Nexus Confessions: Volume Three

by Nexus Confessions- Volume Three [Nexus] (retail) (epub)

  She greeted me in a long silk dressing gown, and looked me up and down in cool appraisal.

  ‘Come and follow me. We need to get a few things sorted out first,’ she said crisply.

  The lounge she had let me into was comfortable and expensively furnished with a deep pile carpet, with nothing unusual about it. I followed her to an unobtrusive door which she opened and beckoned me inside. This was more like it, I thought. The room had a parquet floor, one wall was covered by an enormous mirror, and there were a slightly disturbing number of whips and other sinister things hanging from the walls.

  ‘I have a few questions first,’ I countered, standing my ground. I might be a virgin journalist at Chichi but I was reporting for the local rag before I came to London and no one ever accused me of not being assertive – quite the opposite in fact.

  She came over to me and looked into my eyes and spoke very quietly but very, very firmly. ‘Let me be quite clear. If you want this to happen, you will sit down, shut up, and listen. Otherwise get out.’

  There did not seem to be a lot of choice if I was going to get my article. Biting my lip and surprised to find myself blushing from the telling off, I sat on the indicated stool as she took the only comfortable chair.

  ‘To do an SM scene with a novice we need to get a few ground rules sorted out …’ she had begun. ‘Do you know what a safe word is?’

  Safe word! We had decided to use Chichi if things became too much. How the hell was I going to yell out Chichi now? I wondered, frantically, especially if she really does intend to use the whip.

  Madame Zenobia did not give me long to worry about it. Pinching the same now distinctly sore nipple, she led me over to the solitary chair. This she sat on, retaining her grip, and then used the nipple to pull me round and right over her knee. If something had melted when the collar went round my neck then all my self control seemed to slip away as my bare belly met the cold leather of her skirt. One of her hands grabbed me firmly by the waist and held me in position. Upended, with my hands secured by chains, my bare bottom completely vulnerable to her whims, I felt more helpless than I had since I was a small child. It was not entirely an unpleasant sensation. Her short leather skirt did not completely cover her thighs and my belly and the tops of my legs pressed down on sheer nylon as well as leather and one of her suspender tabs pressed into my skin with slight but rather exciting discomfort.

  In fact, I could have stayed like that quite happily, babbling into the gag and letting myself drift away and luxuriate in the helplessness of my situation. Madame Zenobia had other ideas, however.

  The first slaps from her gloved hand were quite gentle. Little more than pats really; rapid little smacks that rained down on my bare bottom and the backs of my thighs. It might have been quite pleasant if she had not kept making the most humiliating comments.

  ‘Now this is a fine smacking arse! Firm and full and bouncy as a beach ball …’ If this had been part of her act it would have been bad enough, but she sounded genuinely delighted and that was worse.

  ‘It is a peach!’ she said as the smacks got a little harder. ‘Lovely colour too, coming up a nice blush pink now. This bottom was made for beating, and you are a lucky little tart because someone is going to do just that for you!’

  Muffled babbling was becoming muffled moaning now. Little by little her hand spanks had got harder until my whole behind now felt as if it were glowing. My pelvis was writhing involuntarily not in direct response to the smacks but because I needed to rub my clitoris against her thigh as hard as I could.

  But she had not stopped. The slaps got harder and then got harder still. Now the sound of her leather-gloved hand impacting on my naked bottom echoed round the playroom. The smarting became stinging and the stinging, burning pain. My muffled moans became stifled squealing. The frantic writhing about on her lap was now as much a futile attempt to escape the stinging rain of slaps as anything. Not that lust had fled, it had just melded into a red-hot cocktail with the pain. At that moment I could not have said if what I was feeling was pain or pleasure, nor if my cries were pleas for her to stop or to continue. As I writhed and squirmed ever more desperately on her leather-clad lap, however, my clit pressed down on the long bone of her thigh once too often.

  And then the sounds the gag suppressed were definitely screaming, but they were screams of undiluted pleasure as I came.

  So I had my article and then some, and it was time to go. Well, not right away because I had to do a bit of moaning first and shuddering as my orgasm subsided in what seemed like aftershocks from some erotic earthquake. I think I was lost in a sort of post-orgasmic delirium for a while, but after a few minutes I began to come back down to earth and awareness of my now perspiring, naked body. At some point I must have fallen to the floor, where I lay, my hands still chained behind me.

  So I looked up at Mistress Zenobia, who was sneering down at me, and politely asked her to unlock my shackles. The trouble was that I was still gagged so what actually came out of my mouth was a sort of muffled moan.

  One thing that I noticed as I looked up, my eyes beseeching in a way that I hoped she would understand meant ‘you can let me go now’, was that she had picked up the crop again and was flexing it between her hands in a way that caused my belly to go fluttery. This also made me very aware of my bottom which was still glowing as if it had been badly sunburned.

  Rather than unchain me, Mistress Zenobia bent and grabbed me by the hair, hauling me up onto my knees, then she took a step back and sliced the crop through the air, producing a seriously scary low whistle.

  ‘You really are a desperate, perverted little slut, aren’t you?’ she said with supercilious delight, made all the worse since her amusement was so clearly genuine. ‘Coming like a train after a few slaps! What will you do when I give you a proper flogging?’

  If the parquet floor of her playroom had opened up and swallowed me at that moment, I would not have been sorry. She might have been exaggerating; it had hardly been a few slaps, more like a royal spanking, but there was some truth in her words. More immediately worrying, however, was the talk of flogging.

  ‘Do you want to thank your mistress for your lovely orgasm, then, slave?’ she asked.

  I wanted to go home and write my article but the way she kept swishing that evil-looking black crop around made me decide to nod my head.

  ‘Good girl! Now kiss my feet!’

  Easy for her to say! I thought. With my arms still shackled behind me I could not lean forwards and down without collapsing. First I had to lower my upper body until my breasts nearly brushed my knees, and then crawl forwards until I could obey her order. Her shoes were brilliantly polished, impossibly high-heeled pumps. But that was not the only difficulty; I was still gagged. While I was wondering what to do I felt her hands unbuckle the gag.

  I gasped with relief as the rubber ball came out and thought about asking her to unchain me then. However there was a whoosh and a vicious stinging feeling in my bottom.

  ‘Aaow!’

  ‘Silence, bitch, and kiss your mistress’s feet!’ she ordered.

  I decided not to risk another crop stroke as something told me she had only stung me with the little cord bit at the end. I got down and saw myself, hair mussed and eyes looking dazed, reflected back in the brilliant polished surface of her shoes.

  Something, as I mentioned earlier, had seemed to melt inside my brain, and perhaps my groin, when she put the collar on me. Something else seemed to dissolve when I pressed my lips to the cold leather of her shoes, my eyes on the sheer black nylon sheathing her foot and ankle.

  ‘Lick!’ she said, and there was something excited in her tone now. ‘Lick, you little slave bitch!’

  I did as I was ordered; licking her shoes, first one and then the other. Then experimentally I tongued her stockinged foot.

  ‘That’s right, you little tart! Now get up and lick me higher!’

  I was in no doubt what she meant by this. I could hear the blood pound in my
ears as I raised my body, my eyes slowly travelling up her shapely legs. Above the inky stocking tops her thighs were almost white. I swallowed hard. Mistress Zenobia had pulled up her short leather skirt and she was not wearing panties.

  ‘Go on then!’ she said warmly. ‘What are you waiting for, a touch of this?’

  She flicked the crop down so that the cord tip hissed into my naked thigh, making me yelp with pain. I did not wait for her to give me another.

  Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, though it was not a Brazilian wax. The hair around her labia had been carefully removed, but above her clitoral hood there was a black triangle of fur. Her vulva was quite obviously swollen and something was glistening on her pussy lips. I blinked hard and then quickly kissed her pussy lips.

  ‘Don’t peck, you silly bitch!’ Mistress Zenobia said in a slightly hoarse voice. ‘Put your tongue right in there!’

  I did as I was told and tasted her juices, the scent of her arousal almost overwhelming. Mistress Zenobia let out a groan and I felt my hair grabbed, pulling my face harder against her crotch, pressing my nose into her mons so hard that I made a few alarmed but muffled squeaks. I pushed my tongue in as far as I could, hungry now to lick her vaginal juices, but I was not given long to explore her tunnel.

  ‘Higher,’ she grunted in a very strained voice. ‘Higher, you little bitch, or I will whip the hide right off you!’

  Her grip was released enough to let me obey, so my tongue licked upwards until it met her swollen clit, the glans of which was already protruding from its hood. I started to circle the little nub of flesh when my face was rammed against her crotch once more and Zenobia started shouting.

  ‘Shit! Fuck! Yes! Yes, oooh, shit that’s it, you bitch!’ she yelled before her cries turned into more incoherent shrieking. Grinding her cunt brutally against my face, she came explosively.

  My face felt squashed and smeared with Zenobia’s juices. My bottom was still throbbing. I was still naked and in chains. It was definitely time to go now. The trouble was that I still seemed to be aroused after my orgasm, and being made to go down on Zenobia and lick her shoes only seemed to have turned me on more. I was completely unable to think straight about what was happening to me.

  ‘I do believe that you are gagging for it again!’ Mistress Zenobia said once she had recovered her composure. ‘Your nipples are stiff as sentries and you are panting like a bitch on heat. I expect you would like me to fuck you with a strap-on, wouldn’t you, tart?’

  I did blush at that and bit my bottom lip in chagrin. She seemed to have the knack of saying things that humiliated and aroused me equally.

  ‘Yes, mistress …’ I managed to mumble somehow, a desperate hope rising in me that she would fuck me and relieve my awful need.

  ‘Of course you would. Slave bitches like you always want it up you!’ she said with a laugh. ‘But you have not deserved it, have you?’

  There was a pause before I realised that this was not a rhetorical question.

  ‘No, mistress.’

  ‘What have you deserved, do you think? Come on, answer me, slave!’

  I had no idea what to answer, until she lashed the crop through the air once more, to give me a clue.

  ‘Oh, please …’ I began.

  ‘Silence, get down flat on the floor, and spread your legs wide.’

  I no longer seemed to have the power to disobey her, scared though I truly was of what she might intend to do. I got down flat, my naked body on the cold, hard parquet, my face towards her feet and, with desperate reluctance, spread my legs apart.

  ‘Wider than that! Wider! Stop whimpering, slave, you know that you need it.’

  I knew no such thing, but I did know that I was in a bad position to argue about it. I held my breath and bit my bottom lip hard and waited for the inevitable.

  There was that horrible whistle once again and a nasty snicking sound. But of course I was most aware of the pain. The tip of the crop had caught me right between my spread legs. It stung like fury and I let out a desperate squeal.

  ‘What are you doing? I did not tell you to close your legs, you little bitch! Open them this instant!’ She was yelling.

  I simply could not make my legs obey her. The fear of the long crop and its wicked tip had seeped into my soul and I was too scared to comply. In dread I listened to her heels clack on the parquet as she came around to my side. Then there was that dreadful whistle and a meaty crack of impact. This time she used the leather-sheathed shaft of the crop and lashed square across my bottom.

  I opened up my mouth to let out an agonised squeal but that was cut short by a second, even harder stroke which took my breath away. The third followed with pitiless precision. I believe I screamed.

  ‘Now open your legs!’ Mistress Zenobia ordered. As if by magic I found that I could obey her again.

  The pain in my bottom was intense enough to have eclipsed the fear of exposing my pussy. Once again I heard the awful clacking of her high heels as she walked leisurely around to my head.

  Blinking away the tears of pain and raising my head a little, I saw that she now stood with a foot either side of my head. Then she bent forwards, leaning over my body, and I closed my eyes again.

  Again she lashed, judging the stroke so that only the cord tip struck me. This did not feel like she was being merciful as the knotted whipcord stung my pussy. It felt like I was being stung by hornets in my most sensitive parts. Every time the cord cracked I ground myself hard into the parquet as if somehow I could escape the pain by burrowing through the floor.

  And I did, in a manner of speaking. She whipped me rhythmically, these light, stinging strokes tormenting my exposed pussy, and I suppose I must have rubbed my clit against the floor, though I was more aware of the lashes at the time. Then, suddenly my body was convulsed and I was shrieking as great waves of pleasure flooded through me. I don’t know how long I was screaming in ecstasy, but when my orgasm finally subsided, I found that I had screamed myself quite hoarse.

  ‘I can read an A to Z, you know,’ Zack said with a grin.

  ‘I know, but I have to go out that way anyway,’ I lied. ‘I had to promise her copy approval.’

  ‘There is this new thing called e-mail …’ he replied facetiously.

  ‘Ha ha, but it really is quite hard to find … and …’

  ‘I know, I know,’ he said wearily, packing the last of his camera equipment. ‘It’s your article!’

  The usual thing with Chichi was to take the photographer with you in the first place, but for obvious reasons I had preferred to see Mistress Zenobia alone for the … interview. Zack was a freelance who we used a lot as he was both reliable and good, so there was really no need for me to hold his hand for the shoot. Still, I wasn’t overwhelmed with work that afternoon and I might be able to suggest some shots, I thought.

  This time, when she answered the door she looked absolutely breathtaking. Clearly, I thought, a little piqued, she had gone to a lot more trouble for the photographer than she had for me. Mistress Zenobia was wearing a long black satin corset. It had balconette-style cups with a wisp of fine lace that failed to veil rouged nipples. The thing was so tightly laced that I am quite sure that she must have had some help to get into it.

  Her already impressive figure now looked astonishing. Broad black suspender straps held up the sheerest fully fashioned stockings and the heels of her patent pumps must have been eight inches high, a two-inch platform sole making it possible for her to walk on the things. A black ribbon with a cameo set in the front graced her long white throat and black lace opera gloves and small black satin panties were all the rest of her clothing.

  Zenobia had piled her luxuriant mane up above her head which, with the platforms and heels, made her seem even taller. Zack was a biggish guy but she seemed to tower over him. Confronted with such an amazing vision most guys would have been dumbstruck.

  ‘Hi there, Jenny tells me you have a playroom, shall we take a look?’ Zack said, completely unfazed. I have
to say I was impressed with his professionalism.

  ‘Yes,’ Zenobia purred. ‘Why don’t you show him where it is, girl?’

  I felt myself turn into a beetroot once again, and prayed that Zack was too concerned with his cameras to notice. A vision of the guys back at the mag drinking at Soho House and sniggering as they discussed my lezzie SM encounter forced its way into my head, and did not help me to regain my composure. Funnily enough, though, Zack and Zenobia did. Both became very focused and professional and I was left to hang around the fringes of the shoot; now and then, when she raised a crop dramatically or turned to fix me in her stare, getting a jolt of confusing, guilty pleasure.

  ‘That should do,’ Zack said at last and began to pack up his kit. ‘You going to give me a hand back with this lot, then?’

  ‘No, Zack!’ I said as crisply as I could. ‘I wasn’t your assistant last time I looked and anyway, I told you I need to go through the copy with Zenobia.’

  He shrugged amiably enough and shouldered another bag, picked up his tripod and with a waved goodbye left us together.

  ‘Right …’ I said when the door had closed, turning to get the printed copy from my bag.

  She took the A4 sheets from me and started to read as she walked, gesturing me to follow. I swallowed dryly as I followed her back into the playroom. Nervous, I suppose, that she would dislike the article. I had to stand awkwardly as she read the whole thing through, trying to suppress the urge to say something stupid.

  She finished and simply tore the pages up and let them drop without a comment. I was about to ask her if there was something she objected to but the slap was quicker, almost knocking me over, her action so vigorous that the bones of her corset creaked audibly.