Alessandra's Atonement: Part 1
By
Alessandra Tamino (alessandratamino@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: This is a continuation of the series begun with Alessandra's Awakening, and represents a fictionalized account of my experiences. This is NOT intended for minors or those who find graphic lesbian experiences repugnant. Please email me with feedback! Part 2 will end the series.
Thanks to C. for her lustful inspiration!
Part 1
Melissa greeted me at the airport, all smiles and casual sensuality. I was ridden with guilt and simultaneously immersed in memories of my time with Lyn, and it all felt so awkward. On the ride back to my flat I gazed dreamily as Melissa drove, and could barely muster a polysyllabic response to Melissa's inquiries.
"Traveling really tires you, I guess," she overkindly remarked.
"Yeah, it's grueling."
"Or maybe you're so tired because you met some wild gal out there!" she laughed.
I inwardly cringed, but joined in her laughter.
"Yeah, right, sleepless in Seattle."
When we got to my apartment she folded me in her arms and began to kiss me. I had to fake a response, so removed I felt from her, so overtaken by Lyn's lingering aura and the excitement that I realized had not been a part of my life for months. In the middle of the kiss Melissa seemed to stiffen. She pulled her head away and looked me quizzically in the eye.
"Who is she?" she demanded.
"Who's who?" I replied.
"Don't play games, Sandra, I can taste her, I can smell her cunt from your mouth."
She glowered at me but I continued to feign innocence.
"Fuck you, you unfaithful bitch. I thought you were for real."
"Melissa," I said, " listen, it wasn't what you think..."
She had gone and I was too disinterested to follow or to beg. The images of Lyn's beautiful long legs and delicious cunt and the sound of her irresistible voice lulled me into a kind of stupor and reignited my passion. Melissa's physical beauty -- which was considerable -- at this moment exerted no influence. I began to regard her affection for me as cloying, her courtesy as boring, her love as constricting. Let her go if she wished.
Far from being tired, I was energized. I stripped and showered and luxuriated in my bed but was too restless to sleep. I rose and gazed at my naked form in the mirror: I liked what I saw, liked the obvious slut who would submit herself to a young and beautiful stranger so readily. Was this a sickness or a healthy rebellion?
I pinched my nipples and felt my cunt start to warm. I retrieved my vibrator and returned to the bed and coaxed it into my pussy and gave in to the partial relief it brought.
Several days went by and I had yet to hear from Melissa. I was frankly surprised; even though my ardor had cooled, I didn't think our rift was unmendable. After a week I decided to take the high road and call her: I got her answering machine and left a message suggesting dinner. No response. I emailed her. No reply. I called again, and again heard nothing. She had dropped out of my life as quickly as she had dropped in with Joann. I admitted my error, admitted to myself that I had behaved atrociously to a person who seemed to love me, but I refused to renounce the secret tryst that had spoken so deeply to my innermost needs.
So I now found myself consumed by the same desperate yearning that had led me to taste the glories of submission, that led me to the fateful meeting with Jennifer and Melissa, consumed but alone.
A month passed with no word from Melissa -- or Lyn, who had my email and phone number. I was growing frantic, cursing myself for my folly. How could I have destroyed something so good in pursuit of an illusion? It had become harder and harder to cling to those moments with Lyn, intense and unique and breathtaking as they were, for sustenance. I was back where I was when I first placed the ad that introduced me to my new world -- the new world that was crumbling around me -- only worse, because I had tasted possibilities and could never return to the grey routine of the past. My friends' company became far less appealing, filled as it was with petty concerns and predictable pleasures.
I half-thought of dating some of the many men who approached me, until I came to my senses. Then one Saturday night I could restrain myself no longer and decided to take a risk.
Dressing seductively in my maryjanes and clinging skirt I prepared to visit a new lesbian club, a different one, one with a raunchier reputation than the last, ready for anything. Just before I left my apartment I gave myself a once-over in the mirror: lipstick and eye-shadow added to my vampish feminine allure (if I could only meet my double!) -- but something was missing. I smiled mischievously as I affixed my collar: this was sure to drive a few of the dykes wild.
I wasn't at the bar for minute when a tall dark hard-looking tattooed bitch sidled up to me. She provocatively took my glass of wine and drank it down in a gulp.
"Thanks, cunt" she said. "Get me another."
I motioned to the barmistress and ordered two more glasses.
"That's a good slut."
We sipped the wine and I began to feel that nearly-lost thrill of lust and danger. The bitch was hardly feminine, but not unattractive. Her breasts were full and the inviting cleft between her legs was already becoming dark with moisture. Without saying a word she drew a chain from the pocket of her leather jacket and clipped it to my collar. Pulling on it she brought my mouth to hers and bit my lip savagely and said:
"Follow me, cunt."
I obeyed and she led me downstairs past the eyes of dozens of curious onlookers. I was brought into one of several rooms on the lower level. It was dark, carpeted, and strewn with large pillows. On one of the two sofas sat two women kissing and fondling, and on the other lay another, naked from the waist down, fingering herself casually. They all looked up when I entered and my bitch proclaimed:
"Hey girls, fresh meat!"
For the next 3 hours I sank to the nadir of degradation. I was treated brutally: my hair was pulled, I was slapped, pushed, cursed, spat on, toyed with, dragged from one pussy to another. If I paused for breath my face was shoved back into a cunt or ass and I was spanked with ferocity. Each of the four women, after I had licked their pussies into orgasm, after I had slathered their asses with my tongue, took turns with their strap-ons, fucking me relentlessly in both ass and cunt, forcing me to lick their dildoes and repeating it as I crawled on my hands and knees to another waiting crotch. I was exhausted, spent -- but they weren't through with me yet. Two of them lifted me and held me aloft while two others impaled my cunt and nether canal with their pseudo-cocks. I came out of sheer desperation and they left me slumped on the floor like a discarded rag.
There had been neither elegance nor suspense, but I derived some measure of benefit by interpreting the whole scenario as a fitting punishment for my unconscionable behavior towards Melissa, towards myself. It was nearly 5 AM when I managed to get home and throw myself into the transient comfort of sleep. It took the entire Sunday to recover.
Yet each week I returned for more, driven by a force beyond my control. I developed quite a reputation at the club: a do-anything slut. One night I was forced to strip at the bar and was given a `demonstration whipping' for the clientele. I typically followed the first girl who approached me, meekly submitting to strange requests in the private rooms. Occasionally I'd see another submissive slut. Bets were taken on who would come first. Once I was made to lick another sub's cunt and instructed to make her come as quickly as possible; she on the other hand was commanded not to come at all, and inevitably we'd both be abused further for our transgressions. It was thoroughly disgusting, yet I couldn't stop: this was, after all, just what I deserved, wasn't it?
On my seventh or eighth foray -- I had begun to lose count -- I half-recognized a figure at the bar, someone I thought I saw there occasionally. She was approximately my height, with fine light hair that hung just above her shoulders, slim, dressed smartly in a business suit, obviously a professional of some sort.
"Why are you wasting yourself on this trash?," she said in a clipped British accent.
I turned to look at her. She had the most engagingly sensuous eyes and bright inviting smile.
"What's it to you,?" I replied haughtily.
She laid her lovely hand on mine and said:
"I hate to see a good slut like you squandered on swine like them."
She moved her face very close to mine:
"Discipline and submission require respect, artistry, and intelligence."
As I gazed into her eyes I recognized the truth of her utterance and decided on the spot that I had paid penance enough.
"Well," I murmured, my defences crumbling, "why don't you show me?" I was pleading and on the verge of tears.
"I'd love to, honey, but first let's introduce ourselves. I'm Claire."
She extended her hand and I brought it to my lips and kissed the tender inward of her palm.
"And you?" she inquired.
"Bond," I replied in my best British English, "Sandra Bond."
She laughed and wrapping an arm around my waist delivered me from the quicksand hell of my making.
We arrived at my flat and as we entered I had a longer and clearer look at Claire: she was both finely toned and strong. Her face was far from classically beautiful, but it shone with the light of intelligence and fine sensuality. Her dark eyes fascinated and her mouth, with its thin determined lips, moistly beckoned. I threw myself into her arms and she allowed me to kiss her full on the lips, and returned my kiss with passionate vigor. I slid to my knees, utterly overcome, utterly grateful: the craziness of the past two months had taken a terrible toll and I was fragile beyond knowing.
Claire undressed herself slowly and seductively for me. How I heaved with excitement as I saw revealed her small pert breasts, her taut thighs, the closely cropped blond pussy with its soft exposed pink slit..
"Now, Sandra, my little slut, take off your dress."
I pulled it over my head. My nipples were rigid and my cunt wet and aromatic.
"A proper mistress should know every inch of her slut's body," she said as she walked around me in appraisal.
"You are very lovely, very beautiful, far more beautiful than I."
"Oh, no, mistress," I interrupted.
"Silence! Who gave you permission to speak to me unbidden?"
She bent me over and pushed my head to the floor. She ran a finger down my spine making me shudder, and then SMACK! A sharp blow on my right buttock.
"Oh," I whimpered.
SMACK! An even harder blow on the same side making me burn.
"I see you've not been properly trained," said Claire.
She drew her fingers along my cunt and brought them to my mouth. I sucked voraciously.
"Good girl," she cooed. "Now show me to your bed."
I instinctively made to rise but Claire forced my head down again.
"On your knees, cunt, unless I tell you otherwise."
I crawled to my bedroom as she followed behind.
(To be concluded....)