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 theCelestial 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 theCelebration 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.