Zoe Thrice

This is a stand-alone story but follows from my earlier

Zoe

tales. For those familiar with those, please be aware that this story is rather less innocent and features some modestly gritty S&M. I hope you enjoy yourself as much as Zoe does.

+

"Are you watching, Zoe?"

Gideon's voice was clear, but I was confused by the question. How could I

not

be watching?

He hefted the flogger in his hand.

Claire's blue eyes turned to me. There was a softness in them I'd never seen before.

+

Roll it back.

I won't say I had been friendless since arriving in Melbourne. Far from it - the people I'd met there were open and friendly, much more so than back home. I'd met some very agreeable people, had made some friends. I'd enjoyed myself here - no complaints. But...

OK, the women I'd met were nice and we had some solid girl times. Some of the boys got me thinking happy thoughts, too, but for one reason or another, I'd wound up spending Saturday nights home alone with my imagination.

Bad

imagination!

No, actually, my imagination was pretty darned good. That was in point of fact the problem.

Ever since I'd hit puberty, my imagination had taken me in directions unmentioned, much less explored, in those magazines and books Mummy Dearest had deemed suitable for her offspring. Not to put too fine a point on it, while accepting the concept of 'love', teenage Zoe had found the entire 'romance' thing a lethal bore. I'd tried to fit in when my school friends had traded teen magazines, talked about chick-flicks and gossiped about how delicious some of our classmates were. I tried, I really did, but the whole happily-ever-after concept just didn't get my motor running.

Ever since I was like 12 or 13 years old, I knew I wanted wanting something else entirely. Exactly what that was, I wasn't sure and had no way of finding out, but the kids-car-and-mortgage thing just never appealed.

So it didn't happen.

Darned near

nothing

happened - not in school, nor in university. I knew I was pretty enough and I certainly had a figure which drew sidelong glances from the boys. I could dance, I could make small talk - I'd even studied sports cars one time in hopes of attracting boys. All that had done was to lock me into listening to boys talk endlessly about compression ratios and tread patterns, bleck.

I wanted something out of the ordinary - some sparkle, some spice.

Cayenne, by choice.

Once I was old enough to get my own phone, my own internet access, the way forward had become clearer. I'd done my research - and found it as entrancing as it was exciting.

And getting a place of my own, away from protective parents and snoopy siblings, had been better still. I'd made furtive forays into sex stores, experimented, bought batteries by the box. I had the lingerie, knew the knots, dreamed the dreams, but I'd never found what I knew I needed - a guide, someone to lead me through the maze, somebody forceful and commanding, but at the same time kind, patient and open.

So even then, still nothing.

Until I'd arrived to Oz, maybe eight months ago.

Coming here had been a new start for me. I was free to go my own way. I didn't need to worry about one of my mother's friends seeing me come out of a toy store. My sisters couldn't drop by without warning.

I didn't have to conform to anybody's expectations but my own.

It had taken a while to settle in, but I'd finally worked up the courage to make my first real plunge into a world I still wasn't entirely sure existed.

I'd woven a tortoiseshell-pattern shibari harness over my body, put on a filmy outfit, locked the door behind me and, vibrator in place, taken the tram along Collins Avenue. The plan was for me to have to walk the 15 or so blocks to get home without having a public orgasm.

I might have made it.

Really.

To make things even more challenging, though, to stretch it out in defiance of the seething, non-stop almost-orgasm fed by the thing's constant purring, I stopped for a coffee part-way home. There, quivering over my cappuccino, I - and the silver triskelion necklace I'd been wearing - had been noticed by Claire and Gideon.

Gideon had taken me home. No, not quite. I'd had to run two blocks in high heels, chasing after him to catch up after initially refusing his invitation.

It was the best decision I've ever made.

Gideon had been precisely what I had always known that I needed. Once in his flat, caring, gentle and utterly masculine, he'd had me undress for him, display my shibari creation for him, pose for him.

He'd used my phone to take dozens, maybe hundreds of photos of me. He had - with my dazed but full consent - directed me through what seemed to be hours of slow, tormenting masturbation. I'd begged for permission to cum and he'd repeatedly refused. When he at last gave me his consent, my orgasm nearly blew my head off.

I'd sobbed with happiness at that, but my main joy was at having found Gideon, the perfect man for me.

For the day had been for

his

pleasure and that made all the difference to me. It was not indulgence which had led him to steer me through the experience, nor yet a simple courtesy to a new friend. Oh yes, Gideon had within hours helped me find more excitement, more satisfaction than I'd ever experienced in my life, but I knew that my nudity, so displayed, was for his gratification. And my fingers stroking my sex, fingers keeping me shaking and moaning for an hour, just this side of orgasm - that was for his amusement, too. And when, an eternity later, he finally permitted

- directed -

my release, that too had been to please him.

And I was fine with all of that. It was what I'd been wanting my whole life.

As good as it had been, he'd then frustrated me beyond belief by refusing to take my virginity - for virgin I still was, never having found a boy meeting my standards - until I'd agree to share the photos and videos on my camera.

After much thought, I'd met with Claire and passed her the photos. Soon after, I'd been invited to dinner at Gideon's flat. I hadn't been surprised when I arrived to find the pair dressed in three ounces of not much. It was what I had expected and under my dress I'd been wearing a costume consisting in its entirety of maybe a shot-glass full of fine gold chains.

And my triskelion necklace.

I'd been delighted to display myself to them in those chains, wearing that symbol.

Gideon and Claire had been charming and gracious hosts, but all three of us knew precisely how the evening was to end, and it wasn't to be a friendly handshake at the door. As if to emphasize that, before dinner, over drinks and small talk, they'd presented me with a framed photograph of myself, taken at my first meeting with Gideon.

Naked, I was kneeling on the ottoman in his flat, my knees apart and my hands behind my neck to more properly emphasize my breasts. One of my discarded high heels was visible on the floor by the ottoman. The shibari cords had just been removed, but the spiderweb of impressions they'd left in my flesh were still clear. My eyes were open, bright, my face bearing a look of eager, searching hunger which captured my mood perfectly.

Unlike so much online porn, the photo was anything but sleazy or greasy. Utterly explicit, it was still art in every sense of the word. Staring at it on my lap, I felt my heart almost push out of my chest. I felt elevated, empowered by the memories it brought. It was a tender, wonderful, thoughtful gift.

It now hung in Gideon's flat, displayed with perhaps a dozen others.

Like the one of me, they were all nudes, all crackling with the same open, edgy eroticism. All had been presented with amazing, tasteful artistry - Gideon's artistry.

Claire herself was the subject of another one.

Dressed only in an elegant underbust corset, pumps and her ever-present gold necklace, she was relaxing in a low chair, her long legs pointed towards the viewer. Her dark hair was loose over her shoulders, long enough to flow around - and emphasize - her perfect breasts.

I was so jealous of those breasts.

Her nudity notwithstanding, it was a very casual, innocent pose, yet Claire seemed utterly confident, completely at one with herself and the sexuality she exuded.

What raised the photo from admirable to superlative however was something easily overlooked, a flat chain wrapping twice around one ankle before leading off-screen. It was far from obvious; indeed, it was almost hidden by Claire's other ankle and its shadow. Nor was it clear, especially given her serene expression, whether the chain was an actual fetter or just a highlight, a prop.

It offered the viewer, as most good art does, an choice of interpretations.

Given the highly-charged nature of the evening and of my first time with Gideon, it would be silly to say that I'd been surprised to discover after dinner that his flat contained a dungeon.

Anything but dark and grungy, the room was large, well-lit, modern in appearance and immaculately clean. Were it not for the suspension points in the high ceiling and the bondage furniture scattered about here and there, it might have easily been taken for a high-end art gallery.

There were comfortable chairs, a deep carpet, and a four-poster bed in one corner, complete with a luxurious, embroidered bedspread.

Gideon had taken my virginity on that bed.

Claire, a warm smile on her face, had held my hand while he did so.

+

From where I stood, I watched Gideon patiently, devotedly, lovingly torment the woman in front of him.

This could not, I thought to myself, be the same Claire - the regal Claire, the Claire of infinite poise, the Claire of utter confidence and sublime feminine strength.

This

Claire was squirming in leather bonds, shuddering, moaning her distress - and her desire.

I looked away, saw my reflection in the mirrored wall opposite. I mentally compared that to the image I had presented on my way here just hours before.

Then I had been sparky, bold, self-assured, on top of my game - as free and independent as any person on the planet.

In my purse had been a list of instructions from Gideon, preparations I was to make for the evening, for him. I'd been thrilled to get it and warmed that he'd gone to the trouble of planning ahead for me, answering questions I hadn't known enough to ask.

My honey-coloured hair was in my usual raggedy bob, but I'd taken the time and effort to make it look as sophisticated as it had been the hour I'd walked out of my stylist's shop. My nails were done in the bright scarlet he'd specified. The note had said that my makeup was to be bold but not skanky; I'd put a lot of work into it. I'd gone perfume shopping, too, and there were dabs of liquid lust almost everywhere.

As directed, I was wearing a simple sundress - 'short' had also been specified - with bra and knickers left behind in my flat. I was wearing heels, too - not my pre-Gideon norm, but I was getting used to them. I liked how they lengthened my legs and made my hips swing as I walked.

A trio of boys on the tram had openly gazed at me in admiration. With confidence newly acquired from Claire, I'd been quietly delighted by their attention and, smiling gently, had very casually played to their interest. I realized that part of their approval might be that they could see my otherwise-bare breasts through the thin fabric of my dress, silhouetted by the sun behind me in the tram window. Two months ago, I would have been humiliated. Now, I pulled my shoulders back slightly to emphasize my bust, stretching the thin fabric more tightly over my nipples. The game was as old as Lilith; as I got off the tram, I remember hoping that they'd enjoyed themselves as much as I had.

Were they here in this room, seeing me as I was now, I knew I would still be the focus of their attention, but for a very different reason.

+

It was just a few minutes' walk to Gideon's flat from the tram stop. I tried to keep my steps confident, but there was indeed a small tremor within me. Today would, I hoped, be another big step forward for me. I knew that just reading

Histoire d'O

and spending hours drooling in on-line catalogues hadn't given me a full understanding, any more than reading

DSM-5

would have made me a psychiatrist.

When Claire opened the door to Gideon's flat, the two were wearing light bathrobes. Despite the warm greeting, hugs, welcoming kisses, it was a bit of a letdown. I don't think I'd been expecting handcuffs and riding crops so soon, but, seriously - white cotton?

Gideon passed me a drink. I won't describe the discussion that followed; you've no doubt seen them or read about them. Short enough by the clock, it seemed to me to be interminable. Yes, Claire and Gideon were being the responsible adults in the room and, intellectually, a discussion about limits and safe-words was necessary. Emotionally was something else.

Didn't they already know that I trusted them?

I was more than impatient; I was physically aching for what I thought was about to happen. Sitting on the sofa, my eyes kept straying to the closed door of the dungeon. My heart was racing.

Beyond that door lay the fulfilment of years of dreams.

Eventually, Gideon looked at Claire, nodded. She smiled and he'd looked back to me.

"Finish your drink, Zoe," he'd said. His words, while gentle, were not a request. They were spoken in a voice accustomed to obedience and my heart soared at its commanding tone.

Again he spoke. "Take off your dress."

I hurried to obey. Looking around, I put the folded fabric on a chair beside me and stood with my arms at my sides. Gideon examined me from his seat, eyes unhurriedly running over my body.

"Turn around. Slowly."

I could feel both his eyes and Claire's on me as I did.

He stood up, came close. His hand brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, stroked my cheek before slipping lightly down my neck, over my shoulder. It came to rest beneath one of my breasts. Cupping it, he squeezed softly. I felt a tingle all the way down to my toes.

"Undress me," he said.

I hadn't, to be honest, expected that. Not that it would be a hard task and not that I minded. A soft pull on his tied belt allowed it to fall loose. I stepped behind him as he let the robe slide down his arms. Knowing his expectations about neatness, I caught it and folded it as I turned to place it on the table behind me.

I'm not sure what I expected to see the two of them wearing when I turned back.

Claire? Well, Claire was Claire - she'd simply shed her robe and, completely self-assured, stood dressed only in glory and her heels. Her usual bar-bell nipple piercings had been replaced with small loops, but the heavy gold necklace she always wore was around her neck. From the top of her long, straight black hair all the way down to her perfectly-enameled toenails, she was everything any woman could hope to be. I felt subdued just being in her presence, what a tabby cat must feel being near an ocelot or panther.

Gideon on the other hand, had caught me off-guard. I wouldn't have been surprised by leather, a vest, some sort of harness to set off his toned body, maybe something black to match his salt-and-pepper hair and beard.

Instead, his garb consisted of not much more than a yard of thin silk rope, rather slimmer than a cigarette.

Bright-red, it went around his body like a belt, low over his slim hips. Tied at the small of his back, a simple loop dropped from a knot below his navel to nestle under his cock and balls.

The bright cord was in solid contrast to his tanned skin and provided a minimalistic but stunning emphasis on his masculinity. Even now, not erect, my eyes were automatically drawn along the bold red lines to his substantial sex. I felt my breath catch, a knot form in my loins.

I felt Claire's warm hand slip into mine.

"Ready?" she asked.

+

I shuddered as the constant vibrations pushed my lust still higher. I shifted, trying to get away from the maddening pulsations, but even that small movement set the vibrators on my nipples swinging again. I bit on the ball gag, pulled futilely against my cuffs.

+

Claire led us into the dungeon, she and I arm-in-arm in our heels and necklaces, Gideon following barefooted. The smell of leather filled my nose as she opened the doors of a tall cabinet; my jaw, despite all my imaginings, fell a bit.

Straps and harnesses of every sort hung on hooks inside. Shelves held a cornucopia of collars, masks, shackles and leashes. A stack of drawers ran down the middle. An entire shallow tray was filled with clothes pins. Hanging from rows of pegs on the inside of the doors was suspended an assortment of floggers, whips, paddles and crops.

Staring at them, I wondered what the pair would use on me first; I felt my nipples tighten in happy expectancy.

My eyes must have been very wide, for Claire chuckled lightly. Gideon joined her when he too saw my expression.

His hand - so firm, so tender - came to my face. His finger traced along my jawline.

"Still with us, Zoe?" he asked kindly.

"Yes," I said, looking from one to the other. I smiled brightly. "Oh, yes!"

He leaned in towards me, took me my head in his hands and brought his lips to mine for a soft, loving kiss. It felt amazing. It felt like praise. It felt like exultation. It felt like a kindly warning, like a happy welcome. It felt like compassion and promise. It felt like lust and hope holding hands with each other. It felt like everything I had ever wanted and I felt its fire flow through my entire body.

I shivered despite the warmth of the room.

Gideon broke the kiss. As one hand opened a deep, unlabeled drawer, his other tugged gently at my hand in invitation. When I looked, the drawer was filled with leather cuffs in a variety of colours and styles.

"I think for you," he said, "with your hair, either black or brown."

I looked, for some reason, at Claire. Seeing her nod her approval, I felt more reassured.

"Um, brown, I think," I said. I pointed at one, picked it up. Its lining was lighter in colour and very soft; the buckle and ring were of darkest steel. Lifting it to my nose, it smelt of leather and beeswax.

"This one, please? If that's OK?"

"You have good taste," Claire murmured.

Gideon's long fingers took it from my hand, wrapped it around my right wrist, fastened it. His grey eyes looked at mine as he twisted it gently on my wrist to judge its fit.

"How's that feel?" he asked.

I took it in my other hand. It was tight, but perfectly comfortable. It was in fact not only comfortable, but for some reason also comforting. I felt the glow within me blaze a little higher.

"It feels good!"

I smiled at him.

Why had I been so nervous?

I again lifted it to my nose and sniffed. I felt my nipples harden yet a little bit more, a sudden heaviness in my sex.

I was so ready for this and, at the same time, so completely unprepared. Whatever was to happen, I knew I could trust the two of them - whatever they had to sell, I wanted to buy.

Gideon kissed me again, brought my bare body against his. I threw my arms around his waist, pulled him into a deep hug.

He hugged back, his hands sweeping down my bare back, clasping my bum. We stood there for a few seconds before he pulled slightly away. He gave me a light slap on my bottom.

"Don't distract me, Zoe," he grinned, reaching back into the drawer.

A minute later, there were cuffs on both my wrists, both my ankles. Oddly, their mere presence carried a weight heavier than the cuffs themselves. I stepped to one side to examine myself in the mirrored wall.

My heart jumped at the sight. The brown leather looked perfect against my skin and hair. I turned back and forth for a better look. I looked simply stellar. At that moment, I would rather have been wearing nothing but these in Gideon's dungeon than a Louis Vuitton gown at the Governor-General's ball.