Bisexual Awakenings: The Journal of Bleu_Light_Special

Looking at it from that perspective, I can't help but wonder if she's right. How many people spend their lives searching for the peace and contentment that Amora curls about her every moment of every day? How many realize when and if they're lucky enough to find it? Amora has done both. El Capitan belongs to her, and she to it...a perfect union...not something to pity.

It seems as though the more I get to know Amora, the more she amazes me. Her love of sensual pleasures is obvious in every move she makes, every whisper that she utters. It radiates from every pore and fills the room about her, and yet it only scratches the surface. When we make love, I'm sure that at least half of my attraction for her is my newness, the fact that I'm a recent addition to her perfect existence. Yet there are times when I catch her peering at me from beneath her lashes, stealing a look that makes me feel as though she's been waiting for me forever.

I wonder then, what will become of us when it's my time to leave? Could I stay as Liza and Kyle have? Would I want to? And if I leave, what will become of my beautiful Amora when I go? We have been physically together for almost no time at all, and yet I can't imagine it.

So simple, and yet so complicated...what shall I do? ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 7

Slow days roll by for my lover and I. Life with Amora is good, and each passing moment seems to open another doorway from my tiny world.

There is a fly in the ointment, however, for I catch Carl peering at me whenever he is about and it fills me with dread. The words he spoke on the night of my arrival have not been forgotten, and the memory chills me even now.

I try to hide my misgivings from my lover, but she knows me too well by now. Each time my enemy passes, her glance shifts between us, and I'm sure she must know. I've begun to fear being alone on the grounds, for I can never anticipate when he'll appear. If Eden had its snake, then El Capitan has Carl...and one of us must go.

Then one day, as Carl is passing along the courtyard, Amora calls him to her side, and whispers seductively in his ear. Her hand rests against his chest, and I can see his eyes widen. A smile crosses his grim features, and he leers at me atop my balcony. Something is amiss. Anything that could make this monster happy, will do no one any good. What could Amora be thinking?

The evening nears, and the sun sets in a ball of flaming glory once more. Tonight, however, when I retire to Amora's rooms, she begins to shuffle through her extensive wardrobe to find something for me to wear...a seductive costume...something that says I'm there for the taking.

She settles, finally, on a pair of black, thong panties, lace appliqued with a delicate French motif. Over this she adds a sheer, black beach cover, something that highlights rather than conceals my endowments. Then, making sure that my collar and cuffs are attached, she finishes off with a pair of high, strappy heels... something I've never worn before. I don't understand! I look as though I should be adorning some street corner! This isn't something meant to stimulate Amora's palate, I'm sure...but whose?

Then something more peculiar occurs, for at this point Amora herself dons a costume more garish than my own. My elegant lover now bears a striking resemblance to the women who flash before me in the pornography ads on the Internet. Her raven hair is gathered at the nape by a heavy elastic band, giving her a severe and dominant look. Gone are her delicate fabrics and graceful pastels, replaced instead by a black leather bustier with the nipples cut away. She wears a matching crotchless thong and high heels...totally tasteless, and totally unlike my Amora. She finishes her costume with black, leather boots and a leather riding crop, then turns to inspect herself in the mirror.

I sit, speechless, waiting for her to tell me that this is all a joke, but she doesn't. Instead she turns and tells me that we have a date tonight with the chauffeur, and that I need to look my best for our encounter.

When all is done, she surveys her handiwork and nods. Then, taking a small black satchel, we make our way through the great hall, into the courtyard and across to the chauffeur's quarters above the garage.

I expect her to knock, but she doesn't. Instead she pushes the door open with her crop and enters the tiny apartment as though she has done this many times before. Then, approaching what I assume is the bedroom door, she forces it wide with the toe of her thigh-high boot.

To say that Carl has been waiting for us would be an understatement, for as we enter I see the prodigious bulge already forming beneath the small bikini briefs that are his only remaining garment. He sits at the head of his bed, a lascivious grin fondling my curves... planning my fate. How could Amora do this?

Trembling, my gaze takes in the room. The décor here is Spartan, utilitarian and mannish. The heavy furniture is dark, walnut perhaps, and the drapes are thick and somber. I see his chauffeur's uniform pressed and hanging in the closet, the contents of his pockets neatly laid atop his dresser. Keys...a billfold...coins, and then the knife. Its dull scrimshaw handle glows menacingly in the dim light, mocking me, terrifying me.

Amora sets her satchel beside the bed now, and taking from it a generous bottle of wine, she uses his knife to pry the cork from its seating.

"Bleu, bring us three glasses from the kitchen," she directs, her eyes unwavering. "And hurry back, Dear...Carlos and I will be waiting for you."

Hot tears flood my eyes. Do I mean so little to her? Does she realize how shamefully she is using me? Slowly, I cross to the small kitchenette and gather three wine glasses from the shelf above, wanting for all the world to dash them to the floor...but I don't. Instead, I do as I've been bidden, and return to place them at the foot of the bed.

Amora sits beside him now, her hand fondling the tumultuous growth that distorts his single, scanty garment. She pauses briefly, and taking the glasses in her hand, she fills one for Carl, then proceeds to do the same for each of us.

It's a good wine, I think, one from Amora's fabulous cellars. It's something to sip and appreciate, but not to Carl. Instead, he gulps his it in an instant then runs the empty glass across her exposed nipples.

"That's good, Baby, but don't be stingy now," he murmurs sloppily, thrusting his glass. It's then I realize that Carl has prepared for our "date" in more ways than one, and has already had a few drinks before our arrival.

Amora is quick to comply, and soon his glass is filled once more. Again he gulps, but now Amora takes his empty glass and sets it on the nightstand beside her own. An enigmatic smile crosses her features, and she turns her attention at this point toward the state of his arousal.

"Have you ever had a woman ride you?" she asks, caressing his prominence. "Have you ever had a woman take charge and drive you insane with her mouth...to give you pain and pleasure until you explode inside of her? Have you, Carl...have you?" she asks, watching his expression grow into a sloppy leer. "Well, I can do it to you, Carl...I want to do it."

His eyes widen lustily, watching as Amora swings her leg across his hips and straddles him as a rider would a horse, pinning him to the bed beneath her. Then, grinding the slit of her panties against his throbbing groin, she offers him another glass of wine...hers... and rubs her nipples against his bare chest.

"Do you see what Bleu is wearing, Carl? Do you see her wrist and ankle cuffs?" she asks. "I have some for you as well...something to heighten your arousal, to hold you fast as I have my way with you," she says, fondling beneath the band of his briefs.

"Oh yeah, baby," he murmurs sloppily, watching her take the leather restraints from her satchel with her free hand. "Put 'em on me and let's get fucking, woman!" he responds crudely.

If Amora is insulted by his language, she shows no sign of it. Instead, she slides her body downward, taking the elastic of his garment between her nails and tugging until his massive erection springs foreword and he groans in impatience.

"Oh Carl," she rasps, grasping his thick, monstrous tool in her hands, "This is a day you won't soon forget...I promise." She assures him.

Then, setting to her task, she secures the heavy, leather cuffs to his wrists, tossing the anklets toward the foot of the bed for me to do the same. In minutes, Carl is securely cuffed, hand and foot. It is only now that I notice the heavy ringbolts set into both the head and footboards, the ancient legacy of Luis Hernando....and make use of them.

"Come sit beside us, Blue," Amora invites, tapping the mattress to her right. "Carl wants us both. Don't you, Carl?"

Carl's response is nothing if not enthusiastic. "Oh yeah..." he moans. "I want you both...oh yeah!" he grunts, his tongue wriggling obscenely in my direction. "Come sit on my face," he orders, his mouth turned into a vile grin.

I'm repulsed, finding both his words and his actions obscene. I look to Amora for guidance, but to my dismay, I find her otherwise occupied.

My lover has once more remounted her steed, but now faces in the opposite direction, facing the foot of the bed, curving her warm thighs around his incredibly engorged tool. She licks her palms, pumping his rock-hard sex, watching as he nears the precipice. Carl's eyelids narrow, his hips thrusting between her palms as she toils above him, until it looks as if he could fill us both with one massive ejaculation.

Then...in one fell swoop, Amora snatches the heavy elastic from her hair and twists it tightly around the base of his penis, robbing him of both the ability to complete the act, and the relative security of retreat. Pounding and erect he is, and erect he shall stay until Amora says otherwise.

"What in hell are you doing!" he yells. "Get that damned thing off of me!"

But now, it's Amora's turn to smile, and turning, she reaches into her satchel once more, bringing out something that makes even my eyes widen.

There, in her hand she holds my bra, the one that was cut from me by the roadside so many days ago. She tosses it atop his enraged form, and watches as the horror spreads across his face.

"You like terrorizing helpless little girls, don't you, Carl?" she says, her voice low and menacing. "Perhaps it's time to see just how well you yourself hold up under such abuse...don't you think?"

He roars...he curses...he threatens her with all sorts of vile repercussions.

None of it touches Amora a whit. Instead, she silently leans over and gives his tortured penis a resounding flick with her fingernail. "All pumped up and nowhere to go, isn't that so, Carl?" she purrs. Then reaching beneath his scrotum she presses her long, sharp fingernail against the delicate bridge above his anus. Harder she drives...and harder until she begins to burrow beneath his flesh...until his body begins to buck and he moans for release.

"Let me loose, you bitch!" he screams, his agony building, the veins on his penis rising in mottled torment. "You can't do this to me! I'll have the Federales on you...I will! You'll spend the rest of your life in jail. Now let me GO!" he demands.

"The Federales?" she purrs, her composure a thing of beauty. "Friends of mine...I know them well. And what will they say about this bra, and what you did to my lovely Bleu?"

"Let me go!" he screams again, his voice echoing throughout the apartment. "Let me go and I'll leave...I won't tell anyone. I swear!" he whimpers. "Just take this thing off my cock before it kills me!"

Again Amora plies her nails, driving the one on her index finger deep into the wet eye of his throbbing penis. He screams in pain, his voice turning to sobs as she twists her nail within him. Then, just when I think she must end her ruse and release him, she surprises me once more.

This time she takes his knife, the one he used to terrorize me by the roadway, and slides her body downward until she rests between his knees.

"Was this how you did it, Carl?" she taunts. "Did you stick it here?" The chauffeur freezes, and I watch in horror as she slides the razor sharp blade against his inner thigh, shaving the hairs from his trembling skin in her passing.

"NO!" he screams. "I didn't cut her! Tell her, Girl...tell her! I didn't cut you, did I! Oh God, let me go...please let me go..." he begins to whimper."

His engorged member is throbbing visibly now, the color darkening to a sick, deadly shade of purple...but Amora has no pity. Instead she grabs his sex painfully in her left fist, then brandishing the knife before Carl's trembling eyes, she slides it beneath his penis and lays the blade against his pounding flesh.

Suddenly she speaks, her voice deliberate and chilling in tone. "Tell me, Little One, what would you have me do with this beast?" she asks. "Would you have me make a gelding out of him? I think I'd enjoy that!"

"Nooooo!" Carl screams, his hands struggling against his shackles. "Oh my God...oh my God...let me go, please! Bleu! Tell her to let me go! I'm sorry, so sorry...I swear! Just tell her to let me go and you'll never see me again. PLEASE!"

I stand aghast, my tormentor prostrate and abased mere inches away...and suddenly I feel a wave of pity overtake me. Even consigned to a shallow grave in the barren dessert, he isn't worth all this. I want it over. I want him gone...I want to move on.

Scowling, I shake my head, and Amora lays the knife atop his trembling belly...a twinkle in her eye. She knew all along! She knew I wouldn't allow this man, or anyone to be so brutalized in my name. It was all a ruse, and she played the game to perfection.

Then, turning, she leads me to the door, leaving my enemy bound and trussed as we pass from view.

"Wait!" he screams. "Get this off me...get this off me!" But yet Amora guides me forward, turning only briefly to whisper menacingly, "I want you gone in an hour, Carl. Do you understand? And if you ever approach El Capitan again, even the Federales won't be able to find your remains!"

The silence is overwhelming. I wonder what's to become of Carl after we've gone, how he's to meet his deadline in his present state. But I haven't long to imagine the possibilities, for as we pass the front room I see Kyle, sitting in a deep chair...a devilish grin on his face.

"Have him pack a bag, then drop him at gringo Pass," she directs, enjoying their success. "But make sure he knows that if he returns, it will be a ruse no longer."

Then turning once more, we leave the garage and enter the security of the main house, Amora's dark play completed, and my nemesis soon on his way to far off destinations.

But I know that someday I'll wonder...would she have done it? Would she have sliced his manhood from him if I'd asked her to? Some jokes have a degree of truth embedded inside, I think.

Perhaps this is one of them...

Chapter 8

Hours flow into days, and days into weeks. The passing of time blends seamlessly into something uncountable as Amora and I explore the joys and passions of our lives together.

We spend our mornings in Amora's "champagne glass", touching, tasting and luxuriating in the sounds of each other's sighs. We watch the tides and the ships at sea from her ancient spyglass, and wonder where they're going and if the people onboard could possibly be as happy as we have come to be.

I've changed so much here...so very, very much. The passion that Amora so sensuously kindled has lighted the way for greater and more subtle changes deep inside. Where once I saw my life in shades of gray and brown, neutral shadows on a smoke-filled canvas, I now see it in the flowing pastels and rainbow arrays of my lover's eyes. Jillian Johnson hasn't gone, it's as though she's been reborn into a world she never knew existed... and I owe it all to Amora.

With the passing of days, I see a kaleidoscope of changes unfold in my lover as well. While her passionate nature remains blissfully strong, it seems to have deepened and found a home in me. The sun doesn't rise, until we see each other...the sea and gulls are mute until we whisper softly in each other's ears, and until we touch the world stands still. Where once a modem connected us, we are now joined by something more timeless and enduring. Our lives have become so emotionally bonded and intertwined...how can I tell her that I have to go?

I fight with this reality daily, the rising tide of it almost drowning me when I see her wondrous eyes speak of love and eternity in our intimate nest above the sea. But, Amora has set me free, given me wings...and I long to test them in the world beyond. By giving her heart to me, she has sacrificed her own happiness...how can I tell her?

The answer is simple...I can't.

The Chinese believe that if you save a life, then it becomes yours forever. Could the same be said for a resurrection? If so, then my life truly belongs to Amora, for in almost every way I exist because of her.

And so I stay, bound in a gilded prison of my own design, whose bars are forged of love and devotion. And if I yearn for the destinations of those ships at sea, envying how the world embraces the passengers who stroll her decks, Amora will never know. I belong to her, and she belongs to El Capitan...and so here I will remain.

We spent today on the beach, strolling the white sand with our arms about each other as lovers so often do. The tide here is incredible, dropping away until the entire bay lies empty and within our reach. And so we shuffle ankle-deep in the tide pools, digging clams and snagging fat crabs for our dinner.

Finally, tired and hungry, we return to shore and settle beside the bonfire that Kyle has prepared for us above the high-tide mark.

Our stomachs rumble as we watch the sparks of our pyre circle skyward, vying with the first stars of the evening for a place in the heavens.

Finally, our feast is prepared, and we settle ourselves to eat. Liza has taken our "catch" and made a bouillabaisse of sorts. This she delivers with hot, crusty French bread and a fine, rosé wine. We attack our food ravenously, then stretch ourselves atop a colorful serape to watch the moonrise over the horizon.

A shooting star flares briefly, and then vanishes as Amora leans above me, her eyes gazing in adoration. I watch as the firelight flickers, sending hungry shadows across her beautiful face. I feel her touch once more, and my clamoring desire for the world beyond fades to a vague whisper. If only we could remain in each other's arms for every minute of every day, perhaps the outside world would cease to matter...but that isn't possible. Even dreamers must drift to earth some day.

My lover is gentle tonight, reticent in a way that I've never seen her before. Something has been left unsaid, and I wonder what it could be. But as I feel her lips brush softly against hollows of my throat I know that it can wait.

Slowly, she peels back the thin veil of clothing that covers my body, and begins to suckle my hardening nipple deep into her warm, wet mouth. My breath catches. The feeling never fades, always fresh and new with each encounter, vibrant with each overture.

Once more she stirs the butterflies in my belly...my pulse rising in response, my thighs embracing her slender waist. Has the passion of one woman for another ever been so sweet?

I feel the need to touch her tonight, to taste her fine wine upon my tongue once more. And so I coax my lover onto her back, her muted sighs curling against my ears as I trail my tongue over her body and come to rest deep in her wet and eager core.

"Yes," she murmurs as I part her moist folds, drawing her tiny, turgid nub between my lips. "Oh...yes..." I feel her fingers in my hair, tightening around my auburn curls as her passion rises and overflows onto my tongue. So rich...so sweet, and for as long as time allows...all mine.