Tangled Passions Pt. 02 Ch. 20-22

Pregnancy, at any rate, was not a concern. When the girls had started school, she and Matt had discussed vasectomy; but, although he agreed it was the right thing to do, Matt had hemmed and hawed. Jenn had seen no real need to pressure him. She mentioned it a few times, but before he got around to doing anything, she became impatient. Tired of the diaphragm, Jenn made her own arrangements and quietly had a tubal ligation. She hadn't considered pregnancy since, although there was a period of regret following the accident. Still, everything works out somehow.

She started removing her wedding ring before attending parties just because it was something she didn't want to have to explain – something she didn't want to have to think about during those times. However, sometimes she would forget to put it back on after the party. When she noticed her bare finger – at the store, or out midday somewhere – she invariably got agitated and hurried back to the condo. If it wasn't there, she would pace about uneasily until she could get over to Lisa's and find it there. Inevitably, the day came when she just couldn't find it anywhere. She realized that she couldn't even remember when she’d worn it last. She fretted piteously and looked furiously for several days but it didn't turn up. She felt, on the one hand, crushed and upset, like she'd done something irrevocable – irreparable, but on the other hand, she realized it was a symbolic inevitability – her wedding ring had not just been removed; it was gone. Marriage, as an institution, was no longer appropriate to her.

It was only shortly after she had thrown herself back into the heterosexual fray, early one evening, that a big fellow silently approached her. In the dimness she wasn’t sure who it was or if she’d ever seen him before. He nodded to her silently with barely a trace of a smile, lifted her off her feet and laid her on her back on a bed. He said nothing as he put a firm bolster under her hips, so she too remained silent. Then he positioned himself between her legs. “I want to feel your fingers at my nipples continuously,” he said very matter-of-factly, “and I want your lips to stay in constant contact with my chest – constant contact!”

“You’ve got an awful nerve,” Jenn thought, but, as he covered her, the idea tickled some curiosity within. It was, once again, something about letting things move beyond her control – letting herself be controlled by others. Maybe she’d oblige him, bow to his demands for the moment. “We’ll see,” she said to herself, as she lifted her hands to his breasts and fixed her mouth to his chest.

He had a huge dick and entered her with quick, merciless thrusts, forcing her to gasp against him. He pumped her with strength and barely controlled violence, invading her inner sanctum, repeatedly and mercilessly battering her cervix – her uterus. As he grew to apparently monstrous proportions, his glans began to literally pound against her viscera. Before long, every in-stroke was punctuated by a bright white flash of genuine pain that shot up the front of her spine to flare at the base of her skull and left stars twinkling behind her eyes. Concentrating on the activity of her fingers and the position of her lips, Jenn rode through each fierce jolt. It was a pure pain – crisp and clean, engulfing her senses. One had barely faded – was barely abated before the apex of the next stroke ignited another bolt.

And yet, while almost excruciating, it began to change subtly. Maybe it wasn't such pure pain, after all. Silver linings – glimmers of something desirable – something wanton – began to tint the edges of the intensity. Between flashes, Jenn could feel the heat of arousal permeating his body. She felt his nipples stiffen and stand up under the caress of her fingers; she could feel with her lips the surface of his chest flush with excitement. Despite the rhythmically searing pain, the unmistakable crackling of inexorable arousal, of impending orgasm began to shimmer in her depths.

In another part of her brain, a corner independent of pain management, independent of carnality, she looked at the scene objectively. Her hands at his nipples, her lips on his chest, were a sort of passive bondage; and considering it in this light somehow increased the pleasure aspect of her ordeal. There was a forbidden thrill in relinquishing control. As the anonymous body atop her forced his chest against her face, she realized that she liked it – really liked it – the invisible restraint, the idea of bondage – essential bondage – bondage in the mind. His still expanding tool rubbed and bothered her slick inner flesh, radiating pulses of stimulation into her core. Odd memories wafted across her mind, somewhere above the turmoil of her reality; the Kegel exercises she’d learned in prenatal classes all those years ago. Dredging through the haze, she felt herself remembering – tightening and loosening, grasping and releasing. Flexing her vaginal muscles, she hoped he felt her grabbing. She smiled inwardly – he had to.

As his strokes increased in fury, electrical charges sparked inside her. Through her lips and her fingertips similar energy arced into her body. As the frenzied body on her tensed, she felt a discharge akin to lightning begin along her spine, and as the first hot splashes of semen seared her bruised cervix, a bolt thundered from her brain to her cunt. Her legs curled around his backside as her vaginal muscles contracted convulsively, milking and holding the twitching meat. She mewed or whimpered against the heaving chest while his curly hairs became entangled in her fingers. For a moment it seemed, as they came together, they melded into one gasping, panting, quivering being. Then it was gone – done – over.

After a brief afterglow, as Jenn caught her breath, her fornicator lifted and disengaged himself from her. She stared at him with a sort of vacant smile. Although she hadn't really even got a good look at his face before; now she recognized him – knew him, if not by name. He looked down on her, his mouth not betraying any emotion, and said merely, "That was good." The deeper meaning was painfully obvious. Jenn could tell by the dropping tone of his voice, the falling pitch at the end of the word, that he wasn't talking about his orgasm; he wasn't even talking about their shared intercourse; he was only commenting on her performance, more specifically, her performance in following his directions, and what he was saying was that it was all right, as in "That was good, not great, you've still got a lot to learn, but it was all right for a start." As much as that unspoken message puzzled Jenn, it didn't offend her because she knew it was somehow correct, although in what ways she couldn't even begin to guess.

The idea of essential bondage began to resonate in Jenn's psyche. Whether because she had just identified the concept or because her position in the menage was changing, Jenn began to notice it as a repeating theme. It was expressed in a variety of ways: sometimes a bet, "Betcha can't keep your lips against my chest – your fingers on my nipples the whole time;" "I'll bet you you can't get there without lifting your hips." Sometimes it was a challenge, "Let's see if you can...;" sometimes a request, "I want you to...;" and sometimes it was just an order, "Keep your...," "Put your...," "Don't...."

"Why is it," Jenn pondered, "that in every act or entanglement there seems to be a lesson – implicit or otherwise?" She wondered, too, about whom the lessons actually benefited. Were they really for her own edification or simply for the increased pleasure of those who instructed – those who used her? Or – she felt a tingle of mysterious excitement at the thought – was there some other, deeper, more sinister reason – some unseen alternate endpoint?

Just as he brought her to the brink of orgasm, he pulled out, and flinging himself up her body, his knees scrambling to keep up, he swiftly positioned himself on her chest. With his hands aside her head he brusquely pulled her onto his cock, forcing his unbending rod between her lips and bumping the back of her throat. Amazingly – illogically – up until then, Jenn had always managed to wipe off erections before tasting them. This, then, was another new experience – receiving so suddenly such a hardened tool, already slick with her own juices. She had, of course, been tasting her own fluids on the lips and cheeks of Lisa and her other female friends – were they friends, lovers or just playmates? – since shortly after her introduction to the arts of tribadism. She had soon given up even trying to wipe off other’s faces before they descended on hers, as she used to do with Matt. But this was different even yet.

Her own secretions had mingled with the maleness of copulation to compose a nectar new and sweet. Once the shock of entrance had been accommodated, she evaluated the novel taste – the complex perfume, as he pounded her oral cavity. Perhaps her reservations, her avoiding and wiping had been unnecessary. Yes, definitely they had, for, like a scratch and sniff, the violence of the thrusting in her mouth released waves of scent that, mixed with the unique tastes, made a powerful aphrodisiac. As the man-meat inside her quivered and pulsed in its race towards ejaculation, Jenn felt the welcome jangle of her own climax lift off from deep within her. Like a missile from a submarine, it broke the surface just as she felt his hot cream hit her tongue.

As Jenn moved, naked and bleary-eyed, across the room, – same bodies, different dance; same song, different singer; another night; another debauch – a familiar male figure stepped into her path. He had attended their parties often and she had been actively involved with him on many occasions, but, preoccupied as she was with the turmoil of the room, cruising from one plexus to another, she couldn't quite remember his name. He was not tall, maybe only five eight or nine, but his chest rippled with finely toned muscles, his stomach was flat and his well defined limbs spoke of athletic strength and endurance. His short brown hair was as wet and matted as the field of growth on his chest. His gleaming penis hung semi-engorged from a thick dark rain forest. He moved with the dangerous grace of a Doberman, and his intensely brown eyes burned without a trace of ambiguity or doubt.

He grabbed Jenn peremptorily about the shoulders and pulled her violently against his solid chest, crushing her lips in a rough, passionate kiss. Jenn's hands, raised reflexively, were squeezed between them, and as the pressure on her back decreased slightly, her fingers automatically began to caress his nipples. Dropping one hand, while the other continued to hold Jenn's shoulders firmly, the anonymous aggressor's fingers burrowed decisively into the wet hair and slick folds of Jenn's sex. She felt glowing embers of ardour fanned once again into flames. Moving his kisses from her lips to her cheeks, then over her eyes, around her ears and up to her hairline, he caused her mouth to drop to his chin, then his neck, finally drawing her face to his chest, where she ranged her nibbling lips from side to side – nipple to nipple. His free hand abandoned her pubis and returned to her shoulders while the other hand dropped to her breasts to pinch and twist her nipple as she nibbled and sucked and licked clean the salty sweat from his skin. Subtly he increased the downforce on her shoulders, forcing her to crouch and tilt her face up, stretching in order to keep contact with his breasts. Inexorably he pushed her down further until she was out of reach of his erect buds. She began to let her fingers follow her lips down off his chest, but before she had completely deserted his breast, he said simply and quietly, "Keep your hands there." She could taste the essence of domination; it wasn't a flavour she disliked. As she sank to her full crouch, her arms remained extended over her head against his chest.

His left hand trailed fingers up across Jenn's nipple, away from her breast, up the side of her neck and over her cheek, then dropped a bit to tickle the corner of her mouth. As his hands cupped the sides of her head he pulled her forward so that she slowly rocked forward onto her knees. He then steered her forcefully onto his stiffening member. Parting her bruised lips, Jenn gagged as she was pulled onto the massive cock, its inflated helmet banging the back of her throat. Entwining her hair in his hands, Jenn's conqueror began to pummel her – pumping her mouth rapidly on and off his glistening pole.

Jenn's eyes grew wide with the savage brutality of the act; still, her loins remained hot with anticipation as the assault accelerated. The pounding tool suddenly swelled and hardened to a frightening steel, and just as a seed of terror germinated in the back of Jenn's head, he spent in such copious quantities that she coughed and sputtered and felt his semen back up her nose. He pulled out abruptly, letting go of her hair after giving just the slightest tug upwards, indicating that she should stand. As she stood and looked at him, he smiled slightly, leaned forward and gave her a light peck on the cheek. "Not too bad," he said blandly, then turned to move away.

"Hey," she thought, in silent complaint, "what about me?"

Although she didn't utter a sound except for a bit more coughing and sputtering, the disappointed look on her face must have conveyed her thoughts loud and clear, for the man stopped in his turn and looking back over his shoulder he said in the patient voice of a parent to a truculent child, "Your time will come, my dear, but you must first learn to wait."

She wanted to say, "Why should I?" but somewhere, below her consciousness, she understood. Yet another lesson complete. Confused again, Jenn just stood in the centre of the room, still clearing her throat, and watched him disappear into the hallway and out of sight. There was, she was sure, much, much more to this than met the senses. She was reaching somewhere – entering something of which she had only got glimpses – perceptible but still indiscernible.

Lisa, too, had, Jenn now suspected, been preparing her, or educating her, or, perhaps, grooming her. For what, Jenn had no idea, but Lisa had, in retrospect, been conducting lessons right from the start. Sometimes they were vague, amorphous lessons, like amateur night the strip club, and sometimes focused and concise. Like the night Lisa announced that she had decided to teach Jenn the art of anal/oral stimulation, that is, the proper way to kiss and lick a backside. The lesson was structured, with lots of hands-on physical practice. Jenn was instructed to first hold Lisa's cheeks apart, then get her face right there, her nose between the cheeks. She must, Lisa advised, always ensure that the interface is well wetted by spitting into the crack frequently. She should begin, Lisa went on, with long sloppy strokes the whole length of the trough, before zeroing in on the anus. Jenn was told to swirl her tongue around the edges of Lisa's rosebud sphincter, dipping it lightly into the centre, then, once the tight centre has been tickled and stimulated, she must, twisting the tip of her tongue back and forth, poke it through the muscle and insert it as far as possible into the rectum. Once the sphincter has been broached, and the smooth inner surface gained, Jenn was to tongue fuck Lisa's ass with a rhythmic in-out until Lisa let her stop. Furthermore, Lisa added, Jenn must never stop abruptly, but first spread, once again, her lingual caresses up and down the length of Lisa's bum before gradually pulling away. It was a long, sensual dance. Jenn had practised it many times since; an active participant in her own seduction, she enjoyed the ritual – loved it. And the rewards she reaped for her oral artistry were subtly complex and rich; sometimes explicit, oft-times not.

As one month made way for the next, Jenn found she was spending almost no time at all at the condo. The infrequent work that she accepted would come to her through her cellular, but entering a classroom full of children became increasingly alien. Still she went home regularly to check the mail and phone messages. Mostly she slept through the greater part of each day, and stayed very busy at night, often playing till well past dawn. She wondered if there was any turning back from here, or had she already crossed the threshold of the chateau? Although, it didn't much matter really; she was midstream now; she could not foresee pulling out.