Lust and Longing Page 2

  ‘So, Jenna,’ said Kristin. ‘What brings a nice girl like you to a place like this?’

  ‘Curiosity, I guess,’ said Jenna.

  ‘Well, of course,’ said Kristin. ‘Curiosity took me to all the interesting places I’ve been. What I meant was, what’s your kink? We’ll go first if you like. Me, for example, I’ve got a thing about rubber, can’t help it, I just love the stuff, whether I’m wearing it or somebody else is. Then Anthony over there –’ She pointed to a surfer-type guy with long hair and ripped muscles ‘– he’s into watersports, both giving and receiving. Kerry here likes it up the arse. Jodie and Mark used to go out for a while but they’re the world’s worst couple; they both want to be dominated. Can you imagine? Both of them wanting to be sat on and abused? They never got anywhere!’

  Laughter broke the tension while Mark smiled shyly. Jenna knew now why she had felt drawn to him: she’d read that a good dom can always recognise a sub and vice versa. She had not believed it then but she believed it now. She pictured herself kneeling either side of Mark’s thighs, pumping his stiff cock in her fist but forbidding him to come. She shivered, despite the sultry atmosphere in the club. Then she realised that the laughter had died down and that everybody was looking expectantly at her for an answer. She thought about saying, ‘I think I might be a dominatrix,’ but realised how feeble that would sound, because she knew she was, she just didn’t have the experience. And experience was exactly what she was out to get.

  ‘I’m a dom,’ she announced to the group. Mark turned to Jodie.

  ‘I told you,’ he said to her, while Jodie shrugged. So Mark had recognised her, too. This night was only getting better.

  As the night wore on, people began to drift away to find people to play with. Kristin took to the dancefloor with a man in a rubber suit who held her close, while Anthony disappeared to the bathroom with a stunning blonde on his arm and a wicked smirk on his lips. Kerry’s eyes were glazed as she sat at the bar, a man’s hand travelling over her ass, while Jodie was dancing in a group of friends.

  It was just Jenna and Mark left alone. She knew what she had to do – but how to do it?

  ‘I’m going for a walk around the club. I haven’t explored properly yet. Want to come?’ She kicked herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She should not have asked him if he wanted to come, she should have told him he was. And this was his territory, which put her at a disadvantage: she should have been the one to lead him around. But she noticed that when they got up to explore the warren of corridors and private rooms that comprised the club, he was happy to let her walk in front. Jenna soon found out that the place was much more extensive than she had first thought: as well as the main room, there were several velvet-lined chambers where couples could retreat to play with a little more privacy. Jenna felt her body throb from head to toe as she witnessed a man lying prone on a wooden rack while another man bent over him with a lit, dripping candle, carefully sending dribbles of hot wax everywhere but his raging, bulging cock.

  Jenna soon found a deserted alcove where she and Mark could be alone. It was a small, purple nook with a curtained doorway. A black, wrought-iron candelabra hung from the ceiling. Real candles were wedged into its holes, and wax dripped onto the bed that dominated the centre of the room. It was upholstered in some kind of strange shiny fabric. Jenna ran her hand over it and realised it was plastic, enjoying the squeaks her fingertips made on it. Her heart began to race and her clitoris thrummed as she noticed shackles for wrists and ankles at the head and foot of the bed. She imagined Mark lying there, his body splayed like a starfish, and felt a swell of empowerment as she realised how easy it would be to make that vision a reality. Jenna’s nipples began to harden, her clit swelling and pounding, and she was aware of the sound of her own breath. Then she realised it was not her breathing she could hear but that of Mark’s, inches away from her, and the sweat on his brow and the rasping of his breath told her that now was the moment to strike. Jenna got behind Mark and grabbed both of his wrists. She noticed a small gold earring looping around his left earlobe and bit down on it, tugging it with her teeth and tongue before whispering in a stern voice that was not her usual tone:

  ‘When I let go of you, you’re going to take all your clothes off. You’re going to be hard, and you’re going to want to touch yourself, but you’re not allowed to. I won’t let you. You’re going to put your hands in the air and spread your legs.’

  Mark nodded and she heard him gulp. Obediently he raised his arms over his head and pulled off his vest to reveal a surprisingly muscular back. His glasses became entangled in his vest and he scrambled to retrieve them. When he put them back on they were crooked. Jenna noticed that the skin on his back was criss-crossed with fading scars; obviously this boy was no stranger to the whip. Good to know. Mark unbuckled his belt, his breathing growing more audible by the second, and eased his jeans over his hips. His arse was high, round and defined and his legs were stocky and hairy. She liked his solid bulk: it was so much more exciting to dominate a well-built man than her physical inferior.

  ‘Lie down on the bed.’

  Mark knelt on all fours before rolling over onto his back like an obedient puppy on his first day of training. Jenna watched as his cock and balls rose in the air. He was young and virile and his hard-on kept rising until the tip of his dick obscured his navel. Jenna had to fight the urge to rip her own clothes off, straddle him and ride out that big hard cock until both of them came. But she couldn’t, not yet, not yet.

  The bed might as well have been custom-made to host Mark’s young body. The restraints, which snapped shut like animal traps, were perfectly positioned to bind his wrists and ankles. They were made of coated steel, and Jenna felt her pussy pound as she imagined the red marks they would leave on him. She stood over him, thighs apart, hands on hips, licking her lips and wondering what to do with him next. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, as she realised that this was the first time she was finally putting into practice the dominatrix that she became when she practised in front of her bedroom mirror.

  She began to prowl around the bed, examining Mark’s body from every angle. Really, he was a fine example of the male species. The dark hair on his chest made a crucifix pattern and ran like a fuse wire down to his swollen prick. It wasn’t the largest erection in the world, but it was one of the most perfectly formed. The skin on his penis was the same butterscotch colour as the rest of his body, but darkened as it became engorged with blood. A tiny mole on one of his symmetrical balls made him seem even more vulnerable, which increased Jenna’s feelings of power.

  ‘Call that a hard-on?’ sneered Jenna, standing at the head of the bed and looking down at Mark. Her harsh words affected his prick like a massage: it grew an inch before her eyes, and finally the purple tip released itself from the foreskin. ‘That’s more like it,’ said Jenna. ‘Now, I wonder what to do with you?’

  ‘Please, Jenna, please touch it,’ whimpered Mark, closing his eyes. ‘Put your hands on me.’

  ‘In here, my name is not Jenna. You are permitted only to call me Mistress. And no, I won’t touch it. You don’t deserve my hands on your cock. My smooth hands running up and down your prick? Don’t make me laugh.’

  As she spoke, Jenna continued to pace around the bed, Mark’s eyes boring into her like lasers. He twisted his head; tried to angle his whole body so that he could have full view of her at all times. Jenna was trying desperately to stay in control of her own body as well as retain her command of Mark’s. She was glad that she had worn her denim hotpants because the thick, roughly sewn seam of the crotch and the cold metal bulk of the buttons put deliciously agonising pressure on her clitoris with every step that she took. She turned her stride into a sashay, rubbing her thighs together and rolling her hips for maximum stimulation. At this rate, she too would experience a hands-free climax.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mistress,’ said Mark, his whole body shaking with frustration. ‘What are you going to do with me?’
Jenna looked down at the beautiful, helpless young man and realised that the greatest punishment she could give him was to withhold her touch.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, arching an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh God, I want you to do everything to me. I want to see your tits. Want you to bend over me so that they’re in my face while you pull my prick so hard it’s almost too painful to bear, and I want you to milk every drop of spunk from my body, and I want you to slap me around the face with your nipples. I want you to sit on my face, I want to taste your pussy, I want everything that could possibly happen while I’m tied up like this to happen between us. That’s what I want, but Mistress, you’ve got me so horny that just a touch of your skin on mine will make me come.’

  Jenna had not expected such a detailed reply, but by telling her what he did want, she knew how to torture him even more. She would give him none of the things he mentioned. She did not unfasten her corset, even though she knew her tits would look absolutely resplendent: she could feel her hardening nipples under the stiff boning. Although she wanted to feel the soft skin of his hard cock in her palms, she didn’t do that. Although sitting on his face and smothering him would have given her the climax she too so greatly desired, she didn’t do that. Instead, in her impossibly high heels, she elegantly got up onto the bed, looked down at Mark and then sat, cross-legged, between his legs. She could feel the heat from his body warming her own thighs. They were almost touching, and she could smell the sweet, salty tang of the fresh sweat that poured down on Mark’s chest between his nipples.

  ‘I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,’ she said. ‘This is my kind of bondage. It’s all about withholding pleasure, Mark. I know you want to come. I know you want me to grab your prick and milk it, suck every drop of spunk out of you. You want me to wring it between my hands like a wet dishcloth until there’s nothing left in those beautiful balls.’ These vivid descriptions were having exactly the desired effect. Marks balls began to tense and rise up into his body and Jenna knew that the slightest touch would bring him to orgasm. ‘But what you’d really like, Mark, is to fuck my tits, wouldn’t you?’ Mark closed his eyes and nodded. His body was in such delicious agony that he could not even speak any more. ‘You want to know what colour my nipples are. Whether they’re round or pointy. You want to look at my tits, as I push together, one on either side of your prick.’ Mark looked as though he was close to tears. ‘Forget it. It’s not gonna happen. You don’t deserve to see my tits.’

  ‘Please, I need to come, I’m gonna come, help me, please …’

  Jenna loved Mark’s begging. She would have liked to prolong his agony, but she was not an experienced enough dominatrix to control her own orgasm, and Mark was not the only one fighting climax. She felt a dizziness take over her body as the pulse between her legs became a rapid fluttering. Hoping that Mark would not notice what she was doing, she hooked her thumb through the belt loops of her shorts and pulled the denim closer to her body, and rocked ever so slightly so that her clitoris was receiving the direct stimulation she craved. She began to relax as the pre-climax contractions built up in her pelvis. At the same time, she leaned down towards Mark’s cock and blew gently on the spot where his balls and his cock met. He had begged her to be rough and manhandle him, but her warm breath travelling up and down the length of his dick was all it took for Mark to come, his body bucking and rising, his hips shooting up as his prick squirted out an arc of white spunk which sprayed over his belly and decorated it in lacy white patterns. His hips jerked up so fast and so quickly, that for a second Jenna thought he might even break the bonds which tied him to the bed. She could see that the extra restraint made his orgasm all the more intense.

  And then she came too, while Mark was lost in his orgasm, biting her lip and trying to keep a straight face so that he would not see the contortions that twisted her expression.

  Trying not to hurt her sensitive, swollen clit, Jenna reached down beside the bed and picked up Mark’s discarded vest top. She used it to clean up the semen which he had squirted all over his body. It had pooled in his navel and Jenna used the cotton garment to gently mop it up. Tenderly she traced the trail of liquid that dotted his chest hair in pearls and mopped the tip of his cock. Then she held the vest to her nose and inhaled deeply, breathing in the delicious, unmistakable smell of a man’s essence, and revelling in the fact that she had teased and tortured it out of his body.

  After a couple of minutes, Mark recovered sufficiently to open his eyes. He beamed up at her with a look of adoration that melted Jenna’s heart and sent a fresh fizz of excitement to her clit. Nobody had ever looked at her like that before, but she knew she would see it again and again. She smiled back and tiptoed around his bed, gently unfastening the shackles that bound him there for the duration of their game. She had the last word before she left him.

  ‘If that’s what I can do with no hands,’ she whispered into his ear, ‘imagine what it will be like when I finally let you fuck me.’ She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, not giving him a backward glance.

  On the other side of the curtain, in the corridor, Jenna saw Jodie, who was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, dress hitched up around her waist, hands down her panties. Through the blue silk, Jenna could see Jodie’s fingers working, drumming on her clitoris. Jenna was fascinated; she had never seen another woman’s face as she came and she could tell by Jodie’s rapturous expression she was only seconds away. Sure enough, Jodie’s knuckles tensed under her panties, her knees shook and bent and then her whole body relaxed and a dark flush spread across her face and chest. Despite her recent orgasm, Jenna found herself getting wet again. Jodie opened her eyes, and looked right at Jenna.

  ‘I was watching you in there,’ said Jodie in a voice that was little more than a whisper. ‘What you did with Mark. That was amazing. I nearly came without touching myself too, but I had to come outside and get myself off or you would know I was there.’ Jenna wished she had known that she was being spied on: it would have made the experience even more intense and thrilling. Obeying a silent command in her own head, she grabbed Jodie’s hands from her panties, and held the fingers up to her nose. I did that, too, thought Jenna, and for the first time, she wondered what it would be like to dominate another woman. She pushed Jodie against the wall, held her hands lightly around her neck and gave her an intense kiss that bordered on violent, forcing her bare knee between Jodie’s legs and grinding her pussy against her soft thigh. She held Jodie’s hands down by her sides, rubbing her clit up and down until she came again, this second orgasm a softer, subtler echo of the one that she had experienced just moments before. She drew away from the astonished, trembling Jodie, delivered a gentle bite to her soft cheek and walked down the corridor.

  I walked in here a fetish virgin, thought Jenna, as she left the club, and I came out a bisexual dominatrix with two willing slaves at my beck and call. All in all, a good night.

  Jenna’s circle of fetish friends grew over the next three years, as did her wardrobe of outrageous outfits. She stayed in Sydney to go to university and continued her sexual education by night in the city’s underground bars and clubs, until her reputation as the strictest, sexiest, most hard-bodied dom in Australia was cemented. Club and private work meant that student poverty was never an issue for Jenna, and she had more devoted slaves than she could find time to dominate, although she always kept a soft spot for Mark and Jodie.

  And yet something was missing. Playing with like-minded friends in a permissive, consensual environment was delicious. But she had still never matched the thrill of that first, spontaneous exchange with the stranger in a suit whose name she had never known but who had been the first to bring out the dominatrix in her. She couldn’t put her finger on it. There was no challenge, no risk, no danger dominating men and women who came to the club desperate to be whipped and bound. The challenge was to find a man, a real man, a hard and powerful man and break him – in the real world.

 
The turning point came one night at a private party in the suburbs. Jenna met Hugo, an impossibly polite Englishman who begged her to cane him to the point of orgasm. Jenna was only too happy to oblige, and after his lashing the two of them got chatting on the sofa.

  ‘Your accent is so very charming,’ he said and then, taking in Jenna’s flawless, gym-honed body, ‘And you have a stunning figure, too. Really first-class.’

  ‘I’m not the one with the accent,’ she said, giggling at his old-fashioned vocabulary. ‘I’ll let you into a secret. Nothing makes me wetter than dominating a man with an upper-class-sounding voice like yours. I think it’s all those centuries of money and power.’

  ‘Ah, you should come to my part of the world,’ he said. ‘England is crawling with ex-public schoolboys just desperate for a good dominatrix. Biggest concentration of subs in the world, I’d say. Politicians – they’re a rum bunch. Kinkiest bastards on the planet probably work in Westminster.’

  Hugo didn’t know it, but his casually uttered words were to change Jenna’s life. Without ever having been to London, Jenna decided that that was where her future lay. The next morning she went into college and changed her course to sociology and politics. Over the next few months, she filled in a million application forms, applied for a thousand grants, spent an interminable summer working as an intern at the Australian parliament in Canberra where, despite exhaustive efforts, she couldn’t find a fetish scene, and eventually got herself an interview as a research assistant for a junior minister in the House of Commons in London.