From the Corridors of Cyberia

From the corridors of Cyberia.

Seven women, seven stories.

Dzjinna.

I met Jenn in a chatroom. She told me she was in her thirties, blond and tall. Of course, many women in chatrooms are blond and tall and in their thirties; some of them are even women. I've always thought, however, that it was beside the point to doubt any information at all in chatrooms. Cyberia has its own reality. That is why you should never meet your chat partner in so called real life, send videos or even get pictures. (By the way, my name is Angique, short for Angélique. I was a girl in her twenties back then, black hair, green eyes and a skin of Gothic paleness. All of it true, of course.)

So, back to Jenn. Inside the 'Net she was real to me. I grew fond of her, calling her Dzjinna. Of course, as you should know, words were the only thing that counted in chatrooms, as words were the only thing we had in there. Words were the paint of the chatrooms; talented people could picture an entire world with them. Jenn was a great painter; I wasn't bad either. Let's say, these stories are our galleries of paintings.

***

(October 16

th

, 02.04 a.m.)

Does she remember? Does she remember what remembering is? Is there, anywhere in her candy cotton mind, even the slightest shred of memory left? Ah yes... at night... or is it night? In her dreams she sees floating memories. Sh sees images, colors, sounds. A blond woman she sees, tall, well dressed. Heels clicking on marble. Mirrors, elevators. High glass walls looking out on sky scraping horizons. Are they her memories or just shapes and colors? Is there even a past, a tomorrow?

It is hard enough to grasp the present; hard enough to handle these feelings and emotions, this constant arousal. Electric currents jab at her, making her skin ripple, her spine arch. There always is the hunger, the need to taste the white slimy cream. To swallow it and paint her face with it. To feel it spurt over her tits and belly. The scent of it, the substance.

Her weak hand claws to reach the edge, the eternal edge, oh god get me there... there. She is a shivering mass of jelly, begging for release. She aches for a volcanic explosion into the eternal bliss of oblivion. But the eyes say no. Noooo, sweet slut, the eyes say, the emerald jewels, guardians of denial. Nooooo...

(October 18

th

, 04.12 p.m.)

The huge door creaks open; a black silhouette stands out against the gray, cool afternoon light. Inside the stables warm air curls around the motionless figure that has come in from the cold. Tiny wisps of breath escape the slit in a tight black leather mask. Only red shining lips are visible as they whisper "Dzjinnaaah..."

A shard of gray autumn light spreads as the door opens wider, reaching the iron cage and streaming inside, where it engulfs a milk white, curled up body in the middle of the cage. A naked woman lies in a web of chains that run from iron bracelets to large rings pegged into the gray concrete floor. There's a bowl beside her, empty but for a few crumbs; another bowl has been licked clean. There still is no movement from the tied woman, even when the masked woman's whisper insists...

"Dzjinnaaaahh..."

Is she fast asleep, locked in a dreamless void, exhausted from the horrible ordeals that seem to visit her so relentlessly lately? Is she spent from the strange and alien orgasms that wreck her body, induced by such surprising agents as pain and humiliation? Or is she still in shocked stupor because her proud golden hair has been taken? She has been left here naked and exposed, totally defenseless and open to whomever or whatever fancies her body...and her soul.

"Dzjinnaaaahhh... why don't you give in?"

The leather clad woman takes soundless steps towards the cage. She bends like a cat, her covered eyes hungrily taking in the vulnerable form. She crouches towards the pale fetus in the bluish splash of light.

"Why do you hold back from me what is mine, Dzjinna? I know all about the eager way you masturbate to no avail when I am away. Your fingers pull at your nipples until they stand out aching. You spread your shaven cunt. You hump your swollen clit against your impatient hand. Why, Dzjinna? It's useless. I told you not to. I instructed you not to. I trusted you..."

(October 24th, 07.18 a.m.)

Well-heeled and highly polished patent leather mules disturb the dust and straw on the floor, making them swirl in golden clouds as the black dressed girl slips into the barn. The soft sigh of her silk gown mixes with the click of heels. Until they stop.

The lock's chain rattles; the iron-bar door whines open. The girl in black silk walks to the sobbing woman who's kneeling naked on the floor. She sinks to her heels, her gloved hand cupping the bald skull to turn the face towards her. Long lashes cast their shadow over tearstained cheeks. Softly, a satin thumb wipes away the spilt moisture.

"You'll be punished, my love. Oh certainly, again and again. But not now. Not now. Right now, you must be thirsty... let me get your bowl."

The girl rises holding the empty bowl. She stands immobile for a while more, contemplating the silent form beneath her before turning on her heels and walking to one of the horses' stables. A soft whinnying welcomes her as she opens the half door. She calms the black stallion inside by patting its back, her voice sweet when she talks to him. She holds his face, murmuring into his ear. Then she bends down and reaches under his belly

***

Thanking the horse with a kiss on its soft nose, she takes the bowl back to the chained woman in her cage. The woman rocks slowly on her knees, bald head down, eyes closed, hands into pathetic fists. The black dressed girl crouches beside her, showing her the bowl and its steaming content; the woman doesn't seem to react. A soft hand is propped under her chin to make her watch how the girl pours drops of a bluish liquid from a tiny bottle into the fragrant slime, stirring it with a finger.

"Slake your thirst, sweet Dzjinna. Drink this heavenly broth so it may sooth your parched throat, and your aching soul." She presses the bowl's rim against the girl's closed lips. "You refuse this nectar I give you, love?" The naked woman sulks in silence. She looks down, big tears running down her cheeks.

Then the girl in the evening gown takes a bare nipple between her finger and thumb. She pinches it hard and turns it to the right sharply, making the woman scream. Quickly she pours half of the bowl's content into the open mouth and closes it immediately. Stroking the arched neck, she makes her swallow. A deep and miserable moan rises from the naked woman's throat. It bobs and gulps as the warm cream slides down into her stomach.

The black clad girl almost pushes her face into the woman's, looking hard into the misted eyes of her pupil.

"Say 'thank you, Master'. Say thank you very much to the lovely stallion...Say it now... I want to hear it." But the silence is only broken by a soft, rising sob. A sharp slap sounds as a hand strikes the bald woman's face, leaving a red blotch on a cheek.

"Say it!!"

Almost inaudible and on a breath of sperm the girl mumbles her thanks. Then she slumps back to the dirty floor and once more cries her heart out.

(November 9th, 01.05 a.m.)

A swift shadow weaves in and out of even darker shadows. Like a puff of smoke, it slides out of black corners into even blacker niches until it reaches tall gray doors. They open just a few inches to suck the ghost in, and in the dark canyon between ancient walls the deep silence is undisturbed again, except for the mournful cry of a distant night bird.

Inside, the half-moon's liquid light streams into a barred space, uncovering the giant shape of a black creature sleeping, and the pale form of a woman hugging its side. Her arms are stretched upwards, her naked body sinking into the furry animal. A hound it is, a giant Dane.

The naked woman looks pale and fragile in the pouring moonlight, almost like a girl; her skull is bald and shining, giving her sleeping face the sweet vulnerability of a child. Around her white throat a leather collar hugs her skin tightly. As her left arm lays stretched upwards, one breast squeezes itself free, a pink nipple kissing the moonlit straw.

She sleeps; her eyes are closed, but the sheer transparency of her lids betrays the rapid movement of her dreaming eyes, as do the tiny, puppy like whimpers that form inside her throat. Silver droplets of saliva escape her mouth, dancing on fragile, sleep-spun threads.

The black shadow creeps closer. A narrow white hand with red nailed fingers reaches through the bars; they can't touch the sleeping couple. Shallow, fast-breathing sounds float into the silence. Then the girl like woman stirs in her sleep, her hand travelling down along the dark shining pelt towards her face. Her fingers reach her eyes and cheeks; her pouting mouth now searches for her thumb. She greedily takes it in and starts sucking, a slow, sweet smile blooming in the corners of her mouth. A muffled moan of pleasure rises.

The leather shadow throws a soundless kiss through the bars; then it slips out the way it came.

(November 13th, 05.20 p.m.)

Reclining in the smoothly rounded leather club chair I watch the autumn storms raging against tall windowpanes. Eyes half closed I see the world through the haze of my lashes, so snug, so entirely relaxed. I feel the blaze of the fire caress my body, right through the blood red sheen of my silken robe.

I sip a cool, dry mouthful of Pinot Gris, and turn the glass in my fingers as I look over its rim. Isn't my world perfect, I wonder, watching the two lovely creatures sharing the room with me. One, huge and dark and furry, its broad head resting between impressive paws, flat on the oriental carpet. The other creature is pale and naked... smooth and soft. Its sleek body stretches alongside the hound, its fingers scratching its head. It whispers sweet words as it kisses the wet nose.

Have I ever seen deeper and more innocent affection between two so different creatures, I muse. The way she touches him, so easy, so natural. The way he succumbs to her soft and sweet caresses. I knew she overwhelms him as soon as he scents her presence. Of course, he has been trained that way, but never did I see him get this protective, not even with bitches of his own kind.

I also know how easily her heat is ignited lately, flaring up as soon as she is around his vigorous maleness. How her nostrils widen, her pupils dilate when he is brought to her. It seems impossible for her not to touch him; impossible not to press her swollen nipples into his fur, not to caress the steel muscles that roll so easily under the shining pelt.

Oh yes, I know how close she is right now, how even the pink skin around her nipples swell into aching tightness. How her hidden cunt lips strain against the smooth leather that guards her entrance, making it agonizingly impossible to touch her screaming clit. If she'd spread her thighs now, I'm sure her moisture would seep from the edges, running down the tender, skin where loin and leg unite. Sweetest hell it must be for her, forever tottering on the brink of ecstasy but never allowed to cross it.

I say her given name. My heart leaps when her eyes meet mine. A sudden wave of guileless affection fills their blue oceans to the rim and engulf me. Oh my God, sweet girl, how far have you come in such a short time, and how deep does your undemanding love reach into my soul.

I watch the bald skull, the open childlike face, the leather-circled throat, the almost transparent paleness of her skin. It contrasts dramatically with the narrow but effective leather straps that mark my dominance and her submission, closing the gate to her garden.

"I think it is about time the world should see how far we've come, sweet li'l bitch," I say. A sudden flare of excitement washes over her face.

"Oh yes, yesss Mistress... thank you, thank you! You hear that, Brynn? Mistress is proud of us and wants the world to know..."

She crawls on all fours over to me, clutching my calves and kissing the painted nails on my toes.

Bovenkant formulier

Onderkant formulier

***

Ishtar.

Ishtar wasn't just a mere woman that I met in a chatroom; she was divine. She styled herself after the famous whore-goddess of Babylon also known as Ishtar or Astarte. In Cyberia we can invent the place we live in, any place; it just takes inventiveness and some verbal furnishing. Hers was magnificent; she lived in the Hanging Gardens, one of the Seven Wonders of the antique world. This story is about how we met.

***

The day was hot, the sun a harsh mistress sending her scorching rays down on me like so many slashes of a well-aimed whip. Why had I left the hotel's air-conditioned lobby at this godless hour of the day? Why hadn't I called a cab to take me to the nice and cool café I intended to visit? Why roam the airless maze of a souk in this foreign city? I lost my way after three corners, getting sweaty from the heat and the rude catcalls of mustachioed men and cheeky little boys. Why did I wear what I wore?

The doors were huge and old, their bleached wood riddled with spikes in an ancient pattern. They were set in a ten-foot-high red-ochre wall, crowned with layers of lushly green vines. Tall palm trees rose from behind, promising shadow. One of the doors stood ajar. I smelled cool water and heard the excited twitter of exotic birds. Forgetting everything about curiosity and the cat, I pushed the door open and crossed the dusty sill. Ah, the coolness on my face, the moist air on my skin.

The garden was different from any garden I'd ever seen. Maybe the word garden wasn't even appropriate. Through the gate I stepped on a balcony of sorts, or maybe a narrow terrace. It was the uppermost ledge of many lower ones that were connected by stairs winding down through a veritable jungle of plants, bushes and trees. The stairs connected each terrace until they reached a pool that shimmered in a deep distance.

Careful to keep my balance on the slippery steps I wound my way down to the pool, my ears filled with the sound of humming insects and twittering birds. Water gurgled, my skin was kissed by cool, moist air, my nostrils flared from spicy herbs and sweet-smelling flowers. My heart raced as blood rushed to my head, pounding in my ears. And all the time there were the almost orgasmic squeals and twitters from way down below, turning the garden into a resounding bird cage.

Swapping at mosquitos, my pale limbs gleaming with sweat, I finally reached what seemed the lowest tiers. A sparkling pool showed through leaves and flowers. I reached out to clear my line of view, and my breathing stopped. Beyond the pool on a flat slab of stone, next to a babbling little waterfall, wet, shining bodies lay entwined in the oldest of embraces. Three girls I counted, very young and completely naked. One was on her back, arching her body to the eager tongue of a lover who, at the same time, had her crotch invaded by a third girl that sat on the face of the first, arching creature.

"Aren't they sweet?" a low, breathy voice said, close to my ear, accompanied by a rustle of tiny metallic bells. It made my heart skip a beat; I almost lost my footing.

The owner of the voice was in her forties, I guessed, with black, curly hair, her skin a dark hue of olive. She was almost as naked as the girls. A ring in her left nostril held up a thin veil of gold thread, studded with tiny bells. It hung like a transparent curtain before her lower face, attached to multiple sets of rings in both her ears. Like a glittering underscore, it drew all attention to her dark eyes, made up abundantly in the ancient Egyptian way. Her long, erect nipples were pierced with gold rings that held the ends of strings of gold drapery between her mature breasts. The same material hung like a filigree fig leaf before her crotch, held up by fragile strings across her hips. Her arms and legs sparkled with bracelets and jewelry. Her hand with gold-taloned fingers rested on my wrist.

"Sorry if I startled you," she said. The flimsy gold curtain moved with her breath, causing another echo of sweet metallic music. Her fingertips were cool on my skin; I didn't know what to say. On the slab of rock one of the girls cried out in climax, followed by another. Through the gold, chiming curtain I saw a smile.

"I... I...," I said, a thousand miles away from my self-assured self. The woman nodded and once again smiled, tapping my wrist.

"I understand," she said. The rippling curtain stretched her voice into a tingling rustle again, like the silver tail of a comet. "I'm such a poor hostess, am I not, tendresse?" she went on, stepping even closer, mingling the jungle's fragrance with her deep, musky scent. Her face came very close now, jangling jewelry and all. Her dark eyes held a sudden sparkle, her hands cupped my face, adding confusion to self-consciousness. "Here you are, all hot and uncomfortable. Why don't you take a dip into my refreshing little pool?" Stepping back, she turned to the water, opening her arms in an inviting gesture.

The pool was tempting; dark and mysterious where the shrubs and trees cast their shadow, sparkling like silver sequins where the sun kissed its surface. Every square inch of my sweaty body begged for it; every pore gasped to be blessed by its sweet, cold kiss. But could I, here, now, among strangers? Naked strangers, to be sure, but...

The woman smiled; then she clapped her hands, making all her bracelets and baubles ring. Wet splashes resounded as all three water nymphs dove from their slab of rock into the pool, swimming my way as they squealed excitedly. In a ball of gleaming limbs, they clawed their way up the terrace, sending a moist cloud of splattering raindrops my way. Their hands followed, fingers undoing buttons and tearing clingy wet fabric off my limbs, until I stood naked in a veritable bird cage of squeaking girls. They touched my pale skin with their dark, tanned fingertips, eager eyes taking in my body. Hands were everywhere, on my tits, my belly and my ass cheeks. Moist bodies glided along mine. Young firm titties, lips and even tongues slid over my skin. My body ignited with arousal; I could hardly breathe. Then, like a teeming swarm of naked limbs, we all fell into the pool. Cool, cool water closed over my head.

One can swim with dolphins; one can swim with seals and whales, but believe me, it is nothing compared to swimming with three naked girls in a secret oasis under the glaring sun of a sleepy desert town. Their cool, slick bodies slid by like golden eels, the electric variety. They held me and caressed me, plunging and diving around me with their slippery thighs and slithering bellies. There was a green world under the surface full of muffled noises, breaking open whenever my head returned to the sparkling sunlight and the twitters of my companions. I saw glimpses of the woman on the terrace before being pulled down again. Flashes of her standing, watching, as her one hand pinched a nipple, and the other rubbed her slit vehemently.

Of course, we ended on the moist, warm slab of rock beside the waterfall. And of course, I was overwhelmed by tongues and fingers. Wet kisses turned into open mouthed invasions; fingers caressed my slit and my asshole, followed by slobbering lips and probing tongues. Finally, I just laid there, absorbing the sun and each and every one of their attentions. I became a will-less, shivering heap of jelly, feeling as if each of my screaming pores had a hidden, tiny clit.

How does one orgasm in such a situation? One doesn't. Or to be sure, one doesn't stop climaxing, which might be the same. At some moment, my body must have started exploding, and it must have stopped doing that at another, but I never knew. Maybe I stopped being conscious. I guess my body took over. I kept feeling every touch, every emotion. I laughed and cried, sobbing through incredible sensations. I sucked on nipples and tongues, clits and fingers and toes. I squirted and pissed; I felt like a volcano spitting lava until the last searing flames left my body and I just laid there, shuddering, exhausted, empty. From a green darkness came a voice, breathy, hoarse and wrapped in a cloud of soft jingling.