationship.

I wore the raincoat to interview after interview as I tried to get a job in the fashion houses but the nicer ones politely shooed me away while the others just laughed at me. In desperation, I started looking at other jobs and ignored Lenny when he tried to get me to work at his bike shop. He was also becoming very pushy about moving in together and, I knew if I didn't get a job, I would have to give up my little flat and do exactly that.

Depressed, I trudged up the stairs to my final interview for the day at 'Cut' magazine, a fashion monthly that claimed it was on the cutting edge of the new fashion. "Nice work," Nancy said as she studied my portfolio. "How long have you been in London?" She was dressed entirely in black, her dark hair short and spiky but she somehow managed to appear cool and elegant, especially with that refined accent.

"Three years," I said tiredly.

"You haven't lost your accent," she observed as she flicked through my designs.

"Why should I?" I flared and she smiled.

"Everyone tries to be someone else in London while pretending they've been here all their lives. You look and sound like a young woman from Liverpool."

"I am," I sighed, slumping back while I waited for her to push me out the door into the London gloom. "I'm just me."

"Well," Nancy said slowly, "we can't pay you very much and you'll have to do a bit of everything."

"What?" I exclaimed. "You are giving me a job?"

"I have to check it with Suzanne but I think it'll be fine."

I squealed in delight, leapt up and hugged her, then embarrassed broke away. "I sorry," I rushed, "it's just that I've been looking for a long time and this is so bloody fantastic and….."

"All right, all right," Nancy smiled, interrupting me. "Calm down. When can you start?"

"Tomorrow?"

Nancy laughed and nodded. "Tomorrow is Friday. How about Monday?"

I nodded and, stupidly, I felt a tear rolling down my cheek. "Thank you," I said as I wiped my eyes.

Nancy patted me on the arm and she smiled. "Us Liverpuddlian birds have to stay together, eh?" she said in a thick accent and I gaped at her. "As I said," she in her normal cultured accent with a cheeky smile, "everyone tries to be someone else but I'm as Mersey as you, love. Now dry your eyes and go and celebrate. As I said, I'll check with Suzanne but I don't believe there will be a problem."

"Thank you so much, Nancy," I gushed as she walked me to the door.

"See you Monday, Marianne and, by the way, just adore your raincoat."


Part 2: Bird on a Wire
(I have tried in my way to be free)

Lenny wasn't that happy when I excitedly told me my good news and I wondered for the umpteenth time why I bothered staying with him, as he was always critical of me. I longed for romance and love but knew our relationship wasn't going anywhere, as he was just too chauvinistic.

Monday saw me nervously walking into 'Cut' but Nancy welcomed me and made me feel right at home straight away by taking me around and introducing me. Everyone was friendly and really nice and I felt quite at home when we stopped outside a closed office door. "Time to meet Suzanne, the boss," Nancy said, knocking on the door and opening it.

A dark haired woman in her thirties, sitting behind a cluttered desk, looked up and smiled as we entered. "Suzanne," Nancy said. "This is Marianne, the girl I told you about? This is her first day."

"Hello, Marianne," Suzanne said, "Welcome to 'Cut' magazine."

"Thanks," I said, smiling at her and admiring her clothes. Suzanne was dressed in style in a fashionable business suit and soft silk blouse. Her jewellery said she had both money and class and, on top of all that, she was extraordinarily beautiful..

Suzanne smiled at me, her eyes twinkling. "How long have you been in London?"

"Three years," I answered, glancing at Nancy who smiled at me. "I know, I haven't lost the accent."

Suzanne laughed. "I suppose it could be charming." She turned to Nancy. "Have you thought of photographing her? She could be a model."

Nancy nodded. "Nice bone structure but not tall enough and too big in the chest." I blushed as they casually discussed me but I knew that this industry used models as property.

The weeks flew as I threw myself into every thing I was told to do and at the end of three weeks, Suzanne called me into her office. "You're doing very well, Marianne. Lucy is leaving to have her baby soon and I would like you to move into her job. Interested?" she asked as she raised an eyebrow.

Lucy was Suzanne's Editorial Assistant, and I was astonished at the offer, as it was a great job. "Of course," I gasped.

"I need someone with an eye for detail and design. Don't get carried away, Marianne, it's really just my assistant with a small pay rise."

"Thank you so much, Suzanne," I smiled and she regally waved a hand.

"Not at all, my dear," her dark eyes searching mine deeply. "I think you'll do very well indeed."

I sat in most of the meetings and began to really understand and enjoy the publishing business as well as enjoying working closely with Suzanne. Sometimes she could be so warm while at other times she was cold, snappish and demanding but I still loved it and began to work long hours just so I could keep up with her.

One Thursday evening Suzanne, Nancy and I sat at Suzanne's conference table as Suzanne made her decision on the photographs Nancy had submitted for this month's cover story. The models were in the clothes from a well-known Knightsbridge designer and Nancy had posed them in strange belts and handcuffs to illustrate the article called 'Slave to Fashion'.

Suzanne leaned back. "They're all good, Nancy but I'm afraid I don't see a cover shot there."

"What about that one?" Nancy said tapping one picture while exhaling smoke from her cigarette.

Suzanne shook her head. "I want something arresting, a shot people will talk about and will get people to buy our magazine. We do need the circulation figures to increase." We sat in silence for a moment, all three of us staring at the photographs spread across the table.

"Any ideas?" Nancy asked. "Anything in mind?"

Suzanne stared out the window at the lights of London. "I see a young woman's face, eyes wide open, gagged and hands bound in front of her. A close up."

Nancy nodded. "I can see it but we need this tonight. What model owes you a favour?"

Suzanne smiled coldly and I shuddered inside as her eyes swept over me. "Why not Marianne?"

Nancy inspected me. "Suppose she'd do, and she has nice eyes. I've got some props downstairs so we could do it now."

"Excellent," Suzanne said, "then let's do it."

Wait a minute, I wanted to scream, no one has asked me. Don't I get a say in this? I sat nervously waiting for Nancy to return while Suzanne smiled strangely at me, her long fingernails tapping on the table. Suddenly, she stood next to me and tilted my face up and I blushed as she examined my face.

"I'll do your eyes," she said matter of factly, opened a cosmetic bag and started applying eye shadow.

She had finished when Nancy returned carrying her digital camera, portable lights and a bag. "Hey," she said, noticing my eyes, "that looks absolutely fantastic.

"I used to be a stylist remember," Suzanne said while she applied lip-gloss to my lips. For some reason I was trembling slightly as Suzanne's warm body pressed against mine.

"Here," Nancy said as she handed some leather straps to Suzanne.

"Hands," Suzanne said, looking me directly in the eyes and I held my hands out to her so she could quickly buckle the restricting straps around my wrists. "Try to move," Suzanne said softly and I did but my hands were tightly bound. "Good, now open wide." I felt strange as Suzanne inserted a white plastic ball in my mouth and buckled the straps behind my head, carefully pulling my hair over it and arranging it.

A delicious feeling swept of me as I realised I was not in control, that these two women could do anything they liked to me. "Hold your hands in front of your chin," Nancy directed as the camera towards me. "Shit! Her shoulders are in the shot so her blouse is showing!"

"I'll undo it," Suzanne said, standing in front of me and casually undoing the buttons to my white blouse while gazing steadily into my eyes. She smiled as she opened it to reveal my large breasts cradled in a simple white cotton bra. "Poor choice in lingerie," she said and I blushed, "an ugly bra, darling. We are supposed to be a fashion magazine." Her cool fingers casually grazed over my breasts and, my whole body trembling, I knew my panties were soaked.

Suzanne peeled the blouse down from my shoulders and rolled the sleeves up so my bra was completely exposed to the two women. "I can still see the bra straps," Nancy said, the camera held to her face. Suzanne mockingly smiled at me as her fingers slid the bra straps down, her fingers cool against my burning flesh. "That's better, she looks naked now," Nancy called and the camera flashed.

Both women stared at the camera screen critically, leaving me standing, gagged and hands bound in front of me with my heaving breasts exposed in my bra. "The red lips look fantastic against the white gag," commented Nancy and Suzanne nodded. "I could superimpose a lipstick mark on the gag and that's where we could put the title of the article."

"Let's see," Suzanne said, standing in front of me as she applied lipstick to her lips. Her perfume washed over me and my knees were weak as she gently kissed the ball gag, her lips so close to mine that a little groan formed in the back of my throat. "There," She said to Nancy, "what do you think?"

"Perfect. Try to make your eyes wider," she said to me, "and look frightened." The camera flashed again and both women examined the screen. "That's great," Nancy said, gathering her things. "I'll go downstairs and do the art." Without a backward glance she left and Suzanne smiled at me coldly as she walked around me, inspecting me and I trembled under her gaze.

"Have you ever wanted to own someone, own them completely?" she said softly as she circled me. "I do," her soft voice burned in my ears. "Of course, the person must want to be owned, to be loved completely and to give up control. I believe that's you, isn't it?" her breath brushed my ear as she whispered and I moaned behind the gag.

"It's a delicious feeling isn't it?" she mocked. "To give up all control to your owner." She studied my heaving breasts. "So plump and creamy, they would look so much better in black, don't you think?" I tried to tear my eyes away but she held my jaw and turned my face to hers. "Such a slut," she mocked. "Your nipples are like little pencils and I know if I lifted that skirt of yours you would be soaked, your pussy is leaking like a river, isn't it, slut?"

I tried to turn my burning face away but she held my chin firmly. "I'm not going to lift your skirt, slut," she whispered, "because I know what I'll find, boring panties under pantyhose and sodden with your juices. Nod if that's correct, slut." Her steely eyes held mind and, trembling as I fell deeply into her eyes, I nodded.

Scornfully, she released my chin, stepped back and perched against the table, arms folded. "Thought so. Darling, panties under pantyhose is so provincial," she laughed coldly and moved forward to unbuckle the gag. I opened and shut my mouth to remove the stiffness as she released my wrists.

I fumbled with the buttons of my blouse, head down, hoping the floor would swallow me up. "Go home, Marianne," Suzanne said softly. "Thank you for your help tonight. I think the cover will be excellent." I felt her eyes on me as I struggled into my blue raincoat and almost ran out of the office.

A taxi took me straight to Lenny's where I almost attacked him, kissing him passionately until he responded by slipping his hand up my skirt and I imagined it was Suzanne. Moments later, I was moaning and groaning as Lenny fucked me, his cock sliding in and out of my wet pussy until he shuddered and came, leaving me completely unsatisfied.

Sullenly, I watched him go to the bathroom to get rid of the condom, then he wandered to past me on his way to the television. The sound of motorbikes racing soon filled the flat while I wondered if I could masturbate without him noticing.

Instead, I slowly dressed and walked past him as he lay on the sofa watching some bike race. "Not staying, love?" he asked absently, eyes glued to the bikes going around and around some circuit.

"No," I said as I opened the door.

"I'm off with the lads tomorrow. See you on Monday." I stalked away, sure he would gloatingly tell his friends how he had given me a quick poke before his trip.


Part 3: Chelsea Hotel No.2
(I need you, I don't need you
and all of that jiving around)

I spent ages the next morning trying to decide what to wear to work. I had tossed and turned all night, images of Suzanne floating through my mind. Even though I was incredibly frustrated and aroused, I didn't masturbate as, strangely, I thought it wouldn't be at all satisfying.

Finally, I selected a filmy black lace bra, sheer black pantyhose, black skirt and a cream silk blouse with a short jacket. Slipping into high heels instead of my usual Docs, I critically examined myself in the mirror and blushed a little when I saw the dark shadow on my blouse caused by the black bra underneath.

Nancy waved the cover under my eyes as soon as I got in as I was removing my blue raincoat and I blushed deeply when I saw it. "You look fantastic," Nancy smiled. "This will cause some talk and some sales." She stopped and looked me up and down. "Big date tonight with your boyfriend?" she asked shrewdly.

"A date after work but not with Lenny," I stammered and started to walk away.

"Oooh," she called after me, "tell me more."

Suzanne was warm but distant with me all day as we worked and I felt a small sense of relief that she wasn't going to mention the previous night. Strangely, I felt very disappointed as well but I focussed on my job and assisted her throughout the morning. When she left for lunch with someone, I felt jealous but kept working, eating a sandwich at my desk.

Suzanne returned mid afternoon and immediately vanished into her office until the evening when I was the only one left in the office, everybody else departed for the weekend. I switched my computer off, tidied my desk, and slipped into my raincoat and, taking a deep breath, I nervously tapped on Suzanne's door.

She was seated at her desk, smoking a cigarette and gazing out the window at the lights spread before her. Turning, she tapped some ash into the ashtray and coolly examined me. "Everyone left for the weekend?"

I nodded my heart pounding. "Yes," I croaked

"Yes, what?" she snapped, stubbing the cigarette out while I looked at her in confusion. "I'll explain it once. When we are alone you refer to me as Mistress or Madame, even Milady is acceptable while I will simply call you slut. Understand?"

I looked at her open mouthed, my pantyhose wet from moment she said 'slut' and my knees weak and trembling. Suzanne leaned forward and cupped her face on her hand that rested on the desk, her dark eyes looking me up and down. "Of course," she said with a wintry smile, "I could be mistaken and you don't want me to own you. Nor do you want me to control you and tell you what to do every moment of your life. Yes, I could be terribly wrong and this could be a tragic mistake. You should yell at me in that provincial accent of yours, resign and, of course, slam the door on the way out."

The only sound in the room for a long moment was my ragged breathing as I trembled before her until she stood, walked in front of her desk and stood there with arms folded. "I think we both know," she said quietly, "that this is not a tragic mistake. Is it, slut?"

Suzanne's cold voice echoed in my head, that delicious feeling of submission washed over me and my whole body tingled. My face burned but I understood myself better at that moment then I had ever before. "No, Mistress,' I croaked, face burning and body trembling.

Suzanne smiled slightly and she calmly arranged herself in the visitor's chair, crossing her legs so the nylon of her hose rasped. "Strip down to your underwear, slut," she said calmly. I gasped as arousal, embarrassment and submission rolled over me and slowly undressed. Face burning I stood in front of her in my bra, sheer pantyhose and high heels as she looked me up and down. "Turn around slowly, slut," she said and, trembling I did. "Hands on your head," she snapped and I complied. "Lovely," she murmured to herself as I pirouetted before her. "Are you aroused, slut?'

"Yes Mistress," I murmured, face down as I twirled before her with my hands still on my head, knowing my breasts were jiggling in the black lace bra.

"Stand still. How do you know you are aroused, slut?"

"My vagina, Mistress," I answered hesitantly, "is moist."

"No," she interrupted me sharply. "Not vagina, cunt or pussy. Say it!"

"Mistress," I said in a low voice, face red, "my cunt is wet."

"Louder."

"Mistress, my cunt is wet." My voice rang in the room and she smiled at me in triumph.

"Come here and show me," Suzanne said as she extended her hand so it was a fist. "Hump yourself on my fist, slut." Face burning, my breathing rough and ragged, I straddled her fist and rubbed my nylon covered pussy against it while I kept my hands on my head. I almost came at her touch and I rose closer and closer to orgasm as she looked up at me as I writhed on her fist. "You are such a slut," she murmured and I gasped as the pleasure rose within me until she removed her hand. It was a loss, I was so close and she smiled cruelly at me. "You come when I say so. Remove the bra and get the scissors so you can cut the pantyhose. I want your pussy exposed. Quickly!" It felt strange walking through the deserted office in my pantyhose, heels and bra to get the scissors and stranger still to cut the crotch out of my pantyhose so my pussy was in the open.

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byNatalie Nessus© 0 comments/ 208511 views/ 67 favorites

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