Did You Ever Get Stung? Ch. 03

Bewildered

Frankie parked in the driveway of an interwar suburban semi. For a moment she slipped just enough out of character to pull a bashful face that a single woman in her twenties owned a house which must have set her back the best part of two hundred thousand. Then the mask slipped back into place as she walked round the car and opened the door for Jenna. She showed her indoors, motioning straight up the stairs with no polite pretence of being shown around or offered a drink.

The back room looked at first glance like a den that could serve at a pinch as an occasional bedroom. A single divan built in under the window doubled as a deep sofa, making the most of the limited floor space. Jenna looked nervously around as Frankie took off her biker jacket and tossed it casually on the bed. The clues were there if you looked for them: an unobtrusive zinc-plated screw eye in the top of the doorframe; a mirror on the wall opposite that was ideally placed to reflect someone who might find their wrists chained to that hook. Frankie pulled down the blinds before flicking on a stark black uplighter that glared a little too harshly off the white ceiling. She pulled her T-shirt over her head and threw it after the jacket, standing arms akimbo as she looked Jenna possessively up and down. She was wearing a surprisingly pretty and delicate red bra with lacy trim: pure Nineties shaven-headed dyke chic.

"So, tell me: just girls? Or boys as well?"

Jenna's throat closed up on her when she tried to speak. She barely managed to croak out the single word before sudden shyness stole her voice away.

"Girls ..."

Frankie retrieved a cigarette packet from her jacket and lit up without offering one to Jenna. She was laughing, chuckling quietly away to herself.

"Just girls, but ... I told you yesterday, you're about as easy to read as a book. Unbutton the blouse now ..."

Jenna undid it as Frankie watched, unsure how fast she should go or how much of a show she should put on. Frankie gave her no encouragement, simply standing and smoking with her eyes fixed on Jenna's bosom. She didn't know what to do when she had finished; was she supposed to strip, or at least to open it enough for Frankie to see more.

"... Leave it there, don't take anything off yet. You can undo the bra as well."

She fumbled behind her back, felt ungainly and clumsy for struggling under the blouse. When the clips came loose she let her hands drop limply at her sides and looked at the polished floorboards.

Frankie stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette and bent down to pull out one of the divan drawers. Underneath a folded throw that concealed them from casual inspection, Jenna could glimpse matt black leather and shiny chrome, a collection of assorted BDSM restraints that she couldn't make out in any sort of detail. Frankie rooted about for a moment and produced a deep padded patent leather collar, tall enough to force the chin up and garnished with several D-rings.

"You know, if you were mine I'd fasten this round your neck with all appropriate ceremony, and then I'd keep you crawling the whole weekend long. Would you like that?"

Jenna wanted to say yes, but her voice still wouldn't answer for her. She nodded her head. Frankie ignored her, putting the expensive craftsman piece carefully back in the bottom of the drawer and instead taking out a worn and floppy old tan dog collar that was obviously exactly that - pet shop rather than sex boutique. She slid it across the floor to stop against Jenna's shoe.

"Put that on. Down on your knees."

The meaning was clear enough, clearer for not being said in so many words. You aren't mine. You aren't a valued piece of property to be pampered and dressed up. You aren't even a useful slave. You're just a stray bitch who's wandered onto my property. She had cuffs at home, which she had only ever used alone and in secret. She had never worn a leather collar before in her life, had never put any of this gear on in front of someone else. It was utterly humiliating to fix the buckle round her own neck as she knelt at Frankie's feet. It wasn't how her fantasies had imagined - both better and worse, exquisitely embarrassing and making her ears pound. What it was doing in her belly was delicious, not to mention mortifying. Which only made it even better, which only made it worse ...

With the collar in place, Frankie dropped two wrist cuffs between her knees and told her to put them on too. They were soft purple nylon and black Velcro webbing, the sort of practical inexpensive toys that you might buy if you fancied a quick experimental game of tie-me-up for a laugh. One look in that drawer made her realise that was hardly Frankie's scene. She was being insulted, told that she wasn't a serious enough player for the real kit, told once again that she hadn't done anything to deserve being Frankie's property.

One last thing before Frankie pushed the drawer closed with her foot. She took out a dog lead, crossed the room and squatted down to slip the chain around a radiator pipe and feed it back through the leather wrist loop. She left it lying on the floor as she stood up and turned her attention back to Jenna.

"Your cunt wet yet, or do you need to stick your hand down your trousers and check?"

That, she knew, wasn't a rhetorical question. She could force her reluctant voice to make an utterly degrading admission right now, or she could do it in a couple of minutes after fingering herself for Frankie's amusement. Or she could say 'stop now, Fran', but there was something about the knowledge that she could do so which prevented her. This was harder in reality than she had ever thought it could be, and that made it better than her wildest hopes. She had to cough to clear her throat.

"My ... my cunt's wet, Frankie."

"Good. Wait."

Frankie picked up her jacket and walked out, leaving Jenna alone on her knees and reflecting on just how true that shameful admission was. Had she ever been this horny without any physical contact at all? Well, maybe when reading, but that didn't count. Never from just being in a room with another person, sharing words and looks and promises of who knew what to come. She took deliberate deep breaths to calm herself down and listened to Frankie moving about in the main bedroom. She heard footsteps coming back.

Frankie was wearing her leather jacket again, unzipped and gaping open under its own weight, with nothing underneath except her pretty feminine bra and a black crotchless harness. Her hands hung loose at her sides, not limp and defeated like Jenna's but as lightly poised as her prowling walk.

"Just girls, but ... But ..."

Jenna wasn't great at judging dimensions, she had always been suspicious of the improbable precision of porn. She guessed the dildo must be five or six inches long. It was what the websites called 'realistic', thanks to the veined circumcised shape and the balls moulded at the base, although she'd never seen anyone in her life whose skin was that weird salmon mousse shade of pink. It wasn't entirely rigid, there was enough play in its length to flop stiffly as Frankie's steps brought her closer. It didn't look remotely organic, but it seemed entirely at home standing out from between Frankie's legs. Wearing it put an edge of cruelty into her voice that hadn't been there before.

"... Suck my dick."

With it waved in her face like that, her nose was full of its rubber smell. She understood, without needing to be told, that Frankie didn't expect her to use her hands. She stretched out her jaw and put her head forward, trying to capture the knob with her tongue. It escaped and prodded her cheek, leaving her with nothing in her mouth but the unpleasant taste. She felt like an idiot. Her second try managed to trap it, suddenly it was in the back of her throat making her gag. To her surprise, Frankie didn't take her by the hair and fuck her face. She just stood in front of Jenna and let herself be fellated, accepting the worship that was her due.

Jenna had never done this before - not once, for male or female. She had never added a gag to her solitary bondage games. She had done all sorts of wonderfully rewarding oral things to mouths and breasts and clits, but she'd never been penetrated and filled like this. It felt like her mouth was being used for a cunt. It was both strangely comforting and entirely violating, like nursing on a nipple and being raped all at once. She knew Frankie was looking down at her and watching her stretched lips sliding up and down the shaft, could see the way it was making her drool out of the corner of her mouth. Frankie reached down, pushed her face away and tilted her chin back to look up.

"Ask me again. Be polite."

"Please use me, Frankie."

"As what? Cook? Do my housework?"

"Use me for sex. Please."

"Call me 'sir'."

Jenna's mouth moved, lips framing the words but no sound coming out until Frankie's grip tightened on her jaw and made her mumble in response.

"Please fuck me sir."

"Up."

Jenna scrambled to her feet as Frankie lifted her face. Frankie smiled at her, cool and catlike. She let Frankie take her by the wrist and pull her hand inside the jacket, found herself kneading Frankie's breast through the lace. Frankie's eyes closed, her lips parted and she sighed. Jenna could feel the nipple growing to her touch. Frankie pulled her other hand downwards and made her wrap it around the shaft of the dildo. She was a doll again, letting Frankie pose and manipulate her: her right hand was pushed up off the breast and over the neck, stroking Frankie's pretty feminine face as Frankie made her rub her left up and down the dick and its covering of her own saliva. Frankie's cheek was fluttering in her palm, breathing as quickly as if Jenna really was wanking her. She didn't stop stroking with both hands when Frankie let go of her wrists to fiddle with the drawstring of her trousers.

"Say it again."

"Please fuck me sir."

Frankie took her by the shoulders and turned her round to face the mirror, raised her arms and pressed her palms to the wall on either side of her own reflection. She felt her trousers being dragged forcefully down, then her knickers after, both of them tangling to a halt halfway down her thighs. Her breath was fogging the glass, making her own face unfocussed in front of her nose.

"Say it again."

Third time, looking into her own eyes from inches away as she felt the rubber knob pressing against her.

"Please fuck me sir."

"Tell me again, are you wet yet?"

"Yes sir, my cunt's wet for you."

Frankie's hands went up inside her blouse, slid into her bra from underneath and took her nipples between thumb and forefinger. Frankie rubbed them, surprisingly gently, and leant in to whisper surprisingly softly in her ear.

"Not what you want me to take, is it?"

Jenna closed her eyes. She rested her forehead on the cold glass and smudged it with sweat that came from far more than the warmth of the night. She let the chill steady her enough to whisper the one word.

"No."

The pressure in Frankie's fingertips was increasing, building slowly from firm to crushing, starting that dull throbbing ache she knew from her own clamps. Frankie's voice remained soft in her ear as Frankie began to hurt her body.

"Disgusting slut, aren't you? Let anyone do that to you?"

"No. No ... never. Just you."

"Listen to me, this is what you're going to do. You're going to beg. You're going to tell me how much you want it. You're not going to repeat yourself, and you're not going to stop talking as long as I'm doing it to you. You're going to say every dirty, filthy word you know while I give you exactly what you've asked for. Now open your eyes, look at yourself, and say it for me."

Frankie pinched and rolled her nipples, making her suck in shallow little gasps as she watched the pain dilate her pupils in the smeared, fuzzy glass.

"Please sir, I want you to fuck me in the arse."

She gave herself completely into Frankie's control; let herself be turned and guided two shambling, trouser-hobbled steps before being pushed to her knees. She let herself be bent forward until her forearms were resting on the floor and the boards were just in front of her face. She let Frankie clip her wrist cuffs to the lead, chaining her to the radiator; and she bowed her head down to the floor and submitted in silence to Frankie's fingers methodically working lubricant into her anus. Just that on its own was the consummation of years of yearning: what she'd been too shy to admit to her first few girlfriends; what she had begged Molls for in vain; what she imagined when she read Elspeth Malone or tied herself to her own bed but was always too embarrassed to do any more than the lightest teasing play at when she masturbated. She'd wanted a dominant powerful woman to do that to her for so long, and Frankie was so good at stringing it out to be every bit of what she had hoped for.

Frankie's knees were inside hers, spreading her legs as far as her trousers and knickers allowed, Frankie's hand was guiding the firm enough but slightly squidgy tip against her terrified lube-slick entrance.

"Beg for it, bitch."

"Please sir, fuck me in the arse. Please Frankie, please bugger me. Oh ... Oh fuck, Frankie, that's hurting a bit."

"Want me to stop?"

"No, it's OK. Please ... please fuck me slowly. Want you to hurt just a tiny bit. Please sir, make it hurt when you sodomise me. Please ..."

Frankie fucked her slowly, taking her with just enough force to give her the sense of violation that she needed; taking enough time and enough obvious pleasure to make her feel used and owned. Frankie did the most demeaning thing she could imagine to her, in just the way she had always wanted. She gave herself entirely over to Frankie's hands grasping her hips, and Frankie's leather jacket creaking behind her with every thrust, and Frankie's strap-on plundering inside her. She let herself go in the security of Frankie's domination, let her mouth run filthy riot and wallowed in the ecstatic joy of rolling in the gutter because Frankie told her to.

Frankie's right hand slipped off her hip and slid down in front. Frankie's left took her by the hair and pulled her head back. Frankie's touch was making her insides dissolve and her thighs tremble.

"Beg for it."

"Oh please Frankie. Please don't stop doing that. Oh please yes, Frankie, make me come with your cock in my arse."

*

Frankie was away for the weekend, and anyway they had been clear that what happened on Thursday night wasn't a relationship. They left it that they had both had a great time and maybe they'd do it again some day. It was probably for the best, Jenna had a worrying feeling that she might be tempted to fall in love and ruin the impersonal dirtiness of the kinky sex. She blundered blearily through Friday at work, amazed that nobody had seen fit to pull her up over the obvious emotional rollercoaster and fatigue that she had brought in with her all week.

She went home and collapsed on her bed, with her bum just sore enough for a teasing memento and her mind swarming with hardcore memories. The lingering post-sexual high made her remember what Liz had said about trying to write again. She liked imagining the scenarios but had never quite reached the point where writing the actual description was not an embarrassment. It was weird to look at the screen and see 'fuck me in the arse' there in the stark black on white of her own words. She supposed it must be something you got used to with practice. Perhaps she would talk about it seriously with Liz when they met for a lunchtime drink. She put the laptop aside, went to bed early, and stroked herself to slow indulgent orgasm as she remembered how Frankie had treated her.

The pub wasn't busy yet when she arrived with a couple of shopping bags just after midday. The atmosphere was a little strange, as if she had walked in for the first time as a stranger. Perhaps she was, perhaps this was a different crowd to the weekday evenings she was used to. She got a couple of very funny looks, had the distinct feeling that the couple over by the door where whispering about her behind her back. The barmaid wasn't Gabby; she smirked away to serve someone else instead.

"Hey Jen ..."

Liz had walked in behind her, looking as much like a suburban mum as always. She took off her sunglasses and gave Jenna a strange brittle smile.

"... Have you got a minute? I didn't want to say it over the phone, but there's something I need to talk to you about. Outside."

Jenna abandoned her attempt to get served and followed Liz out onto the pavement. Liz took one look at the bondage-harnessed mannequin in the window of the shop opposite and tutted to herself. She put a hand lightly on Jenna's arm and guided her down the hill.

"What's going on, Liz?"

"Do you know a girl called Frankie?"

She didn't like the sound of Liz' voice at all. It was ominously gentle, preparing her for very bad news.

"Has something happened?"

"Not exactly. Look, Jen ... this isn't really any of my business and I don't really know how to say it. Please don't be offended. Do you follow her blog at all?"

"Didn't know she had one. Why?"

The pieces didn't connect in her head. Unlike Sasha, she didn't remotely see it coming. What did Frankie's blog have to do with anything?

"So you don't know about the video?"

"What?"

"There's this video. Of you and her."

The ground fell out from underneath her. She actually had to lean against a shopfront for support. She knew it could be only one thing - they had only done one thing - but she had to ask.

"Me and her what?"

"Christ, Jen, I don't know. You're my friend, I stopped watching as soon as I recognised you."

Frankie's hand in her hair, pulling her head back. At the time it seemed so natural, so obvious to pull her hair along with all the rest. Lifting her face towards wherever the hidden camera must have been: please make me come with your cock in my arse. She let Liz lead her away from the crowds, stumbled blankly along for five minutes until they were in the comparative privacy of gentrified flats around the old canal dock. She stood looking at the ornamental water plants until her brain began to function again.

"Why were you watching anyway?"

"I didn't have a clue it was you, or even anyone local. A friend sent me the link overnight, just because ..."

"Just because what? Are you telling me this has gone viral or something?"

Liz looked away and muttered something about big splashes in small ponds.

"When I went in there just now it was like the bad guy in a western. They've all fucking seen it haven't they? Christ's sakes, I'll never be able to show my face in that place again."

"It'll die down, Jen. People forget, you know what it's like these days; famous for fifteen seconds."

"That's easy for you to say. You know what this means, don't you? I'll have teenage boys and dirty old men wanking over me from Norway to New Zealand. What about people at work? Shit! Fuck! What am I going to do?"

Liz put a hand on her arm and spoke very slowly and calmly.

"You're going to do what we all have to, sweetheart. You're going to get back on your feet and carry on, because it's not easy but there isn't any other option. Come on, let's you and me go find somewhere quieter for a drink or five."

*

Liz came round on Sunday and did her best to wheedle Jenna out of her self-pitying bed for a walk somewhere green. Eventually they compromised with her getting washed and dressed to sit in her own front garden. In the event that turned out to be as busy as the park, Dan from the top flat invited them to the barbecue he was holding in the back. Jenna politely refused, and so they sat beside the path on a blanket and watched guests wander back and forth through the house. It was hardly suited to the sort of intimate confessional atmosphere Jenna's mood demanded, the conversation stuttered in fits and starts of temporary privacy.