Tangled Passions Pt. 02 Ch. 26-28

The host briskly turned now to the 'coat-man' and politely commanded, "Take her cloak, please, Matthew."

Jenn's own gaze followed her host's only to stop abruptly on the face of the closet attendant. Their eyes locked together, energy crackling between them, time standing still. It was too much of a shock, more than anything she could have anticipated. She thought her heart would stop – stop or explode. The 'coat-man", bound in leather, a get-up much like her own – leather straps at his waist, wrists, ankles and throat, leather thongs tethering his wrists to his neck, connecting his clamped nipples – this strange creature was Matt; her own dear Matt; the husband who had been gone so long; whom she saw now only sporadically. And here he was. "I must not respond," she warned herself silently, "I cannot faint – oh, please – don't let me faint." Her head whirled precariously, until an inner smile came unbidden, and lapped at her frayed emotions, warmed her core, soothed her nerves. "Should I really be surprised?" In the bright light of the foyer, Jenn became aware of a strange, almost eerie feeling of calm that descended over her. Lisa had been right. She would do just fine, after all.

The inner smile surfaced gently on her lips as she slowly dropped her face. For some reason she wanted to witness Matt's reaction, for surely react he must. The peremptory voice of Roland snapped sharply at Matt. "Don't stand there staring stupidly. Take her cloak."

Watching him out the top of her saucer-sized eyes, she could see his discomfit. He was disturbed by her unexpected presence; suddenly clumsy and halting he averted his eyes. Jenn let her gaze sink to the floor and turned easily, with a carefree grace, to allow her garment to be removed. Why her heart was singing, her spirit buoyed, she could not understand – only accept.

The party proceeded in a slow, rather surrealistic fashion. Jenn could see no form or direction to it, only a blur of voices and figures. She stayed next to Lisa as they circulated about the cavernous living room, but was not introduced to nor addressed by any of the people with whom Lisa chatted. She simply stood and waited and, from time to time, submitted silently to transient gropes or caresses – impersonal and anonymous. Mainly, she was ignored. Standing at Lisa's shoulder or kneeling at her feet, she observed through her lashes, the party grow – more guests arriving by the minute. There were, she noted, a few others in positions similar to her own – and Matt's. And more were arriving.

Jenn watched as a very big, colourfully dressed woman lumbered into the room alone, laughing loudly and calling out greetings in a lilting Caribbean voice. Jenn overheard someone say that the priestess had arrived, to which Lisa replied, "Yeah, the Voodoo Chile herself." Surreptitiously, Jenn followed with her eyes as the huge bulk of the woman, sweat glistening on her black face, entered the room and approached them. She wore on her head a head-band or rolled kerchief that complemented the large, vivid blue and yellow floral pattern of her immense caftan. At her bosom, around her wrists and from her ears dangled rings and chains and pendants in bright accenting colours. She spoke with the lyrical accent of Haiti, and was jovial yet commanding. Her inquiries and questions carried an undercurrent of danger and strength. She stopped to speak with a number of people as she progressed around the room, taking opportunities to fondle the occasional nude companion who, like Jenn herself, stood silently aside the various conversational gatherings.

As she reached them, with her Aunt Jemima face beaming like a lighthouse, the priestess greeted Lisa warmly, "Lisa, my dear girl. So glad to see you." They clutched one another's arms in a sort of secret ritual of camaraderie, then the priestess backed up a step, and, hitching her dress up high, she lowered her impressive mass to the leather couch next to them. "I think I'd like your girl..." She seemed to leave the phrase an incomplete sentence. Flashing a wide, white smile at Lisa, she inclined her head almost imperceptibly towards Jenn then lifted the material from her lap, pulling the hem above her knees and flapping it as if to cool herself – stirring up a slight air of impatience.

"Of course," Lisa said, pulling Jenn around and pushing down on her at the woman's knees. As the expectation dawned, it took Jenn completely by surprise. Her hesitation, though brief, was long enough for Lisa to give her a crisp smack on the bottom and hiss angrily, "Down! Now!" Jenn, dropped swiftly before the stout black knees and, caught by the billowing dress, was pulled between the ebony tree trunk thighs. Under the loose voluminous folds of her dress, the priestess, or whoever she was, remained naked. Large hands outside, pushing and guiding Jenn's head, indicated that she was being invited – commanded to explore the depths and, completely hidden under the fabric, she discovered a soft fleshiness whose slick saltiness was redolent with the scents of exotic flowers and fruits. Once Jenn held the mammoth jelly-like thighs apart, and stroked and caressed the giant vulva, the hands withdrew.

The lilting voice above carried on in conversations as if nothing were afoot, while Jenn expertly and persistently drew her tongue back and forth through the labial folds – lapping, poking, prodding, darting behind to touch the anus, then circling back to orbit the clitoris. Eventually the expanses of flesh that made up the dark inner thighs began to wobble and shake. The magical voice went soft as it crooned musically. The hands descended from above, once again, against the front of the dress, holding Jenn's face securely against the slick pink crevasse. As the priestess achieved orgasm, tensing and squeezing her legs together, Jenn almost suffocated. The crisis past not a moment too soon, and the woman pushed Jenn away with a casual, if breathless, "Thank you, ma dear. That was lovely." As Jenn emerged, still gasping, from under the tenting of the dress, flipped back up over the still quivering knees, she looked up at the robust, smiling figure, who, while still regaining her breath, allowed a soft contented sigh to escape, before eyeing Jenn and whispering, "I have a penchant for quiet euphoria.” Those sitting next to her smiled their agreement as the recipient of all Jenn's lingual stimulation turned to join, once more, in conversation with her peers.

Sitting back on her heels, Jenn looked around somewhat dazed. Her face glistened with sweat and spit and juices. Lisa had moved away, and Jenn couldn't see her. No one paid her the slightest mind. Feeling a little lost and rather deflated, Jenn moved as inconspicuously as possible back to stand in a space by the wall – to watch and wait. Somehow she knew that to wipe her drenched face would be an inexcusable faux pas; indeed, she had nothing to wipe it with. She suddenly felt desperately lonely. Although the room was warm and noisy, Jenn shivered. Back on Davie Street, in the familiar confines of Celebration she could always melt into her surroundings. Within those comfortable walls she knew security, was safe. Her complaisance there required no reckoning. It was simply understood, if not cerebrally then habitually. But amongst strangers, in the alien environment of an unfamiliar penthouse, it was all very different. She was frightened. And if she recognized her fear was irrational, that was little comfort. She didn't know what to do. Well, she did know what to do; she knew that if she simply spoke to someone, anyone, everything would be all right; however, speaking – speaking out would be inappropriate. It was, she realized, not part of her current idiom – perhaps terror was.

Lisa, she eventually saw, was schmoozing across the room, without, apparently, the slightest thought of Jenn. Poised to move, but paralyzed with indecision Jenn stood, hands fidgeting, breath rapid and shallow, her lower orifices tensing on their phalluses. She watched the host, Roland cruise by, without the least acknowledgment of her trembling presence. She watched Matt obsequiously enter the room with drinks and submit to Roland's subtle caress before disappearing again, without raising his eyes. Finally, she closed her eyes and, squeezing her fists, squeezing her insertions, concentrating on the sharp pressure of her nipple clamps, struggled to control her threatening hyperventilation. For how long she stood there tensed in abject misery, she could not tell. Gradually she sensed a nearness, another body and against her seething panic she opened her eyes to find Lisa standing next to her, surveying the tide of guests that had flowed into the suite. Lisa seemed to intuitively sense when Jenn opened her eyes for, without looking, she quietly remarked, "Quite a crowd, eh?" Jenn's relief hit her like a drug and she had to grasp Lisa's arm to keep from swooning. Lisa simply turned to her and smiled, then, without another word, kissed her chastely.

A wealthy Iranian looking man dressed in an expensive tailored suit arrived. He held himself with the poise of one who is comfortable with a great deal of power. Stopping briefly at the archway to glance about, he sauntered into the room, nodding and greeting several conversation groups before joining Roland as he chatted near Jenn and Lisa. A young woman, dressed rather like a Muslim peasant in her hijab, veil and flowing robe, followed timidly, close at his heels. Her dark eyes, wide with fright, radiated an innocent beauty, flashing furtively about the room from the narrow exposure of her shrouded face. Obviously repelled, perhaps terrified by the naked bodies of those such as Jenn, she allowed her eyes to find sanctuary from the alien environment on the heels of her escort; she sought to stay close, while he ignored her. She stood silently at his shoulder, her head bowed, her body tense, as he drank and visited with the other guests.

The man was, perhaps, fifty years old. He was ruggedly handsome in an Omar Sharif sort of way, grey artistically highlighting the sides of his otherwise jet black hair. He spoke with a studied articulation that identified him as aristocratic, and Jenn, while trying to let her mind wander free, was attracted by his overall sophistication and the easy power colouring his voice. She overheard him say to another guest, with a casual gesture toward his companion, "Azie, is my newest. She arrived only very recently from the Afghan region. This is, in fact, her first public appearance.” Jenn forced herself not to wonder anything about his remarks – not to consider them. After only a short while longer, he emptied his glass and turned to the patient woman standing there, and stared appraisingly at her for a moment.

Abruptly, he took her by the arm, start registering in her eyes, and led her into the middle of the room where he stopped and looked about the room, silently demanding attention of other guests. Amazingly, he secured the interest of all of those nearby without so much as a single word. He then stepped back and told the frightened girl – she suddenly looked so young and helpless – to remove her veil, first in English and then in some middle-eastern tongue. Her eyes registered shock and fear. She hesitated, glancing about pleadingly until he repeated the command sharply. As she bared her face, Jenn noted the spectators blink and draw a breath almost as one. Despite the silently shrieking panic, her face was absolutely gorgeous – mythically beauteous, like Psyche incarnate. In a slow, low, awesome voice, her master, who stood impassively, ordered her, again in two languages, to remove the rest of her clothing. Her body went rigid; her eyes screamed in horror. It was unheard of! Brazenly? In front of strangers? It was obviously so contrary to all her beliefs; all her traditions; the customs and rituals of her land – her birth; to all that she had been raised to expect. The room seemed to hush, and remained silent for a moment – the poor young woman's eyes flickering around the gathered crowd, past all the intently gazing faces, only to return to the face of her mentor. She dropped her face in mortified resignation; what choice did she have? She began to remove her clothes, very, very slowly, until the man said something quietly in the foreign language. She raised her face for a moment, pleading with her eyes, before her fingers sprang to life with a fumbling urgency. Her garments fell from her steadily until she stood naked, staring at the floor amid the rumpled pile. Her body was flawless; swarthy skin glowing in the subdued illumination of a deep dusk that tinted the incandescence of the interior lighting, she was breathtakingly beautiful. "Look at me," the Iranian demanded, now speaking only in English, his words were slow and quiet and exquisitely enunciated. The damage done, she complied without hesitation; still, her cheeks were flaming red and her dark eyes, wet and wide.

"What consequences, what training," Jenn wondered, "resulted in that, that voluntary plunge into total humiliation, that complicity in the destruction of one's own dignity?"

For Jenn, the party seemed to be mainly just drifting from fondle to caress at the hands of so many strangers. She even achieved orgasm randomly throughout the evening, wandered in Lisa's tracks, in a bit of a trance – recovering or hungering. She hadn't seen a lot of Matt; mostly she just noticed him just serving drinks. On one occasion, though, she observed him do his duty as an animate coffee table. After being served a drink, some guest must have ordered him onto his hands and knees beside the chair, for Jenn saw him holding still, a drink sitting in the middle of his back as a woman sitting there went on with her conversation, lifting the glass for an occasional sip. Still, Jenn could imagine further humiliation far beyond what she witnessed – maybe, maybe not. In any case, rather than pity, she felt an odd sense of pride seeing Matt comply like that. Notwithstanding, she had no time to analyze such a peculiar sentiment. The ebb and flow of the populace swept her along, leaving Matt as if he were only a shadow. Jenn realized that she was just one part in the whole humility machine. Submission, constantly going on about the room – glimpses of Matt and Azie – germinated within Jenn as a growing acceptance of her part, her role, an increasing ease of acquiescence. Later in the evening, she thought she caught another momentary glimpse of him – her dear husband – performing an energetic felatio. She couldn't be sure it was him, but it struck her as probable rather than surprising, inevitable rather than shocking.

Neither was she just left to the fickle whims of passing fingers. During a momentary lull in activity, Lisa guided Jenn to a coffee table which others helpfully hastened to clear. Pushing her gently back to sit, then lie, on it, Lisa said simply, "Come," then stepped back to watch. Initially a shiver visibly rippled the length of her body, but, exercising a severe self-discipline, Jenn forcibly relaxed, closed her eyes and moved her hands down to rest on her pudendum. Using her fingers to both spread and dance, she worked with and around the rubber pintle and chain to slowly and gently bring herself to a quiet and soothing climax that rolled in wave upon wave, like an ocean swell against a beach. She remained oblivious to the appreciative crowd. Vaguely aware of someone joining her on her pedestal – straddling, knees at her head – she felt the smooth caress of clothed buttocks against her chest. The weight of a turgid prick fell against her chin, and the helmeted rim of engorged glans touched her lips. She felt no compunction, no desire to open her eyes. She simply opened her mouth. Amidst her calm afterglow, the anonymous organ thrust rapidly, hands holding, moving her head in a frenzied rhythm, and spent quickly and copiously, before withdrawing. Jenn lay insensate, as a satisfied smile drifted to her lips, still glossy with fluids.

Although they might have been outnumbered four, perhaps five to one, she, Matt and Azie were by no means the only naked, tractable individuals present, and at any given moment, it seemed to Jenn, someone was getting poked or pinched, used or employed. As disciplined or subdued as she was herself, her contact with the others in her station was only incidental. She had no idea who they were, where they had come from, or how they had got there. They were as much mysteries to Jenn as she was to them – or herself.

She was asked politely – and that made her smile inside, as if she might refuse if they weren't polite – if she would masturbate a male guest. Kneeling before him, she gingerly uncovered his cock, bringing it carefully to her lips for an introductory kiss before beginning to stroke it rhythmically. She licked her hands from time to time to provide a modicum of lubricant for her frictional manipulations. Focusing her complete awareness on the fleshy truncheon as it responded to her ministrations, Jenn was only vaguely aware of its owner beckoning another to join them. A nude, tethered young miss, a submissive like herself, settled next to the knees of the fellow, and with only the merest glance at Jenn, positioned her open mouth to catch the impending come. Jenn had begun to think of most of them, the other submissives, especially the girls, as young misses. 'A rose is a rose,' was all very well for herself, but she preferred to avoid the term slave. It seemed just a little too raw, a little too brutal for her younger colleagues – sisters in bonds. She continued steadfastly until the shuddering Steely Dan announced, by its erratic pulsing, that the time had come, then Jenn endeavoured to aim the creamy gush into the waiting mouth of her neighbour. Only partially successful, semen also splashed onto the passively upturned face. Before they were allowed to rise, Jenn was told to lick off her comrade's face. As she did, the other, with eyes closed, quietly returned Jenn's kisses with a briefly probing tongue of her own.

Quite late in the evening, Jenn and a European girl, Maria, were requested – a polite euphemism for commanded – to engage in soixante-neuf. Maria's lips were inviting under a well-applied coat of brownish coral lipstick. Her olive brown skin was smooth and flawless. She had oval shaped eyes, lined top and bottom with thick black mascara, making them stand out, the charcoal-grey irises outlined in black; coppery eye shadow blended subtly with her skin; shoulder length hair, its deep brown highlights keeping it just this side of black, fell loosely about her inverted triangle face, almost hiding the gold braided choker at her neck, with its pendant that lay in the shallow well formed by her clavicles. She had high cheekbones, and Jenn saw, glistening through her tresses, matching pendants on hoops in each ear. Her slender shapely hands were punctuated with coppery-grey nails; a stylized penis on a gold ring encircled her right ring finger, matching those that hung at her neck and ears. She had a modest but inviting cleavage created by her small, well-shaped breasts. Maria's nipples were pierced and adorned with small golden rings. Below, several sturdy rings of gold dangled from her labia – two on each side, about an inch in diameter. Fine chains encircled her wrists and ankles, and all had the same curious penis pendants.

Slick and glistening with secretions, the labial piercings fascinated Jenn, as she pulled her own face deep into the juncture of the girl's legs. Playing with the rings, tangling and twisting her tongue, she lapped and sucked, teasing the stiffening clit. A sweet pungency that was unmistakably female greeted Jenn's burrowing nose – although, perhaps not entirely female; the slick salty ooze on her tongue as she poked and prodded Maria's anal rose tasted of maleness. For a moment Jenn forgot her own genitals and the activity there, being totally engrossed in any pleasure she might give. Her partner, Maria, seemed neither happy nor willing to be there, performing her cunnilingal task like a tradesman rather than an artist; nevertheless, when she finally came, her thighs suddenly tensing and squeezing, her sex pushed hard into Jenn's mouth and her arms tightening around Jenn's thighs, her own lips consuming Jenn's lower flesh, she climaxed with an unexpected violence. Although Jenn was hardly aware of her own impending arousal, the intensity of the orgasm she had instigated flung her far over the edge to a powerful coinciding climax. Maria's was as strong or stronger – more violent than anything Jenn had ever experienced – either subjectively or objectively. Her bucking and heaving and gasping went on for minutes, carrying Jenn along; the two of them, their sweaty bodies lying entwined on the carpet were swept off, way over the moon, only to settle back to earth slowly in a mutually post-orgasmic stupor.