Janine's Journey

This time, I have tried to 'see' things from a 'sub-perspective' -- hoping you will not just find it 'more of the same'.

Comments and critique are as usual very, very welcome -- and thank you for reading.

Chapter One

Prologue

"You coming downstairs? It's getting late and I want to be there on time!"

George's voice boomed up the staircase and all the way into her dressing room, where she stood -- still naked -- before the mirror.

She had started her preparations early. Half-heartedly expecting George to sneak in and throw her on the floor and fuck her with a passion. Like he had done many times in the first years of their marriage. Of course, he had not. He had probably got himself ready a long time ago and was now sitting at his computer working on some client report.

Janine turned in front of the full-length bathroom mirror. She was not bad looking for a woman going on 30, she thought, although she did not have a 'model' figure.

On the contrary, she was not very tall, and had a fairly solid build for a woman. She found that her body shape 'compensated' her height by being the well-proportioned.

Right now, she was looking over her shoulder in to the mirror, and squeezing her buttocks with both hands. Satisfied that they were firm, and that there was only the slightest fold under them.

She turned and let her hands slip up to cup her breasts, lift them and giving them a slight press.

'Quite a nice handful,' she thought as she studied the smooth skin and the distinct alveola's. The size was just a little too big for her own hands, but knew they fitted perfectly in George's bigger paws. Oh, how she wished he would squeeze them hard and bite her nipples. Just once maybe? Instead of the always soft, tender and tickling way he had when they made love.

Almost absent minded, she let her thumbs move over the tips -- getting an instant reaction. Then squeezing them a little, making herself moan.

She continuing by letting the tips of her thumbs go around the nip, caressing the reddish and sensitive skin, thinking that her alveoli's might be a little too large? She tried hiding them behind three fingers -- and just about managed. She smiled.

Sensing that the breath had become slightly faster, and the rest of her body had begun to react to the touch. Most noticeable that she was moisturizing between her legs.

She moved her hands down to her waist and took a deep breath.

Inspecting further: Slim waist -- check, flat stomach -- check, defined arms and legs -- but not overly muscular or 'upholstered' -- check.

Her weekly trips to the workout center paid off. Kept her body in shape and not deteriorating.

After all, she was serious about her workout -- as one of the few women, in her circle of acquaintances.

She slipped into her black, sexy, see-through bra and matching mini-panties, then began brushing her hair, making a perfect parting in the middle of the head. She was very proud of her hair. After much trial-and-error she had now had the hair dyed in discreet stripes. Her natural light brown colour being mixed with lighter almost blonde, long curls that framed her head nicely. She had had the expensive dying done so that on top of her head, she had most of her light brown colour, but as the hair cascaded down on the sides of her head, it became lighter and lighter. 'A prefect frame', she thought. Finishing with the brush.

George had not liked it at first as he was a man believing in the 'natural look'. Something he said often, but eventually he had gotten used to it and actually begun to like the way it seemed to change with the light.

She was no great believer in plucking eyebrows -- and had had many thoughts about her natural rather wide, and dark brows. Her decision had ended up with simply plucking to outline the shape in a way that made them somewhat contrasting her very clear and very, very light green eyes. One of her most enticing features according to George - and the one thing that had made him fall flat on his face the first time he had seen her.

Now a very discrete little darkening above them and on the lids -- and a short mascara made her smile.

Her nose was a little too long -- and not very elegant in her own opinion, but she settled with the fact that it went well with her slightly defined cheekbones, her little chin and her wide mouth.

The latter getting a little more attention as she applied the usual very discrete, light red colour. Her lips were not normally visible at the edges, when her mouth was closed. There was a short, thin line before the upside down, flat 'w' and the rounded lower lips that gave her, what George called 'the sexiest, most kissable mouth in town'.

She had deliberately -- and as usual -- 'underdone' her make-up. She preferred the discrete look, but even more so when they went for their regular, monthly 'outings' and dinner with John.

She had often wondered about the somewhat 'screaming' make-up some of the women John brought along to their gatherings had had.

She slipped into her little black, lace dress, and stepped into her high heels. Those being the comfortable - not too high - model that she preferred to wear. It lifted her up into the real world, as George often remarked, and had a heel wide enough for her to wear all day at work and walk about comfortable without being tired.

She was quite aware that her -- male - colleagues at the Real Estate agent, she worked for usually gave her more than one look, when she walked down the hall.

Having stepped into the heels, she did a last inspection. Flashing her eyes in front of the mirror.

--

Of course, George sat at the computer. He had just put his regular 'black-tie-going-out-suit' on, shaved and polished his shoes.

He did not look up when she descended the staircase, but hammered on the keyboard for a few seconds longer, before slamming the laptop's lid down.

She still found him very attractive - and wondered why their sex-life had become an 'in bed-at-night' habit -- and a boring one as such.

Usually he would creep closer and begin to caress her gently -- after which he would roll on top of her and she would pretend to be horny - and fake her orgasm as he huffed and puffed and emptied his load inside her.

If he just knew what was going on in her mind as he moved in and out of her -- if only he knew!

She stroked his head gently and looked down at him: His short jet-black hair, dark eyes, exotic look -- all the things that had made her fall for him at first glance. She had imagined some fiery semi-Italian lover that would take her -- early and late -- with or especially without - her own will.

It had indeed been so in the beginning, but now it seemed to have turned into a habitual 3-4 times a week -- and only in the semi darkness of their bedroom.

She gave an almost silent sigh as he got up.

--

They walked the short distance to John's house at the end of the road.

Their house was like most of the houses on the road. Modern, bright and spacious. A typically upper middle-class area. Her job at the Real Estate agent was well-paid by a combination of fixed wages and commission. George had his own, independent business consultancy helping companies to move forward. Usually as they had stagnated for one reason or the other.

Their neighbour on one side was a middle-aged man and wife. Both doctor's and seemingly always working and never at home -- and on the other side a couple on early retirement: The Armstrong's. Funding their senior life by stock market speculation.

Everybody had at least two cars in their garages -- and almost all of the cars a notch or two above your average family compact.

John's house was different. It was on a low hill at the end of the street. On a much larger piece of land. The front overlooking the street from its elevated position. Behind it was nothing but meadows and threes, which one could enjoy from a very large terrace.

Designed by a well-known architect it looked like a series of whitewashed, flat 'boxes' placed irregularly on top of each other. Making the house follow the curves of the hill in an elegant manner.

John dealt in Modern Art, had a gallery in town -- and 4 expensive cars in his garage.

They had run into each other shortly after she and George had moved in. At the yearly 'community grill party' held on an open space and playground at the opposite end of the street from John's house. All three of them had been rather bored, but had found common ground as they started talking. Moving away from the general small-talk these events usually consisted of, to their interest in art, music, opera and ballet.

From then on they had met regularly and at least once a month. Going to exhibitions, ballets, opera and ballet together, and having a meal afterwards either at John's or their house.

They always enjoyed each other's company and the little pause from the everyday hum-drum that these occasions provided.

John was unmarried and apparently unattached, but almost always had a female companion at their dinners. By now she had found out that he had 4 women that he took turns inviting to their little 'parties'. She was still curious about his relationship with these four women. If they were 'window dressing' or if he actually had a more affectionate relationship with one or more of them. They all seemed to move around him with some affection, but never openly kissed or embraced.

At the top of the long, slightly winding staircase from the street to the front door, John stood smiling and greeted them.

Today they were just going for dinner, as the opera they had wanted to go to had been sold out, and for once -- John had not been able to procure tickets through one of his many connections.

After all, a one-night guest performance of a famous Italian opera company had been sold out in record time.

John was not in a black-tie, but sportier jacket and trousers. Sand coloured. She thought that the colour matched his hair and eyes, and wondered why he -- as some men -- always looked at ease and elegant. She thought that he would be elegant and charming looking - even if he wore an old sack...

Janine's Journey

by o_girl ©

Chapter Two

An unusual dinner...

After a splendid 5-course dinner, prepared and served by the chef and the helpers, John usually relied on for these occasions, they sat in the spacious living room.

The two girls serving just bringing trays with coffee, cognac and Petit-Fours and distributing it on the low, very modern glass table.

That would be their last duty of the evening -- and as the silently floated out of the room, Janine knew they would leave the kitchen spotless before the chef drove them all off in his van.

The music of a soft baroque quartet filled the room from the hidden speakers.

They were full and content -- and the speed of the conversation had gone into a low gear.

She gazed around the room, as John and George were having a longer talk about the latest up-and-coming artist John was 'sponsoring' by hosting a solo exhibition at his gallery the next month.

The frame of the house was modern: Whitewashed and with big square windows. The blinds operating by remote control and on a thermostat that ensured a comfortable temperature inside.

The way it was designed as 'boxes' on top of each other gave the inside a lot of level differences and spacious rooms.

In the center an elevator went all the way from the cellar to the sun terrace on the roof.

The floors and inside doors contrasted the modern glass, steel and concrete look. They were all in solid oak.

Not pretending to be old or antique, but with a modern -- although classic look.

Coming in through the front door, one found oneself in a high-ceilinged hall, with a solid wooden -- also oak - staircase sliding along one wall to the upstairs landing.

In this hall -- as everywhere else - examples of John's artist hung on the walls or stood on pedestals. Every item with its own little spotlight arrangement to give the best possible impression.

The furniture was a mix of antique pieces and extremely modern design.

The dining table, they had just left, was a vintage, big, solid oak thing -- with matching chairs, but the reclining area, they were now occupying - at the other side of the room -- was furnished with a low table of steel and glass, accompanied with steel-framed, heavy, black leather chairs.

Everywhere in the room there was a splendid view through the glass wall facing the back terrace and the nature beyond.

The view was not totally unblocked from where they sat. At the left was a small, round platform that she had always wondered about. It somehow did not fit the rest of the tasteful interior with colour matched furniture, paintings, carpets and so on.

The platform was round and had two matte steel posts going from floor to ceiling. Each of the posts held a series of spotlights directed at a huge, metallic sculpture standing on a square base right in the middle. It looked more like a display at a museum, whereas all the other works of art only discretely made you aware of their existence.

To make the display even more gaudy, there were two floor-to-ceiling mirrors mounted on solid, black iron brackets to the wall beside the arrangement. If one stood in a certain position, one could inspect the sculpture from 3 different angles at once.

John and George had finished their talk about the artist. She lifted the cup to her lips feeling slightly tipsy from the impressive wine-menu that had been served with the food. She felt the excellent Armagnac that she was now sipping slowly going straight to her brain..

George drew a faint cough: "Pity you have not invited any of your many women tonight, John?"

"Well. I thought we could have some time to ourselves, so I gave them the night off." John smiled as if he just made a small joke.

"May I ask: Are they all your girlfriends -- are you a real Romeo? Forgive me for being too personal."

"Not at all, George. We have a -- ahem -- different relationship than most people. You might say that they are 'mine' somehow. It's hard to describe in a few words without being misunderstood."

"Well -- give it a try. We are all modern and open-minded people here," George replied.

"As the 3 of us know, you and Janine are 'a couple', which in general terms means that you are on equal levels in all respects of life, and that you are basically faithful to each other -- am I right?"

She smiled: "Yes, John -- you are quite right. We are your very normal, everyday couple I suppose..."

"Now. Me and my 'partners' have both taken that a step further -- and added 'some spicing to the menu' -- so to speak."

John looked from one to the other.

"Have you ever heard of 'submission'? 'Masters'? or what in general terms falls under the category of BDSM or maybe just SM?"

George had become very quiet, so she spoke. "Yes, of course. Do you mean that is what is going on between you and the different girls, we have seen and met here?"

A big smile developed on John's face and when it reached his eyes, he spoke:

"Right on the spot: I'm their Master. So, I decide what they do and when they are here."

George coughed and got his coffee in the wrong throat. John smiled even broader as George recovered from the cough, and then said: "Master. Master. Master of what? Ceremonies? Toastmaster?"

George looked more than bewildered, but she straightened her back slightly. This sounded interesting.

"I'm their bondage Master. They are my submissives, and I am the one controlling and dominating them."

John said this in an absolute toneless and ordinary voice. Then he leaned back in his chair and swished the Cognac around in the glass.

"Does that mean they are you slaves?" She asked.

"Yes. Quite." He answered flatly.

"That sounds really interesting, you know." She said.

George gave her a quick look. "You really think so, Janine?"

"Yes. Fascinating. Tell us more, please?" She said as George's face colour turned slightly red.

"You really mean that, dear?"

"Yes. To relinquish control, follow orders, be of service to a dominant man." She still smiled as she said it, but noticed both men reacting. George by looking at her with widening eyes, John lifting one eyebrow and studying her.

George composed himself enough to speak: "..but...but...are they doing this voluntarily...and.and...are you hurting them in any way?"

"Yes, to the first question, George -- and definitely no to the second. Some pain and some 'training is involved, but I can assure you that all involved are having a lot of enjoyment out of it - and only that."

George shook his head as to make the bricks inside fall into place. Then John continued:

"Well. That's the nature of my relationship with these women. I am the Dominant and they are my submissives. We all seem to find it quite agreeable."

There was a very short pause. Then she said: "I'd like to try something like that. Sounds very, very interesting?"

"Woa," John said. "This is not a game one plays. This is a serious matter not to be taken lightly. Are you quite sure you know what I am talking about, Janine?"

"Yes," George said. " What do you know of this world -- at all?"

There was a short pause as both George and John looked at her. She took a quick decision, picked up her handbag from the couch, opened, drew out the diary, she always kept there, and put it in George's lap.

"More than you think probably. Have a look in this."

She looked as George started leafing through her diary. Page by page with crude, naïve drawings of naked women. All tied up, blindfolded, stretched out or kneeling.

Now and then a printout from BDSM drawings or internet sites -- all with women in restraints and bondage.

John had leaned forward and looked into the diary as George leafed through it.

"Maybe I should give you a separate show at my gallery?" John said with a grin.

The look she gave him, made him blush slightly. "Sorry! Did not mean to be untimely funny."

She said nothing but watched George. Sensing his breathing becoming just a trifle faster -- and his eyes shine a little more in the combined candle- and warm electric light.

"For how long have you had these ideas, fantasies, thoughts, Janine?" George finally managed to say.

"Oh. Very long. You know the two books on my night table?"

"Yes. The two crime novels, you are reading at the moment?"

"Well. If you take the dust covers off, you'll find that they are not what the cover makes them out to be. One is a novel called "Justine' by a fellow named De Sade, and the other 'The Story of O' by a woman called Reage.

George looked more than bewildered, and lacking a response, he said: "I thought you took you time getting through those two crime books -- unusually long time..."

John had sort of retreated from the conversation and sat back watching her. Still with a small smile on his face.

To break the silence, she said: "I have always been fascinated by the thought of being deprived of my own will. To be submissive -- more or less totally -- to a superior male -- and directing all my efforts in pleasing him... It makes me rather horny -- if I may say so."

John broke in. "We all have fantasies. Does not mean we try them in real life."

She looked him straight in the eyes: "But you seem to live out yours?"

"Yes. Has taken me and my 4 submissives a long time to get where we are today, but right now I think we have found a good balance in our lives. How do you feel about all this, George?"

She sensed that John was trying to defuse the situation a little as George looked very confused and sweaty.