THE BLUE VILLA

The Sun

I woke at dawn. Listening to wind and rain splattering the panes of the little attic  window by my head.

My mouth was dry. My cunt was sore. I wanted to drink more wine. 

Zen-Sei was sitting up in a corner of the room in the lotus posture. His chin was raised. His eyes, shut.

I writhed a little in the sheets and opened my legs wider. I smelled my own sexual moisture and felt a throb of inner heat.

I was rain. I was nothingness. I’d dreamt I was running down a hill. I ran faster and faster, in my tight jeans, wind roaring in my ears, until I came with a little choked sob.

I was only nine years old.

I got up and padded barefoot past Zen-Sei into the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and pissed. It was pleasant to hear the urine hissing out of me into the water. 

I pulled the chain. My urine disappeared in a roar of water. The tank thrummed and clattered as it filled.

I was still half asleep. I stood at the sink, gazing into the cracked mirror. I brushed my hair and looked at my breasts. The nipples were hard and pink as fraises du bois. My pubic hair was a black, lush triangle. 

When I went out, Zen-Sei was waiting for me, his cock erect, holding the leather collar. 

I laughed. What a way to start the day.

He snapped it onto my neck and told me to lie down on my stomach. I did, with my fists under me, pressed painfully between my breasts.

He asked if I wanted my hands tied. He had a red silk cord he used for this. I shook my head. I was trembling, suddenly, my heart thumping with excitement.

And gratitude.

I wanted pleasure. I wanted joy. Sometimes the path led through pain. The pain even became agony. And it included instants of pure bewildering terror.

But none of that stopped me from coming. Coming and coming. In flagrant, despairing spasms.

I felt the kiss of the whip on my ass and let out a cry that turned into a keening moan.

Zen-Sei whipped my bottom as I writhed my hips and got wetter and wetter and hotter and hotter, my cunt going into spasms.

Finally, I begged him to fuck me.

In the ass.

I felt his cock enter me. It felt huge. Savage and assured. He plunged right in to the hilt. I felt his scrotum slap against my cunt lips and I bit my lip and writhed and bucked with the intensity of this pleasure.

Something was breaking open in me. I didn’t know if it was my body or my mind. I wondered if I had a soul. Then Zen-Sei’s organ was shooting heat into my ass. Long, vivid bursts.

I shut my eyes and screamed. I saw a galaxy whirl in space. Where was I? Paris? I didn’t know.

Zen-Sei withdrew himself, like pulling his sword from a slain bull.

I lay there shivering. Tears in my eyes, in my nose and throat.

My ass felt broken open. I was destroyed. Ruined for any other man.

I thought: What splendor. The infinite here-now, in this Paris rainshower. In this bare little attic room.

It was what I’d dreamt of since I was little. A man’s semen running from my ass. My cunt inflamed like a jungle flower.

Then I felt Zen-Sei’s beard stubble on my ass, and his lips.

His big hands parted my ass cheeks. He puts his mouth to my asshole. He sucks. 

He sucks out his own blazing sperm. I listen to him slurping. 

Sit up, he says. I sit up and turn to him. He embraces my hips. He kisses me.

It’s so sweet.

Open your lips, he whispers.

I do. He presses his mouth to mine, thrusts his tongue in —and floods my mouth with his semen. It tastes of my ass. Shit and come mingled.

Is this the Absolute? It’s dazzling. My eyes roll back into my head. 

I shiver. I come. He hasn’t even touched my cunt, but my clit is ringing. I clench my legs together and writhe and — I scream.

Gloria, he says. 

La gloria. That’s what he means. It’s another word for the Absolute state.

I feel it. Waves of feeling are surging in me. Though I’m made of skin, blood, bone, mucous, I’m ringing like a bell.

I resound.

I am the empty sky.

Lashed by cold rain. Ringing in nothingness. 

*

He breaks a sun-warmed baguette into fragments. He feeds it to me.

My lips are parched.

We’re lying in the sun, on a patch of grass along the sluggish Seine.

People are walking by, riding by us on bicycles. 

Girls in blue skirts and thin blouses — wearing slim white panties. I imagine the heat of their cunts.

I feel joy. I feel anguish. I’m alive. 

He’s telling me about Buddhism. He used to meditate in a Zen temple. Even went to Tibet, where he took photographs.

He came back to Paris with a shaven head and started begging. He begged in the Metro.

He played the flute. He’d given up on writing. Finally he even destroyed his darkroom, gave away the Leica.

I don’t know what to tell him. I’m just a little girl. Awe inspired. Truly awe-inspired.

Grieving for this old, cold and stupid world full of wretched unhappy people rushing by us to go to work. They don’t know what love is, nor life. Soon they’ll be old and shambling, with white hair. They’ll lean on sticks.

I tell Zen-Sei: I don’t want to die. I want to live. And laugh.

Everything in me leaps into the sunlight. It only wants to enjoy life. The splendor.

Like cutting off my eyelids to see the sun.

The Spanish Slut

I woke. It was dawn. Zen-Sei was naked beside me. I heard soft sounds. I looked down to see the Spanish girl, whose name was Malaga, curled between Zen-Sei’s hairy legs, sucking gently on his penis. She let it slip out of her mouth with a soft plop and smiled at me, her teeth brilliant in a dusty ray of sunlight. Zen-Sei was only half erect. Contentedly, the girl went back to sucking him. I raised myself on one elbow and stroked Zen-Sei’s face. He let out a stifled moan. He was dreaming. I kissed him, tasting my own cunt on his lips. We were suddenly all wide awake. Zen-Sei cradled my head as he kissed me. Glancing down, I saw that he was now rigid — Malaga could only get about half of his arrogant prick into her mouth. I watched as she drew back the foreskin and licked a bead of moisture from the slit. Zen-Sei reached for something on the bedside table, beside the carafe of water and two glasses and his watch. He picked it up and unscrewed the lid. It was a tube of lubricant. My mouth went dry. Lifting Malaga from between his spread legs, Zen-Sei sat her on his chest, smearing it with her moisture. He raised her up a little and squeezed some of the lubricant on two fingers and slipped them between her legs, under the glorious cunt. Malaga shivered. Ooh, she said. Zen-Sei put the tube back onto the bedside table. Carefully, he lifted up Malaga and set her bottom where he wanted it. I took hold of his pulsating cock and guided it into Malaga’s slimy anus. She cried out, shrilly, like a bird as it impaled her. In a dusty ray of sunlight I touched Malaga’s labia tenderly with my fingers, causing her to jump a little. I drew back the fleshy covering from her glowing clitoris, and bending close I spat on it. Zen-Sei remained still as marble while Malaga shivered again, groaning. I took the almond sizedclitoris in my lips. Ah, it’s so hot, I thought. And I licked it with just the point of my tongue. Malaga cried out. My forehead was pressed to her sweating navel. I was holding the base of Zen-Sei’s cock. I felt a gushing heat and wetness on my hand where her cunt was pressed to the knuckles. Malaga began riding him as I sucked and kissed her clitoris; wildly. Zen-Sei groaned. He, too, was sweating, and I knew that Malaga’s flesh was clutching at him like a mouth. I took hold of one of Malaga’s rigid nipples and twisted it, causing her to shout. There was the slight odor of shit. Malaga’s cunt slobbering. Her bare ass slapping up and down on Zen-Sei’s thighs, the bristling pubic hair against my eyelids. She tensed, gave a long shudder, and then began to scream. She screamed five or six times, as if knifed. Zen-Sei’s big hands grabbed her buttocks and he thrust upward and let out a harsh curse. Gripping the base of his cock hard, I could feel the semen shooting up through it into the naked, hot and churning Malaga. I left them there, glued together, slimy-hot with lubricant, half-unconscious, and went naked into the bathroom. I shut the door and turned on the bathtub taps. Water roared into the tub, and steam rose from it. I looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes looked slanted, like an Asian’s. I was just sleepy. Painfully aroused, also. I sat on the curved edge of the bidet and rubbed my clitoris under the soft, dense hair between two fingers, harder and harder, until I lost all sense of anything and I heard myself shout. Silence. Silence. Nothing. My cunt was drizzling. I turned on the stream of the bidet and washed my ass and my cunt in cold water. Weak, I shut off the taps and got into the bathtub and sank down to my chin in the steaming water. I let it clog my ears. I ducked my head underwater. I was nobody. Hair floated across my face like tendrils. I suddenly remembered the Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife. And I laughed. What would that be like, to fuck an octopus. To have a giant octopus suck on my pussy? My clit was still throbbing. I touched it under the water. I began to stroke it again. I used to do this as a little girl. Stroking my clit in the bathtub, sunk to my neck in steaming water, in the smell of lavender soap. I felt a surge like electricity and I came again. The climax seemed drawn out of me like a long satin ribbon. I arched my back, thrusting my breasts out of the water, the nipples glistening and hard. I moaned like a middle aged woman being fucked by her cruel young lover in some seedy Paris hotel. What did I want in life? All I wanted was for Zen-Sei to fuck me over and over, and never stop fucking me. For Malaga to kiss my lips and let me suck on her clitoris while she slapped her naked, pale buttocks up and down on Zen-Sei’s thighs. We were doing it. We were living the life. This, itself, was life and the universe and there was nothing more to it. So why was I sad? Why did I suffer? Why, when I saw a field of poppies, did my eyes suddenly blur and sting with tears? I remembered being little. Carrying my leather bookbag on my back. Walking to school under the great trees that showered yellow leaves. And the razor cold wind on certain clear days. And the drone of voices in the cafeteria. And the squeaking of a yellow stick of chalk on a blackboard. And my father and mother, not even glancing up as one or the other of them came into a room where one or the other of them was. Happened to be sitting. Is that what I meant? The kitchen table, covered with a cheap tablecloth. The taste of cold milk. Oatmeal. Orange juice. 

Life. Eternity. What is it? I remembered my First Communion. My lace dress. How the bishop touched my head with just the palm of his hand. The sugar and almond cookies afterward. The lemonade. I remembered walking out into the woods behind our house. Summer. Cicadas clicking and buzzing. I took off my shorts and looked at my crack. I sat on a smooth bare stump, and began to rock back and forth. Then it happened. I bit my lip hard and let out a cry that startled me. I was alone in the buzzing woods. Sweating. I looked at myself. My pale, naked legs open on the stump, the tree rings showing faintly, and the smell of hay and flowers. 

Nothing survives. Nothing lasts. It’s all an illusion. Is that it? I stuck three fingers up inside my cunt, and the little finger into my ass. I wished I could be Zen-Sei. Or Malaga. I didn’t want to be myself anymore. I wanted the Absolute State, wanted it again and again unto infinity. 

Beach

We were in the museum — the Louvre. It was raining. I felt fresh and hot under my dress. My hair was wet. Zen-sei said my mouth looked bruised. He laughed as he said it. We stood before a painting of a man on a horse. There was a windmill in the background. In the painting the sky was dark and empty. Maybe it was raining in the painting too. There was a waterwheel. A woman was washing clothes. You could see her armit. She had long dark hair. She appeared to be singing. Zen-Sei said that the painting wasn’t the whole picture. He was sure that off to the left there would be a dwarf, or maybe a dwarfish child, with one arm standing by a mule, and a broken wall, and also a piece of a statue. Aphrodite, probably, holding a torch or a lamp, terrifying eroded by time, and in the distance a sea and the masts of ships, and maybe even —

I kissed him. He sucked my tongue. He put his hand under my dress and held one of my breasts, squeezed it harshly. I moaned. I said if I kept doing it I’d come. We were in an almost empty gallery. There was a leather covered bench nearby. I glanced around for a guard. Zen-Sei was stroking my head. I felt the rain in under my eyelids. Does that make any sense? I said I could see the mule and the one armed boy. I wondered what it was like to walk around in Mexico City. I’d never been there. Zen-Sei agreed. It must be wonderful. Great palm trees in the parks. Blue shimmering volcanoes.

We walked into other rooms, our shoes clicking.

I said I felt a little afraid now.

Zen-Sei just gazed at the paintings, the rushes of color. He stopped before a painting of a nude woman. He signalled to me and I walked over to join him at his side, gazing at the painting. At the woman’s smile, her nude skin, her lush hair. 

Zen-Sei said the Louvre was a strange place to be on a day like this one, a day of shattering rain. It was almost like dreaming.

I held his hand. It was thick and warm. I loved to rub my fingers between his fingers. As I did it this time, I saw him getting aroused. When he got hard it was quite obvious. He had a huge cock, and when it swelled very hard the glans looked like the spreading cap of a great purple mushroom, and the flesh had an arrogant hot pink color, like Greek marble.

We didn’t try to do anything. We just walked. We left the Louvre. We stepped out into the rain. We walked to a cafe and ordered red wine and frittes. 

I’ve forgotten why I started writing this description. It was a simple afternoon. There was nothing to do, so we went to the Louvre. Zen-Sei had been teaching me about the Absolute State. It always involved fucking, sometimes eating before or afterward.

That night he cut my hair with the scissors, the cold scissors touching my neck and the hair falling on my shoulders and lap, and then lifted me in his strong bare arms and took me to the bed, and pressed me down into the bed as he ate my pussy, I remember coming and coming, long brazen urgent orgasms, feeling as if I’d turned molten, as if my hair had turned to Night, to snakes, to a field of poppies. Then when he’d finshed making me climax with his tongue on my clit he spread my legs wider, he opened my ass, he stuck his tongue deeply into my ass and fucked it, groaning, and with his tongue sunk into my ass he jolted against the mattress and I knew just like that he’d had his orgasm, and it was a long shuddering one, as if grief-stricken, as if ranting into the Void.

He loved to lick and suck my bottom. Sometimes he did it for hours. He’d stick his fingers in it while he ate my pussy out. 

Sometimes he fucked it. His cock was so big it always hurt, no matter how much lubricant we used. My flesh clung to him and it was painful when he moved in and out, no matter how slowly he did it. I shut my eyes and imagined I was a Moroccan boy. A little boy he was fucking in some dusty hovel in Morocco. That thought alone sometimes made me come, driven wild by the idea. 

After drinking our bottle of red wine and eating frittes, Zen-Sei feeling me up under the table as I writhed subtly against his fingers, my clit tingling and my insides jerking strangely and my cunt sopping wet and painfully warm, we got in a cab and went back to his apartment. We climbed the stairs, laughing a little. 

Inside, Zen-Sei ripped off my raincoat. He tossed it on the floor. He tore off my dress and my panties. He bared my cunt. He lay down on his back on the floor in the foyer and told me to sit on his face. I did. I felt his tongue slither into my anus. I began to weep, it felt so good. He paused to tell me he wanted me to jerk off as he did this. I began stroking myself, my head bent. I heard myself gasping. Gasping in the dimness of his foyer, which smelled of wet raincoat and tobacco and wax polish. I looked over my shoulder — he’d taken his cock out and was jerking on it furiously, and it was dripping jism. I felt my orgasm start. I came, my mouth in a wide O. It was a long, silent orgasm. I stared at the ceiling until my eyes rolled back and I went blind with joy. Meantime his tongue fucked my ass. He ejaculated, his hot semen hitting the small of my back. Some of it clung there and some dribbled off onto his hairy chest. 

Each time I write in this diary I have to take a break to masturbate. Sometimes I’ve brought myself off three or four times by the end of a page.

*

We went to the sea. We walked along a promenade. I looked down. There was a teenage girl in a one-piece black swimsuit sunning her back. It was a pretty nude back, brown and oily. Her hair was black, like a raven’s wing. It lay on her head like a cap. She was resting her cheek on her folded arms. Next to her a teenaged boy was sitting. He poured a handful of sand on her back, at the base of the spine. She cursed him in Spanish and shifted, writhing her ass. Look at that slut, I said. Zen-Sei stopped. We both looked at her. She was still moving her hips subtly. I told Zen-Sei: I wish I could see that bitch coming. He said: I’d love to watch you make her come. Do you speak any Spanish? I said I didn’t. We stood there in the heat. The horizon was a fiery blue ultramarine shimmer, with greenish black tints. An ice cream vendor rolled his cart nearby. Zen-Sei went over and bought four ice creams cones. We carried the cones, dripping in their napkins, down the pitted concrete steps to the beach where the fiery and dazzling black haired girl lay face down. We walked across the hot sand littered with bits of shell and aluminum beer can tabs, sinking in with every step. We offered the two teenagers each an ice-cream cone. At first they seemed startled. The girl looked at us with wide eyes, then she sat up laughing, slapping sand from her palms, and took one of the cones. The boy also took one. We sat down and talked of nothing in particular as we licked our cones. Each time the girl licked her cone, her tongue turned the color of the ice cream. She had very beautiful wise bright Spanish girl eyes. Everything about her reeked of beauty and naivite and gentleness and fierce sex. Zen-Sei has a way of putting people at ease. He can talk to anyone. He even spoke some Spanish. I looked at him, dazzled. Several times he touched my back, rubbed it. Once, he touched my breast. The girl noticed and gave a sly, shy smile. After a while the boy had to leave. With no more than a Ciao he got up and left, jogging away across the sand. It was hot but not as hot as before. I couldn’t stop looking at the girl’s sun-brown, nude, glistening skin. Zen-Sei asked her if she’d like to kiss this woman. Silence. She bowed her head. I saw she was blushing. My heart was throbbing strangely. I felt the pulse in my toes, my fingertips. Si, she said. I moved forward on my knees. She raised her head, blushing and smiling widely, the smile exposing white teeth. We kissed. I mean, our lips brushed, then brushed again, and each time was electrifying. Then I kissed her a little more deeply. I licked her tongue. She fell backward onto her ass in the sand. Caramba, she said, laughing. Then Zen-Sei said he’d like to see us naked, in each other’s arms. He said let’s go back to the hotel room. All of us. Together. At once. The girl looked at him with her mouth open. After a full ten seconds, she nodded and said, Si.

In the hotel room — the girl had walked in ahead of us, on her mules, in that one piece slim black swimsuit with her lovely naked back supple and bare in the fading light — Zen-Sei made us some drinks with ice. He was in his swimsuit and a loose shirt. I lifted my dress over my head and threw it onto a cane chair. Then I took off my panties and I tossed them on the dress. I stood there by the window letting the girl look at me. She looked at me hungrily. I saw her eyes look down at my bush. Am I pretty? I asked her. She nodded, swallowing saliva. Her lips parted. Then we walked to each other. I embraced her hips. I kissed her neck, my lips opening, and I slid my lips up to the small, perfect ear, which it nipped with my teeth. She let out a sob. Or maybe it was a laugh. Zen-Sei sat in the chair, holding his drink on a hairy knee. The girl let me sink her onto the bed. We rolled over each other. In each other’s arms. She kissed my forehead, then my lips. I asked her to take off the swimsuit. My voice sounded choked. She stood and kicked off the mules, then stripped and dropped the swimsuit of the floor. She had the most rounded, splendid, blazingly white breasts. The pubic hair was shaven to a neat, small triangle. She hugged me again and I stretched out my arms as she sucked and kissed my armpits, my breasts, both of us gasping now. She sucked on and bit a nipple. Her bottom was raised toward Zen-Sei, as if to invite him to gaze upon the dark bud of her asshole and the pink and brown, already flowering wet furrow beneath it. Her loins were blazing white and so was her breasts and belly and ass but the rest of her was brown. She tasted of salt and pistachio ice cream. I felt her begin to tremble. I pulled at her hair. I kissed the soap smooth temples. She was shaking like a leaf now. She let out a long cry as I spread her legs, scissored them wide to either side of the bed, and sank down onto my belly to begin tonguing the beautiful mound. She tasted of the sea, of its essence, and also of something murky and dark but not disgusting, blood and seaweed, maybe, as if she was having her period or had recently had it. I stroked her clit with my tongue. I let my tongue play with it. I filled my mouth with saliva and spat it against that proud blushing Spanish clit, and the girl began to cry to the Virgin Mother, and her spine arched off the bed. A shadow fell over us. It was Zen-Sei. He was standing there with his rigid cock in his hand. The girl pushed me away, rose on her knees and grasped it in both hands, and put her avid mouth on it and began sucking and kissing the head as she stroked it up and down; wildly, with just the pads of her fingertips. I sat back watching them, stuck my fingers in my pussy to lubricate them and began jerking off my clit. I watched Zen-Sei’s hands stroking the girl’s hair, the muscles of that splendid back rippling as she moved her head up and down; I heard her groans and sighs, and then Zen-Sei shouted Hah! Hah! and I knew from the way the girl’s head moved differently that she was drinking his semen. She sucked out the last few drops as if sucking nectar from a flower. My eyes filled with tears. I was so aroused I felt I would die. The girl turned to me, took me in her arms like a lover with our eyes close together, gazing into each other’s souls, and stuck her tongue deep in my mouth. And I tasted Zen-Sei. I felt her fingers on my cunt. I jolted from the sensation. She rubbed my clit and I reached down and began rubbing hers, in little soft circles, and with our mouths glued together we both climaxed at the same instant, our teeth clicking in the delicate fury of it. 

The Scissors

I sat before the round mirror.

He stood behind me, holding the scissors.

I shut my eyes.

I felt the cold scissors on my bare neck.

Snip. Snip.

I felt the cut hair falling on my bare shoulders. I shivered.

Slipping down my naked back.

My dark hair, cut. Falling. The scissors touching my like a lover.

I smiled. 

I was wet between the legs. I pressed them together.

Done, he kissed me. Kissed my hair, kissed my hands. Kissed the nape of my neck.

He brushed the hair from my naked back and shoulders with a small brush.

Then he dusted me with talcum. 

He lifted me in his arms. Took me to the bed.

I clung to his neck. Like a child.

He set me onto the bed. I sank into it. My eyes shut again.

Moist and trembling, I felt his firm hands part my legs.

I let him scissor my legs open. He pressed his mouth to my cunt. 

My cunt. I love that word. I love it when he says it in my ear. Tenderly. Biting the lobes. Sucking them.  Sticking his insistent, wild tongue into the dark passage.

Paris. 6.00 AM. It’s raining. 

I lick my lips. I listen to the thudding rain.

The hooting, jangling roar of traffic.

I see the Arc de Triomph. The stark, soaring phallic basilisk brought back by Napoleon from Egypt.

I shiver. I let the orgasm take me. My body rushes in and out. I scream. He licks me harder. My clit is throbbing as if struck. Struck and vibrating, like a tuning fork. 

Paris rushes into the room. All of it. I arch my naked back. Blinding pleasure — I shriek four times. As if I’ve been cut with a knife. 

Lashed with the whip of an empty cold sky.

The Whip: Chapter 1

all rights reserved by Amanda Stradi

In Paris I met the man who was to become my master.

Not that I was his slave.

I was his student. He, my Zen-sei.

He showed me that there is no goal and, really, no life outside the Absolute State.

I asked him what that was — the Absolute State.

He said he’d have to show me.

I asked if it was darkness and Void.

He smiled. His smile was somewhat cruel, I felt.

I asked then if it was glory and Eternal Light.

He laughed. The laugh sounded joyful. But I couldn’t be sure.

We were walking by the river. We stopped at a cafe. There were some bookstalls near it. 

The water was glittering. It was spring. 

I saw a young man and a girl in a blue skirt walk by.

She was very young. She kept brushing back a strand of dark hair, behind an ear.

I looked at that ear. It was pink, fresh, perfectly formed.

And the more I looked at the girl as she stood with one knee cocked and her dark eyebrows arched, talking furiously to the boy in French, the more beautiful she became, until I almost “swooned.”

I started trembling. My throat choked.

I looked at my Master. My Zensei.

-Is this the Absolute State?

He drank his coffee. Shook his head sadly. 

-No.

-How can anything be more beautiful?

It was evening. The light was glorious. The girl began to laugh. She kissed the boy. He kissed her back hard. It looked as if he’d rape her right there. He put his hand on her breast.

They walked away quickly. They went down some stairs to the quay. 

I knew. They were going to make love down there. By the river. In the glittering water reflections, the dense cool shadows. 

Paris — the great, prolonged evenings. The air smells of sex.

My Master stood. His hair was gray at the sides, I noticed. His hands were thick, yet elegant. He didn’t dress with any special style, but he always appeared dignified — an “exiled prince.” 

We walked in the spring-dense air, breathing the sweet humidity. 

At the top of the stairs I looked down. I saw the boy moving on top of the girl. They were lying right on the stones. Her bare buttocks must be pressed to the gritty rock.

Her skirt was pulled up. I saw the flashing dark hair, the wide open cleft. Then I saw her hand close around his penis. She guided him into her, letting out a little bird-cry.

I blushed all over. I was shaking again. My Master took my head in his hands. He held it like flowers. He kissed me. 

I tasted his tongue. He licked my teeth. I was shivering.

He led me about halfway down the stairs. I glanced down at the boy, thrusting fast, and the girl’s bare white legs clamped around his hips. 

My Master, as he sucked my tongue, lifted my dress. I was naked underneath it, of course. He inserted himself. It was so sweet I whimpered. 

Ah, I said. Ah.

The sky was almost dark. Lights were beaming. I orgasmed in a rush, clutching at him. He gasped and I felt the rush of heat as he came inside me. 

I lowered my feet to the steps. Still trembling. His semen was flowing out of my “wound.”

I heard the boy shout. The girl groaned and cried out, too, as if cut with a knife. They’d both finished. 

My Master led me back up the stairs. Clinging to his arm, leaning on him, I managed to walk.

We made our way along the brilliant river.

Later on, I asked him if this was the Absolute State.

We were in his book-lined apartment. I’d noted that many of the books were old. They smelled of dust and leather. A magical smell.

And some of the bindings more obscure signs I recognized as emblems of magic.

He gave me a drink. The ice cubes clinked in it. I’d just come out of the water closet. I’d wiped up the rest of his semen on tissues and flushed them down the toilet. Then I’d sat on the bidet and washed myself with a jet of warm water. Both openings.

He said,

-That was merely a taste.

-Of the Absolute?

-Yes.

-Can I experience all of it?

-No.

-Why not?

-You can’t experience it. It just manifests. It appears. It is.

-So we were partly there?

-We were about half in half out.

-So the Absolute State — I’ve heard you also call it the Perfection — is attained by way of letting go, and giving in to pleasure? Is that it? Is that why we were closer on the stairs by the quay than sitting in the cafe watching the boy and girl arouse each other? That’s it, right? Because in the cafe I was suffering, I felt suffused by this erotic anguish and longing, which blocked me out of the Absolute State. So you — you took me down the stairs to let me see what I wanted to look at, and to give me pleasure so that I’d stop obsessing about the girl. Correct?

He laughed, shaking his head a little at the questions.

Answering me like I was a child.

I sat on the sofa. My knees seemed very slender, and bare. Like the girl’s.

It was strange to still be naked under my dress. Hot and flushed, too.

My hair was cut short at the time. I was very aware of how it touched my cheeks when I angled my head.

Zensei had cut is short himself. I remember shutting my eyes. Feeling the cold scissors on my neck.

Why, why did he laugh so often at my questions?

He stood before the lighted bookcase. He was wearing his blue cardigan sweater. His face was in shadow. He looked swarthy, I thought — like a retired bullfighter, or a gladiator. 

He shook the ice in his drink and took a sip of it. He had long, agile fingers. 

He turned his head, and I saw the light in his eyes as he looked at me. Then he said:

-You’re right. The Absolute State, the Perfection, La Gloria — it can’t manifest when you’re longing and suffering from life. It happens suddenly when you’re not even aware of who you are anymore or what you’re doing. That’s why sometimes an orgasm can bring it on. So can other things. 

-Like what?

-Pain, of a certain intensity. Fright, of the extreme sort. Just for example.

He shook the ice in his drink again. Laughed.

-Drunkenness. Absurdity. A witticism that makes you gasp and choke with laughter.

-Can you teach me more?

-Yes.

The Blue Villa (Excerpt)

(copyright Amanda Stradi and Blue Horse Erotic Editions)

 

One day he, M., walks with his lover in a park where the trees are dripping. She holds his hand in her gloved hand and touches her head to his shoulder and smiles when she strokes her face. Then she lets him yank up her skirt and twist aside the crotch of her white panties and thrust himself into her and he finds that she is very hot and wet with seething sexual excitement. As she climaxes she sucks his eye and moans, her bare bottom jolting with his thrusts against the peeling bark of a eucalyptus. Afterward she pats her skirt and kisses his mouth hard and that’s when he sees the black car, buffed to a mirror shine and almost official-looking, parked nearby. She leads him to the car and he opens the back passenger door for her. She climbs in, her stockings slithering. He climbs in beside her as she murmurs something to the chauffeur and as soon as he shuts the door the engine starts and they pull off, driving fast and smoothly. The seat is of slick expensive leather. They cross the Golden Gate Bridge in drifting fog. She holds his hand in her lap curling her fingers between his and looking at her profile he feels his heart move as it always does, she is so coolly beautiful. What are you thinking? he wants to ask but he doesn’t ask. He shuts his eyes and when he opens them — was he asleep? — he sees dark shaggy trees flashing past and soon the car pulls into a circular gravel driveway and leaning forward he looks at the three story blue house, a villa or even a manor house, surrounded by dark and massive cedars. It is shuttered and some clay roof-tiles are missing and in some places the stucco is falling away but it is still an imposing, even handsome manor. She, his lover, D., raises his hand to her lips and kisses it. Go, she says. Will you be coming later? he asks, a small quaver in his voice. Yes, she says, but you mustn’t give any sign that you know me from outside. Obey every rule they give you. You’ll do fine. He gets out of the car, glancing back into D.’s green eyes; she smiles with a subtle curve of her lips. He shuts the door and the engine revs and the car rolls quietly away, crushing white gravel.

 

*

 

Morning, two days later.

M was wide awake when his cell door opened and two young women entered; beautiful, with supple alluring bodies bound in tight black leather bustiers but otherwise nude, the tufts of pubic hair glowing blonde and amber, both wearing childish leather cat masks through which the eyes glittered. M sat up, the sheet still draping his nakedness; one of the women nudged him with a riding crop and the other peeled away the sheet and took hold of his partly erect sex with a gloved hand. She stroked it for a moment as he blinked, trembling, and swallowed the saliva in his mouth. Then the other women fastened onto it a leather strip with a buckle that formed a tight ring and black leather cords that she tied behind his scrotum, pushing out the balls almost painfully as he grew more erect. She clipped to the cock-ring a slim length of steel chain. The other woman placed her mouth briefly over the head of his penis, only to breathe on it hotly, it seemed, for she did not lick or kiss it, and when she took her mouth away the tear of pre-semen was still there, welling up from his depths like real tears, and no doubt tasting as sweet. She told him to turn and raise his bottom and he did, expecting to be lashed with the crop, but instead he felt something cold slide inside the opening, and as his inner muscle squeezed it, felt something else, also chilly, covering the outside, and the woman explained to him, speaking mildly and clinically, that this was an antique device made of sterling silver composed of a kind of small phallus the length of a forefinger with a circular guard to keep it from going in too deep, actually it looked much like a baby’s pacifier, and that it would remain inside him whenever he was not evacuating his bowels, only to be removed when and if one of his mistresses chose to play with or anus or fuck it with her tongue or finger or some other device. Did he understand? M, swallowing, said he did. Did he understand, also — had it been explained clearly to him before his arrival at the blue manor — that he was never to be called by his given name? Instead, he would be addressed simply as Slave. Yes. Nor was he to call any of the women he met here by any name other than the honorary title Mistress, though he might occasionally hear proper names uttered in conversation or banter. Did he know that? Oh yes, M said. Yes what? the voice asked him searchingly. Yes Mistress. His eyes shut as he lay stretched in that posture of total submission with his ass raised and the silver thing inside it, he now felt a leather band slip around his neck and tightened and then heard a chain rattling as it was clipped to the collar and at the first light tug he sat up and stepped from the bed, his erection standing out firm and swollen from the pain of the cock ring, the silver dildo penetrating deep into his bowels. Come along, Slave, the auburn-haired woman said, holding in her fist the chain attached to his collar. Yes, Slave, come along, said the blonde, tugging the chain attached to his cock-and-balls ring. For you will be initiated tonight into the mysteries of the Blue Manor.

 

 

*

 

He was led by these two leather-clad and masked women — Blonde and Auburn — into what seemed to be a library; shelves lined with antiquated-looking books and logs ablaze in a deep fireplace. In armchairs sat women otherwise naked but for necklaces and bracelets that shone with fire-light and various types of garish animal masks. He was pushed to down at the feet of one such woman and a voice commanded: Slave, kiss the feet of your Mistress. He bent to the naked, fine-boned feet and kissed the toes lightly, and felt them wriggle against his lips and inhaled the sharp odor of the nail-polish, and then he felt a brusque tug of the chain fastened to his cock-ring and he stood, and the woman, dark with tousled hair and a beautiful arrogant mouth showing through the mask hole (it was the mask of a Horned Owl), grasped and held his hard penis for a moment in her hand, the flesh pulsating, gazing at it critically, then let it go and he was pulled like a terrier to the next. In this way he made the rounds and was introduced to each of the women present, slavishly, at each Mistress getting pushed to his knees and forced to perform his obeisance and then prodded and, seemingly, appraised or measured, to slight murmurs and an occasional burst of soft laughter. M found that in his heart he craved the approval of these women and he dreaded that they might find him unworthy of whatever amusement they had planned for tonight. Was his penis big enough for their tastes? Was it hard enough for their satisfaction? And where oh where was D? Then his two angelic guards stood him in the center of the room and while Auburn braced him tight with her arms about his naked hips Blonde climbed on a footstool and fastened his collar-chain to a hook on a ceiling beam, adjusting it until he felt the tension. He kept his arms hanging at his sides until Auburn bound them behind with a pair of leather handcuffs. Then the first Mistress stood and, naked and lithe, approached him, gliding along the rich carpet on those smooth bare feet, and he shut his eyes. He felt her lips on his lips through the feathery mask, the warm sweet breath tickling him, then her tongue, but he did not open his lips any wider. The tongue entered his mouth and explored it softly and he was tempted to suck on the tip but he did not. His cock strained in the leather restraint and he felt the ache spreading through his testicles. The searching tongue and the hot mouth went away. Give me a whip, M heard the woman say, and a few seconds later he heard the hiss it made in air and a resounding crack as the flexible leather rod struck him across the backs of the thighs. His knees trembled. He broke out in a cold sweat, clenching his teeth so as not to shout in pain. The place where she’d whipped him was ablaze; oh he would have welts. As his penis began to go soft and his whole body shivered, she whipped him violently, joyously it seemed, four, five, six more times on the thighs and wincing buttocks, then in the resonating stillness he felt a soft wet mouth enclose his penis and he opened his eyes, now streaming with tears, to see the woman kneeling at his feet, sucking hard on the crown. His pain mingled with pleasure, and the pleasure soon grew so intense he gasped. Once he was rigid she let his flesh slip out of her mouth and, still holding him tightly in her fist, called out to Auburn, who approached and crouched on all fours, her beautiful smooth white ass raised. Then the chain on his collar fell away and he was pushed to his knees and felt hands on his hips urging him forward and, obeying, he thrust himself into the girl’s scalding wet sex.  Hah, she shouted, throwing back that glossy, curly-haired head and grinding her cool ass back against him.  He thought his cock would go in only as far as the thick ring of leather biting into it at the base, but the woman who had lashed him with the riding whip suddenly gripped him from underneath, shoving his engorged flesh all the way in so he felt the wet rim of the girl’s cunt and her pubic hair. Then the same eager feathery Mistress put her tousled head between his legs from behind and he felt that strange insistent tongue on his testicles, which bulged out painfully from the torsion of the leather straps. He began fucking the auburn-haired girl’s cunt roughly as she cried out and groaned, the red fire-light flickering on her milky skin, the hot tongue and mouth meantime exploring every part of him except for where the silver finger of the device jolted against something that winced inside him at each thrust, the girl’s soft pubic hair chafing his scrotum and mingled jism and saliva dripping down his thighs, the girl now stroking herself frantically with two fingers and sighing loudly and choking in her climax, and even as he felt the orgasm rise searingly, its force strangely concentrated on the crown of his skull, a burst of semen rushing into his cock like mercury, he was suddenly jerked away from the girl, his prick sliding out wet and enraged-looking, swollen dark with frantic blood and bigger than he had ever seen it before even from fucking D, and, rising wraith-like, the dark haired woman between his legs grasped it in both hands, placing her lips on the head, and helplessly he looked down to see his white semen jolting out over her lips and her cheeks and her shut eyelids. Then, it seemed, he fainted, or almost did. Or almost died.

 

*

 

He was led to his cell-like room and made to kneel before a wooden chair where the leather-clad blonde girl, protesting that she had not been satisfied and was jealous of the pleasure given to her “sister”, sat with her legs spread wide apart and her head back and M moved forward on his knees burying his face in the wet muff, tonguing the lips and the ridge of flesh so expertly that she began to sweat and moan within just seconds and, undulating her hips, climaxed with a shout even while the auburn-haired girl, with unexpected tenderness, stroked his sweat damp hair from behind, urging him on with murmurs as she touched herself delicately between the legs. M did not presume to kiss the blonde girl’s thighs or belly after he had given her this pleasure and she had sunk back moaning, her face turned away; he merely sat on his heels, his head lowered as if in shame, the erection sprouting up lewdly from its leather ring. He could still taste her on his throbbing lips, even long after the two girls, kissing each other open-mouthed, had left the room, locking the door from outside. He masturbated quickly, spilling his semen into his small, rough towel, then lay on the stiff bed staring at the single bare light bulb that dangled from a wire, reflecting that this must once have been a pantry or a room for the hired help. After a time he realized that he needed to shit, but there was no toilet, no bucket either. Searching under the bed M found an antiquated blue china chamber pot. He removed his device and used the receptacle to void his bowels, urinated into it for good measure, then he replaced the lid. He set his sloshing chamber pot by the door. He’d had nothing to wipe himself with. Feeling dirty and vaguely humiliated, he worked the silver phallus back inside his bowels. He lay back and shut his eyes and felt his chest rising and falling and the sweat on him those risen welts aching hot on his ass and thighs and wondered had he been a fool to have agreed to coming to the blue villa.

 

 

*

 

M woke in the night to wind roaring in the cedars and making them creak and the window glass rattled. He wrapped himself tighter in the sheet and slept and he dreamt of D and himself walking over wind-rippled sand dunes and then he was in a tent eating figs with an Arab prince. Then the prince disrobed revealing a rampant erection, turned him over and penetrated him with a sword-like thrust and through the pain M felt a rising rush of despairing pleasure, shameful oh shameful. D sat watching and she laughed chewing a fig and reaching over for another piece of bread as the prince used him brutally like a boy.

*

At sunrise the same two girls came for him no longer in leather bustiers but in transparent lace shifts through which their white nakedness shone, and they took him down the gray hall to a room with a round tin bathtub steaming in the cold shadows and he stepped into the sloshing water and sank to his shoulders and they clambered splashing into the tub on his either side all the while laughing and caressing him teasingly like kind-hearted whores in a Western. He shut his eyes and let himself be soaped all over and he felt his ears licked and his cock played with in the hot water and the wet swimming folds of linen and soapy, unfamiliar smooth legs sliding on his. So young they both seemed to M now, giggling and sporting like randy schoolgirls, that he felt an ache but it was hardly the ache of erotic desire, it was merely the ache of wishing you’d had another life even in the depths of this one and knowing you never could and never will.

 

 

The soap was strong and smelled pure. He shut his eyes and listened to the water slosh and spatter and the girl’s soft giggles as they played slyly with him and with each other in the floating steam. The sun shone blood red in the window blazing away all the cold shadows and after a time not long and not short they stood him up dripping and dried him with rough towels and sat him on a three legged milking stool to be shaved. Dripping wet transparent linen clung to firm breasts and rounded hips and pert bottoms as they took turns shaving him with an ivory handled straight razor, merely touching his chin to tilt it this way or that and wiping excess lather off with their fingers. It was an expert shave, no nicks and no cuts and no haste in the matter, just the swick-swick-swick of a finely edged blade and his skin emerging rosily from dark bristles, and once his face was smooth and glowing the auburn-haired one knelt and lathered him below, proclaiming that the Mistresses of the blue manor didn’t dislike a little hair but generally preferred sex to be smooth. He grew erect as she shaved him and she kissed it playfully once. In silence he watched the gleaming, thickly lathered blade moving around his cock and scrotum and shivered at the thought that — but no. As soon as he was smooth they led him back naked to his room and there they re-fastened the leather ring that bulged out his penis and testicles almost painfully and that senseless dog collar about the neck. And then – Blonde said it was time for breakfast.

*

He was led by the chain-leash attached to his cock ring through the kitchen where big pots steamed on gas stoves and copper sautee pans bubbled unattended, into a long, bare room dominated by a long, bare pine table on a stone floor, pine benches hard and severe as church pews without the back railing set along either side, and seated on these benches six other men in dog collars and, M presumed, cock rings, eating in total silence in the light beams that hung overhead, heavy with dust motes, emanating from a set of cathedral-like windows high on the narrow wall at the end. He sat on the bench and Blonde unclipped the chain from his cock ring and Auburn kissed the nape of his neck playfully and they both went out, and only M looked after them, suffering from a sadness or a longing very much like what he’d always felt when his favorite elementary school teacher, Mrs. S, had shut off the lights and left the room telling her class to take a brief nap with their heads resting on folded arms at their desks. He had been seated in front of a plate on and it lay three thin slices of ham and in a white bowl were two poached eggs sprinkled with salt and coarse-ground pepper and there was also a small plate of bread-slices and a dish holding two square pats of butter on which ice chips were still melting. There was also a steaming bowl of cafe au lait, which he drank down first, his eyes shut. It was easily the best coffee he had ever tasted. He did not look directly at the other Slaves nor, as far as he could tell, did they glance at him. He ate every scrap of food on his plates and mopped up the egg yolks with bread and ate that, too. He put his elbows on the pine table and placed his forehead on his shut hands and with his eyes shut he tried to rest for a moment and he almost did fall asleep, so satisfied and warm did he feel from this breakfast. But only a few minutes after he had finished eating, through the arched doorway came a beautiful Indian woman, the one who had met him at the doors when he knocked, naked but for her glossy high black boots, dark and vivid, her white teeth sparkling, carrying a piece of black cloth in her hands, and in behind her sidled a flaming red-head, voluptuous and also in the same high glossy black boots, and M watched them enter, woman after woman, their boots clicking on the flagstones, and one woman went to stand behind each of the Slaves at the pine table. He noted that he got the red-head and he felt a pulsation in his penis at the touch of her warm skin on his shoulders. Then his sight went black because she had wrapped the soft black fabric, it was velvet, around his eyes. She squeezed the nape of his neck lightly with her fingertips and he took this to mean Stand up, which he did, and she guided him with deft and gentle touches to the doorway and through it and through the clattering, good-smelling kitchen, and then up a carpeted flight of stairs, not hurrying, letting M take his time with the steps, feeling the soft rich carpet on the soles of his bare feet as his toes gripped it. She guided him without speaking a word through another door and he heard a piano and a woman’s rough-timbered, beautiful and clear voice singing in Italian. Alto. He didn’t recognize the song or maybe it was an aria. The piano went silent and he heard the cover thump down and felt the blaze of hot sunlight on his skin as the red-head’s fingertips on his waist urged him forward and then stopped him still. A woman’s voice said, Thank you, Sister, take the blindfold off, please, and he felt the knot untied from behind and the black velvet fell away and he blinked into the green-gold eyes through the feathery Horned Owl mask of the middle aged woman who had taken possession of him so boldly last night. She was wearing a black silk dress that clung to her body and was barefoot and probably naked under the dress. He blinked in the sunlight gazing into the woman’s clear alluring eyes and heard the red-head’s boots squeaking away but he did not turn his head; then a door shut and he was alone with the woman, seeming older but not less seductive in this light, who, smiling, took hold of his half erect cock and squeezed it gently. When it began to respond, instantly, to this brazen touch she let go and walked around him and he, standing as if to attention, felt her fingertips on the riding-crop welts she had made last night on his ass and thighs, and she hummed a little in pity or sympathy. He was a Slave and he knew enough not to speak to this woman, a Mistress of the Blue Villa, only to look calmly into her eyes if and when she looked into his, which he had done, and he had done also, so now he shut his eyes and waited, suddenly realizing that he not only expected, but oddly in some way hoped that she would whip him again. Slave, said the clear-timbred voice, follow me, and he opened his eyes and followed the woman, only a few inches shorter than he, through another doorway into an even brighter room, with parlor palms growing in blue Chinese vases by the windows so it had almost the smell and humidity of a greenhouse, and a long red sofa facing the windows. In a corner was the white piano, its cover shut, the chords still reverberating. Sit there, the woman said, gesturing with an open hand, and M sat carefully on the sofa, which barely sank under him, feeling the silver device wince inside his bowels, his cock now rigid and the testicles bulging from the leather ties. Did you enjoy sodomizing our Indian Sister? the woman asked, standing over him, and since her back was to the glaring light he could not see her expression, or if she smiled. You may answer. Yes. I watched it all, the woman said, and I would like you to do exactly the same to me as to her. You understand? You may answer. I understand, M said. She giggled then, incongruously. M watched as she pulled up the black silk dress over her bare hips. She threw it over her head and it drifted to the carpet. She stepped closer saying, Kiss this, first, and M leaned forward and she brought the fragrant pubic mound, carefully trimmed, close to his mouth and he stuck out his tongue and licked the folded skin over the clitoris and holding his head in her cool fingers she pressed closer to him murmuring Ah so he licked lower and tasted the sweetness already flowing from her and, as she pressed herself out and into his mouth, tasted and licked and kissed as much of her as his mouth could reach until they were both trembling and his chin was smeared hot. Then she turned her back to him and he kissed the dimples at the base of the spine and the round pale smooth cheeks and tongued the cleft of burning flesh down to the little opening that he tried to enlarge with the point of his tongue as she gasped and he felt her hand reach down and take hold of his rigid cock at the base, just above the biting leather, and she, in full control now, settled herself onto his lap and throwing his head back against the sofa he felt his hardened flesh slide deeply into the smooth, hot, fleshy opening and the inner muscle shutting around it like an iron ring and his leather strap rasping in a way that he thought must be painful but seemed only to make the pleasure for both of them more raw and intense. Gasping and rocking, her frenzied hands stroking his testicles, the Mistress suddenly bent forward so that her tousled dark hair dangled to the carpet and cried out, in a thin voice:  Ah … do it now. Ah, Slave. Fucking come inside me. So he did in the chafing hot tightness and he felt the sperm shoot, a bloody heat and pulsation.

 

With a surge of strange feelings, M did. The spasms were almost painful; the heat of the sperm jolting out of him was intense, and his climax was all the more profound because of the way she squeezed her buttocks together on his cock as if to draw it all forth and hold it all inside. At the end of it he even heard himself scream.

 

She disjoined them, his dark wet cock slithering out of her behind, and with it drops of sperm that fell onto his bare knee and onto the carpet. Dropping forward onto her elbows she raised her beautifully shaped, chalice-like bottom in a commanding gesture, saying nothing, and M, understanding at once what this implied, slid from the sofa and knelt behind her, and lowering his head he licked and kissed and sucked the semen-slick aperture as she groaned; wildly. Meantime the Mistress rubbed her own clitoris between two fingers and cried out again and again in an orgasm that seemed to grip her like a sickness. It was as if she were vomiting, and her vagina frothed like a mouth. Eventually she turned and raised her slender legs over M’s shoulders and he jammed his cock into her womb-opening, deep, and thrust back and forth in her scaldingly, even his leather cock-ring jammed into the slobbering flesh on the fore-thrusts as she bit her fist and, eyes shut, moaned and called out sluttishly in Italian.  He shut his eyes and felt the heat of her rising to his face and the pungent reek of sweat and sex and then he thought of D, he actually saw her calm face as she had looked in the park, and he remembered banging her bottom against the peeling bark of the big eucalyptus trunk and the urgent, enveloping way she’d clung to him and her single hoarse outcry as, with slower and deeper arching thrusts, he made her body shiver and come.  And what about the way she had reached down between their jolting bodies and, as he slipped in and out of the mouth of her sex, gripped the root of his cock as tightly as this cock-ring now did? He remembered asking D if she would do something for him he had seen in porn. He wanted her to wear a leather jacket and a pair of leather handcuffs with a steel chain between them and to crouch over his face and pee onto it as he tongued her below. He seemed to himself to be riding this Mistress as she quickened under him, stark tremors of movement, causing them both to tremble and moan, and he was not sure if it was the sunlike heat inside her flesh or the whispering in his ear but the pleasure broke time open and made him still, and only after a long empty while did he succumb to the stillness and awaken again.

 

M unstuck his lips with his tongue and rolled off the woman, sweatily smiling, not so much to her or to the Blue Manor as to his lost and secret self, and of course to D, who at that moment raised her face to him to show her green eyes. But that was just an image, quick as a trout darting between sunbeams, and then it dissolved and he heard the wind and the glass panes shake in the window, and the woman placed her hand on his chest, the fingers crooked, and he turned his head to her as she kissed him, her tongue probing and tasting the inside of his mouth. He parted his teeth so she could slip it inside and he felt it stabbing and a sweat came out on him with the urge to bite, to snap it off. Everything turned clear in him but he would not have been able to describe what that meant, it was not vast, it was not small, it just was, then it moved again and it was not. She sat up with a stifled moan as if of irritation, piling the hair on her head, the light aglare on her skin, and hugged her knees and the hair fell over her face and smooth shoulders again and M stared, close up, at the satiny textured skin of her hip, which shone like marble in this autumn sunlight. He stroked it with a fingertip. His cock was wet. She put her hand on it and did something gentle to the head with her fingers and he felt the blood responding in him as if out of profound shadows. He wanted her to suck him but how would he ask. He was a Slave. Then she bent and her mouth was on him biting it at the root and he shivered and threw his head back and saw D’s green eyes again and he was in the park under the big eucalyptus with the fog on his skin. He thrust a little in her sucking mouth as she moved so that her pubic hair touched his nose and he slipped a finger into the opening and pressed upward toward the pubic bone hearing the soft gasp; she was still orgasming a little and the opening was slippery as the neck of a bottle, and he placed his mouth over the clitoris and licked strongly, feeling her body quiver from the base of the spine. Then she drew her head back and he felt her fingers on the buckle of the cock ring and she drew it tighter, biting into his flesh, deliciously almost numbing him, but when he looked down he saw his cock hugely engorged, darker with blood than he had ever seen it, semen dribbling from the slit. She put her mouth on it again biting and kissing it; wildly. He stuck three fingers inside her and she arched her back so tautly that her flesh slipped out of his mouth and he kissed her writhing belly. You were a Slave and that meant you had nothing to say and everything to do but mainly you just had to obey. Do your duty to the Blue Manor and to its denizens.

*

She was panting and half-senseless from the orgasm and M took his fingers out of her and licked the smooth, slobbering flesh, licked and licked in and around the opening until he’d licked up all of her spendings, is that the word, comings maybe. She laughed and stroked his hair and then bent down and sucked the last drops of semen from his softening cock. He sat on the red sofa and watched the Mistress sucking and kissing him and his sore cock began to harden again but she squeezed it goodbye and kissed the crown then picked up her black silk dress and, standing, tugged it on, obliterating the fresh hot nakedness. He watched the Mistress as, smiling, she went to the door and pressed a button by it on the sunflower-painted wall; no sound, it was undoubtedly a bell to call the Sisters. And after just moments the doorknob turned and the red-headed Sister sidled into the room. She was holding the blindfold in one hand and M’s leash in the other. She crossed the expanse of carpet boldly and, bending so that locks of her hair fell over M’s face — he shut his eyes — clipped the leash to his cock ring and then stepped behind the sofa to knot the blindfold. She tugged and M stood up and followed the squeaking leather boots from the sun-hot room down a long cool hallway and a flight of carpeted stairs, listening for familiar sounds, maybe the clatter of pans in the villa’s great kitchen, but he heard only birds chortling in the surrounding trees. Then Redhead stripped away the blindfold and he was in his cell, blinking in the light from the single narrow window, and she told him to kneel by the iron cot and bend over so that his forehead was pressed to the thin and flimsy mattress, and she said to raise his bottom and he did and felt the silver phallus pulled out and the cool air on his anus, then the toe of one of her boots pressed hard to the opening. 

 

You are a Slave, she said. And I can and I will do what I want with you. Do you understand? M cleared his throat and said Yes. The toe pressed in deeper, causing him a shiver. Did you enjoy Mistress H.? Yes. Did she let you fuck her? Yes. But only in the behind. Maybe that’s the way I’ll fuck you. M shuddered. Yes, he said, finally. For what else was there to say? He had come to the blue villa for this, and they both knew it. She removed the boot toe and crouched behind M and after a moment he shivered again even more deeply because suddenly he felt her hot tongue in him, thrusting, and he was overcome with shame, shame oozing with sweat out of every pore, at the thought that he must taste like shit, but panting and gasping, crouched and writhing snake like behind M, Redhead fucked his anus deeply with her tongue, her mouth pressed to him so hard that he felt her teeth. Then he felt two fingers thrusting in his anal passage and he heard Redhead moan, she was probably jerking herself off with the other hand, and when she had enlarged the opening with two fingers, she thrust in three, then four, then her thumb, and now she had the entire hand stabbing inside him and the pain rushed tears to his eyes when she made a fist. He bit the mattress straining not to groan. Redhead shouted in her orgasm and thrust her fist deeper into M, and M screamed into the mattress, his raw inner flesh clenching and unclenching in spasms. Then she relaxed and tugged the hand gently free, M still shivering and gasping. He felt the silver phallus slid back into him; the sudden coldness was soothing. He heard Redhead leave the cell, locking his door from outside. He wiped his tears away on the blanket and, wincing as he stood, went to the table on which stood a glass pitcher of water; he poured the single water glass full and drank it down.  So this was the nature of the blue villa. Pleasure, an orgy of pleasure with the Mistress, then this shattering bolt of pain from the sadistic Redhead. He could not predict the pleasure or the pain nor did they have anything to do with him. They have you at their mercy, that’s all. He lay flat on his front on the bed, his skin no longer sweating but feeling feverish. His temples throbbed as if filled with sand rather than grating blood. Where was D? He imagined D watching what the Redhead had just done. Would she approve? Would it give her a thrill? Would she masturbate, shutting her eyes and moaning as she summoned up those raw images? Did M have the power to stop the Sisters or the Mistresses of the blue house if they decided to torture him to unconsciousness or death? And what about the Novices he’d heard of from D, beautiful teenaged girls wearing blue school uniforms, brought into the house to watch and learn but not to participate in any acts? He recalled D telling him about her first visit to the blue villa as a Novice, how shocked she had been, yet how it had stirred her blood, and the fact that, after this visit, she had masturbated for the first time and had a hair raising orgasm, and had resolved there and then to re-enter the house, as soon as she should come fully of age, as a Sister.  This she had done, but after less than a year, for reasons she chose not to elucidate to M, she had left the blue villa and moved to San Francisco for work. He missed D badly and the longing came sharp and sudden. He turned over and wept, long wracking sobs, then went still, listening to a crow cawing raggedly in one of the big cedars outside, really not so much cawing as croaking. Then he lay on the bed and wrapped himself in the wool blanket and listened to a crow cawing outside the window and with the sun hot on his face he went to sleep but the sleep was like waking up, it was so clear and intense. He saw D’s smiling eyes and he walked with her in a park, and then they sat on the dry grass and she unbuckled his belt and kissed his stomach and slipping her hand into his trousers gripped his stiffening flesh in her hot little fist. Never had he loved her so much or felt such scathing desire.

He tried to visualize D as a blue-smocked Novice with her little classmates all intent and open-mouthed, watching an orgy where a Slave, naked but for his cock-ring and dog collar, was whipped and then penetrated by the fingers and tongues of the Mistresses and, with his hands cuffed behind him, pushed forward to fuck the writhing nudity of a sluttish and gasping Sister while a Mistress sucked his scrotum and bit the base of his rigid, skinned-looking cock. Maybe this was how it had gone but maybe not. D had refused to describe the actual scenes she witnessed during her first visit, causing M’s imagination to work at a fury. Was that why he had agreed to come to the blue villa? To find out what D had seen and experienced here? But he never would. He was on the wrong side. He was a Slave, not a Novice, a Sister or a Mistress; blindfolded to be escorted from room to room, he would never even see enough the house to put together a full picture of it in his mind. D had returned to the Blue Villa as soon as she reached legal age to become a Sister in training and had stayed, she’d told M, for a full six months before departing, admittedly with some tears of regret. To even have the hope of becoming a Mistress, she would have had to accomplish all the duties of a Sister for at least two more years, then pass a difficult test, what kind she didn’t say, and she hadn’t felt in herself the will and stamina for all that. Why not? Hadn’t she loved torturing and fucking the Slaves? Nothing she saw had disturbed or shocked her into leaving, she just left, it sometimes happened like that, no one was to blame, nothing had caused it. In fact, most Sisters never rose to the Mistress level, ensuring a continuous flow of pretty and enthused young women through the villa’s oaken doors, and when one Sister departed another just as vivid and attractive was sure to appear. Like D many of these Sisters, once they had left the blue villa, sent back to it men they vouched for with all their hearts and recommended to become Slaves, and if said men were accepted, the former Sister would return as a guest to watch and often to take active part in the breaking, disciplining and training of her protégé.

 

He conjured up the devasting  image of D as a fresh-faced Novice, open-mouthed, green-eyed, utterly fixated, watching an orgy in the library of the blue villa.

 

*

 

It was afternoon and M woke with a dry mouth and threw off his blanket, sweating. He could hear wind scraping branches together in the cedars outside and the delicate ringing of wind chimes. Concentrating on the wind chimes he felt his body lighten until it seemed to float and all his senses grew painfully clear and intense. He sat up when the lock turned clanking in his cell door. Blonde entered followed closely by Auburn. This time, besides those laced leather vests that squeezed out the beautiful busts, they were draped in gorgeous red velvet capes; but from the waist down they were naked as at birth. They padded barefoot to either side of his bed and, smiling, Auburn bent and took his penis in her hand and squeezed it in a hard grip, while Blonde sat on the edge of the mattress and stroked M’s chest and kissed his mouth warmly. He felt himself responding. Blonde suddenly thrust her tongue deep into M’s mouth until its tip almost touched the back of his throat and he tasted her saliva flowing into him. His cock was now rigid. Then, as Auburn held it at the cock-ring, Blonde mounted him with the insouciance and casualness of an expert horsewoman; he felt the wet rim of her cunt and then the seething slickness and heat. Smiling, she worked herself up and down in sharp lunges, grinding her pubic bone against his to pinch the clitoris, gasping a little each time, the velvet cape gathering in folds on his thighs, and M shut his eyes and when he opened them he was in the shadow made by Auburn’s cape, looking straight up into the deep cool cleft of Auburn’s buttocks; she had mounted his face backward, and her slick vagina was inches from his lips. He stuck out his tongue and licked it, feeling a shiver run through Auburn’s body. She sank onto his tongue and rubbed herself slowly then frantically back and forth on his lips as he tongued inside her, the hard clitoris glancing against his chin at each lunge. Gasping, thrusting his tongue in her, his face soaked, M felt Blonde and Auburn begin to synchronize their sharp movements on him, and his cock surged inside Blonde as she pinched and rubbed his erect nipples between her fingers, and he knew by the little moans and other noises that the two women were kissing wildly, open-mouthed. He himself groaned, straining not to come. He wanted it to last forever. Auburn began riding his face in abrupt slaps, as if galloping, her buttocks smacking his forehead, his nose going into her gaping anus, and he felt Blonde squeezing herself tight the root of his cock, and he heard both young women crying out, almost in the same instant; his face was drenched as if by tears or spit, but it was sweet tasting, and he kept his tongue extended to penetrate Auburn’s smooth, hot, narrow little opening each time she slapped down on his face; until, with a choked moan, she ground herself into him, and M let out a cry that was muffled by her sopping cunt and he felt the semen shooting up through his cock and jolting into Blonde in long, oddly silky runs, and it seemed to him that the three of them were joined in an unbearable sensation that drew out into a long ribbon of pleasure and then ended with an almost nauseatingly sustained shudder. They climbed off M laughing and Auburn bent again to take his penis into her mouth and suck out a few lingering drops of sperm. She smacked her lips when she drew away and Blonde took a quick turn, M feeling a few last surges of discharge in his cock as her tongue stroked the wincing flesh of the head. Mmm, Blonde hummed, and M felt it in his flesh. Sit up, Slave, Auburn said, in a high imperious tone that was still slightly breathy from her orgasm. He did. He saw that the door was open, and standing in it was a young brunette girl in a blue smock; her dark eyes wide. She had been watching. M felt a thrill all over his skin. He had to strain not to smile at her. Come here, Novice, Blonde said, and the girl did, and M saw that she was holding something like a leash with a stone attached. No, it wasn’t a stone, it was a ball of iron attached by a ring to a strip of black leather. M kept still as the Novice, with cool fingers that trembled only a little, tied the leather strip tightly to his penis just below the still swollen red crown and knotted it. You may go, Novice, said Auburn, and the girl glanced at M — not at his eyes, but at his sex — one last time, a burning look, and went out quickly, bare-legged, the smock rustling. Slave; stand, said Blonde. He slid from the mattress and stood, and the leather strip bit into the skin of his half-erect, still glistening cock as the iron ball, weighing maybe two pounds, jerked it downward a few more inches, distending it so the leaking tip bounced on his thigh. Then Auburn and Blonde took turns kneeling to kiss his thighs tenderly and to cup the iron ball in their palms; he shut his eyes, the softness of their lips making him shiver again. This is a gift from D., Auburn — rising — whispered into M’s ear. She drew back and said, her voice imperious and pure and ringing again, Slave, you are to wear this device at all times inside the house, unless it is removed for you by the hands of a Novice, Sister, or Mistress. M let his head fall. What could he say? They left; still smiling. He sat on the edge of his bed and picked up the cold, black iron ball and held it in his palm, turning it, and then he saw the engraved letter “D”. And, for no reason, for joy maybe, or just tiredness, he shook his head and began to weep. You will never shake those tears out of your eyes.

 

*

 

That night he dreamt that he was walking with D on a grassy pathway by a cliff, near the ocean. She looked as she had three years before, when they’d first met; her silky hair was cut just to the shoulder, so it swung across her face when she laughed. He was holding her hand; he felt its heat and coolness and the slender crooked fingers, and as they walked he rubbed her knuckles with his thumb. Then she tore away from him and dashed ahead, glancing back over her shoulder, laughing, and he followed her at a run, and they were over the edge of the cliff, falling together. They fell a long way but he wasn’t afraid, they landed with a splash and went under and kicked their way through the bubbling water back up to the sunlight and then they were in the sea, treading smoothly, and he was holding her and kissing her face as she laughed and spat water on him. They swam to a beach and lay on the little round pebbles until they were dry and then they walked uphill to a house where they sprawled on benches in what M thought was a theater, a bare and makeshift space build of raw pine wood, surrounded by chattering and laughing people, mostly young, all very attractive men and women. M was naked and he tried to hide his erection between his thighs but the woman sitting next to him noticed it and touched his penis with cool fingers and then, leaning over him, kissed D’s mouth, and M was shocked by this, yet also keenly aroused. D now raised her voice to suggest a game: she and whoever else wanted to play would go onstage, and they would all take turns kissing each other. M watched as D climbed onto the stage followed by two, then three more, women, and all the women sat in a row laughing, and M felt a blind surge of excitement in his cock. He knew that when they started kissing they would touch each other and then make love in full view of all, fearless, and he envied what they might feel, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep from masturbating like a monkey. But his anticipation shrank and turned to pain when three good looking young men climbed up on stage and took their places in the row of beautiful, blushing and laughing women, and M knew that he would have to watch D being kissed and touched and maybe even — yes, definitely, why not? — fucked by these men. He couldn’t bear to see that. He knew that he was being ridiculous, yet his heart was thudding and he saw brilliant red when one of the men touched D’s arm. He thought if one of these men tried to fuck D he, M, would leap onto the stage and kill him.

 

 

*

 

 

He was served supper in his cell and after putting his tray and utensils and dirty plate and bowl back through the slot in the bottom of his door he waited through the evening for a the clunk of the lock and the subdued entrance of two nubile masked girls to take him somewhere and be played with, fucked or whipped or whatnot, does it even matter, no I suppose it doesn’t, but there was no knock and the sun set and he wrapped himself in the blanket and sat against the wall, his hair hanging over his face, feeling dirty and sad and tired and not wishing to think of D, to remember her smiling kiss or her laughter or her ass spasming on his cock.  D was a photographer in San Francisco working for a top agency and M had met her at a party after a fashion shoot. She was in a red skirt and pale blouse and these white lace stockings, all of her aglow, her skin firm and smooth and rosy like a nineteen year old girl’s, and his erotic longing for her was instant and searing.

 

*

 

In the morning he was taken out to be bathed and shaved again in the little stone room down the hall by Blonde and Auburn both still wearing the same enigmatic and oddly alluring leather cat masks. As he walked between them the iron ball swung against his knees tugging his half-erect penis downward even as the cock ring squeezed the root. It was a strange and a new sensation and he was not sure he did not like it. He was now more constantly aware of his cock and his scrotum and also of the silver phallus jolting him within the anal passage than of any other part of himself. Also, some kind of fire burned at the base of his spine that was never put out. He settled into the steaming water in the tin tub and the girls knelt on either side to wash him. His cock went rigid at the first touch of the soap on his chest and he shut his eyes as the girls scrubbed him all over and felt the blood rage in it and all the nerves tingling alert. They did not relieve him of this painful erection but merely teased it a little with the soap and splashes of warm water. When Auburn took the silver device out of his ass and scrubbed him there and even slipped in her soapy fingers a little, M looked down to see the soap-flecked crown of his cock trembling with pulse-beats and the slit leaking a tear-like thread of jism. Then Blonde murmured close to his ear that she and her sister had been given stern orders not to satisfy M and that he was not to masturbate either when returned to his cell but store up his strength indeterminately for a special event. Did he understand? He nodded Yes. She laughed and tickled him at the scrotum with the bar of soap and M felt dizzy. He shut his eyes again and tried to concentrate on a tantric charm that D had once taught him, holding her forefinger in a candle flame to demonstrate. You could chant this sound and put your finger in a flame and not be burnt. That was the idea. Then D suddenly winced and took her finger from the flame and sucked on it laughing until M took the finger from her mouth and sucked on it for her. I guess I didn’t do it right, she said, pulling her bare knees up to touch her breasts. He did not want to think about D and her slim finger in that candle flame nor see any images of the outside world nor consider himself a part or parcel of its scintillating madness. He was nothing now, just a slave, a piece of sentient flesh for these hellish women to torment. You are nothing to them but a cock and balls.

 

*

 

Next morning he woke to Blonde stroking his lips with a leash-handle and then Auburn clipped the chain to his cock ring and tugged him out of the folded blanket and to his bare feet, shivering in the cold. You are wanted, she said. He straightened up to accept the blindfold and he was led through the house and un-blindfolded in a room that was bare but for a red-blue persian carpet and a rack of torture instruments, mostly different types of whips. Blonde and Auburn went out without saying a word. Then a door-panel opened and a black-haired woman entered wearing an ivory Venetian-style carnivale mask and white lack stockings and a red cape, nothing else. He did not think he had seen this Mistress before. She had beautiful full lips that twisted a little with her smile and she was very fair with full and glorious breasts and was probably about thirty-five. Her eyes were green. She padded up to M smiling and touched his chest with her open palm and fingers then, suddenly, grasped one of his nipples and twisted it, causing him to break out in a sweat. I am Mistress C, she said, in a faintly accented voice — the accent might have been Eastern European. This is the Room of Whips. Behold, the array. Everything at all is here. She gestured with her fingers and together they gazed, Mistress C lovingly and with passion, at the rows of gleaming canes and whips and scourges. My preference, she said, walking over to the case as M admired her rounded swinging white derriere, is for this pretty cat o’ nine tails. Since you are a slave, you have no choice to make in the instrument, but I wanted to give you the chance to admire it fully before I apply it to your flesh. Do you admire this beauty? Say yes. She had taken it down and was holding it with the knotted black strands fanned out to show him. Yes, M said, his throat feeling thick. Well why isn’t your cock standing up then? she asked with a little laugh. I am joking with you now, of course. M shut his eyes. He heard Mistress C’s stockinged feet padding across the carpet. You will bend over now, she said. And grasp your ankles. And do not move, not even a little. You may however scream and shout to your heart’s content, as this room is padded to be soundproof.  He did as he was told and the pain of the first blow was so intense he gasped as if plunged into ice water and his entire body shivered like a plucked violin string. Ah, she said. You welt beautifully, boy. This time M kept his eyes open staring at a detail in the carpet pattern trying to drown his attention in it so as to take some edge off the pain. Mistress C began letting out little whimpers as she struck him. His body was electrified and bathed in sweat. The pain from the blows made complicated patterns in his nerves. All his body was awake and his mind clear but the suffering was awful. His eyes blurred and he saw tears drop into the carpet and then he seemed to float partly free of his body. Each time the cat o’ nine tails hissed through the air he gripped his ankles so hard he felt his finger joints crack. When the Mistress had reached a count of twenty she said he could stand upright and he heard her feet padding over to the display and the soft click as she replaced the cat o-nine tails on its nail. C’est tout, Mistress C said quietly. By the way, Slave. You are wonderful. Then she slid open the door panel and, just like that, was gone. M touched the welts on his thighs; his fingertips came away smeared with blood. Wincing and panting with the sensations, he stood still, his eyes shut, trying to summon up a clear image of D.

 

They led him back to his cell and there Blonde and Auburn applied a chilling ointment to his welts and they took turns kissing and sucking the crown of his cock tenderly and then they left M feeling more solemn and sad than he had in many years.

 

*

 

Most days and nights in the Blue Villa the Sisters are attired in pert, smart maid uniforms, as the Novices are in plain blue school smocks, while the Mistresses go naked but for their jewels and masks. Yes. That is how it should be. I seem to see, welted by the strokes of the cat o nine tails in the practiced cruel hand of Mistress C, M hobbling blindfolded to his cell flanked by the two lush-mouthed sisters who are now dressed in pert french maid uniforms without panties or stockings. They are laughing and they tease him a little — why not. Inside his cell the auburn one pushes M to his knees and lifts her black skirt and pushes herself at him in a frank invitation to cunnilingus but after a few strokes of M’s tongue in her hairy throbbing cleft she giggles and draws away and the blonde one takes her place, lingering with small outcries of pleasure so that auburn finally pushes a chair up against the backs of her supple knees and she sits on it slumped backward a little and shutting her eyes moaning her legs splayed wide while M does his best to perform blindfolded with his wrists handcuffed behind in those tight leather straps linked by a steel chain. As soon as Blonde achieves a whimpering orgasm Auburn takes her place draping the white-aproned skirt playfully over M’s head and wrapping him in her long bare legs. She gives him terse little instructions so that she can get off better and soon her ass is squeaking on the cane seat of the single chair and she is flushed and Blonde standing over her is kissing her eyelids and then her mouth and biting her ears. Ah, auburn says, tensing and shuddering, ah ah ah. As for M his mouth is full of the sweetness of cunt and his rigid cock quivers but he knows the two girls, neither one nor both, will never grant him a scrap of release against the edict.

 

Lie down on your back, Auburn says, and when he does she squats over his head and whispers open wide and when M does she emits a harsh, sudden stream of golden pee into his mouth and he chokes and gargles on the searing acidity of it but he swallows even while retching as Blonde, crouching kisses the glowering hard penis and strokes the shaft thoughtfully with handfuls of her rich hair, smearing his clear sweet-tasting jism on her lips and chin.  Then Auburn, rocking back and forth above M as the last drops of pee trickle from her cunt, fingers herself and cries out and, with a lamenting shiver, comes once more, and after coming she smears her cunt on M’s face, wetting it profusely, so it glistens with urine and tears. His eyes shut M is thinking no doubt of D, maybe he is remembering the first time she spat on her hand and jerked him off with it, and how fucking weird that was, another hand yanking him off, a young woman’s hand

 

He obeys the edict. Even after they’ve stripped the cuffs from him and the leash to his cock-ring and left the room he does not maul himself. He sits slumped against the wall and looks at the pulse-beating erection jutting from the leather cock-ring the glans webbed with jism.