Celias Game

Sam felt a delicious buzz of sexual anticipation tingling deep, deep between her thighs. Just looking out of her kitchen window at the house opposite was enough to get her motor running. In only a few short hours she would be going over to... ah, but that was part of the thrill. She had no idea what she would be doing but she knew for certain she was in for a gourmet feast of sexual delights.

She couldn't help but ponder on how much her life had changed in the five years since Celia Forbes had moved in next door. When they had first met Sam had been in awe of her new neighbour, in awe of her sophistication, her elegance, her poise, her self-confidence. It was therefore something of a surprise when, having been invited around for afternoon tea, Sam found Celia so easy to talk to. One thing led to another and it wasn't long before they became good friends.

Even to this day, Sam failed to understand quite what Celia had seen in her, a single mum, working all hours to make ends meet, struggling to put food on the table for herself and her son, the only worthwhile thing her dead loss of an ex had left her. However, right from the start, Celia had been patient and understanding and, as their relationship had grown, had gently but firmly teased Sam out of her shell.

Whilst never making fun of Sam's rather simple tastes, Celia had gently nudged her towards an appreciation of the finer things in life. Under Celia's tutelage she had first tried asparagus and artichoke, fillet Mignon and steak tartar. She had seen Shakespeare at the Globe, Turner at Tate Britain, Beethoven at the Proms and, for her birthday, Celia had taken her to Covent Garden to see Madam Butterfly where Sam had been enthralled by the music, washed away in the emotions.

But it wasn't just Sam's culinary and artistic interests that Celia had helped to broaden. After one particularly fine meal, and having had maybe a glass or two more wine than was wise, Sam had confided that she had not had sex ever since Ben had been born. "I'd got the baby blues, post-natal depression, the doctor called it," she explained, "and I wouldn't let his dad anywhere near me. He'd always complained that I was frigid and that was pretty much the last straw. Next thing I know he's out every evening, screwing some bitch he'd found down the pub and, with Ben little more than a couple of months old, he buggered off out of my life forever."

"No sex, not at all! All those years! But surely you've had boyfriends?"

"Not one, never found the time. Never been that interested, to be honest."

"What about girlfriends?"

"Girlfriends?"

"Well, if you're not interested in the boys, what about the girls. So very different in bed and so much better in so many ways. What's up, Samantha? Do I shock you?"

"No! No, not at all," Sam lied. "It's just that... well, I've never even thought... it's not that I think it's wrong or anything but, do you know, I don't think I've ever even met a lesbian and, if I did, I wouldn't know what to do."

"Never met a lesbian! You don't need to be a lesbian to enjoy sex with girls. All you need to do is open your mind, lose a few inhibitions and find the right person to play with. Someone like me, perhaps?"

"You! But I'm not sure..."

"Not sure? That's because you've never tried it. You start like this." Celia leant over and kissed Sam on the lips.

Sam's head was fuzzy from the wine and she didn't know how to refuse without appearing gauche and ignorant. What's more, she wasn't sure that she wanted to refuse so, taking the path of least resistance, she responded and let herself be seduced.

It felt a bit awkward at first but the kiss soon awoke over a decade of suppressed desire. Her body, so long neglected, sang out in joy as Celia skilfully teased out pleasures in ways she had barely dreamed of. No one, ever, had treated her this way before. No one, certainly not her ex, had taken the time, had had the patience or the skills to lift her up, higher and higher until, for the first time in her life, lost in ever more powerful waves of pleasure, Sam discovered the meaning of true sexual fulfilment.

Time and time again, as Celia played sweet music upon her body, she felt great waves of bliss coursing through her. She felt transported, floating away on white fluffy clouds. Nothing, nothing at all, had ever felt so good.

She wished it could go on forever, oh, how she wished it could go on forever but eventually she could take no more and, wrapped in Celia's loving arms, she slowly and reluctantly came back down to earth.

"That was... that was fantastic. Oh, Celia, I never knew. I never knew."

"Did I not say that girls could be better than boys. Now, let's go to bed where we can do it properly."

Of course, when they got there, it was only fair that Sam should give as well as receive and, as patiently as ever, Celia introduced her to the myriad ways of Sapphic love.

As with everything else, Sam let Celia take the lead and it wasn't long before she was finding that Celia's sexual proclivities were as sophisticated as every other part of her life. Experiments with silk scarves led Sam to discover that bondage, like artichokes, is a flavour that, once tasted, can be curiously addictive. As the silk scarves made way for leather and steel, wrist cuffs and collars, Sam discovered that an orgasm denied is all the sweeter when release is finally granted.

Her first spanking was similarly light and playful; little more than love taps on an upturned buttock. However, that tingling delight that comes from playing along the fine line between pain and pleasure was as addictive as the bondage and, with each session, Sam was happy to allow Celia to push her farther. Each step made it easier to take the next one, slowly knocking down the barriers that had held her back until the unthinkable became the norm and the only limits left were the holy trinity of safe, sane and consensual.

Naturally she had hidden all this from Ben who had seemed as oblivious as any other adolescent male. Now, as a nineteen-year-old student, he was back from college for his summer vacation. There seemed to be neither hide nor hair of a girlfriend which had let Sam to wonder if he were gay. Then, one day, she stumbled across his laptop as she was picking up the discarded clothes from the floor of his room. Feeling slightly guilty, but with a mother's curiosity, she switched it on. A quick glance at his browser history dispelled any doubt. Apart from one or two sports related pages it seemed that every other URL contained the word MILF and it was clear where his interests lay. Reassured she switched the laptop back off again and carefully returned it to where she had found it.

It was now barely an hour before she was due at Celia's house and she knew better than to be a moment late. She went upstairs for a shower, soaping herself inside and out so as to be squeaky clean for later on. Ben was out, "just out," as he had put it, so she enjoyed the freedom of the house, wandering naked from room to room as she made herself ready. This was another thing she would never have dreamed of doing before she had met Celia; nowadays she found it liberating.

She caught sight of herself in the big mirror in the hallway. Whilst, like any woman, she was far from satisfied by her body, Celia had given her the self-confidence to admit she didn't look too bad for someone who was fast approaching forty. But time waits for no man, or woman, so, as the hour approached, she slipped on a light sundress and her four inch heels and trotted across the gap between the houses.

Just outside Celia's back door there was an old outhouse which had once served as a coal shed and this was where Sam finished off her preparations. Hours of hard work, first with a scrubbing brush and then with a paint brush, may have eliminated any trace of coal dust but it was still basic and utilitarian. As she entered she looked up in the top corner to confirm that the red light was lit on the CCTV camera that lurked there. She might be alone in the shed but Celia could well be watching from the comfort of her lounge. No time to waste then. She took off her dress and hung it on the hook and then looked at the bench to see what Celia had left there for her.

The first thing she saw was the butt plug. Made from polished stainless steel it was no plug for a beginner but it was one of her favourites, one that stretched her to the limits, both physically and emotionally. Celia had had this one specially modified with three chains carefully welded to the base. The first chain was single for the first four inches where it fitted up the crease of her buttocks. Then it split in two so it could be attached around her waist, fastening at the front like a belt. The other two chains were led up in front, one either side and attached to the waist loop next to her hip bones. This arrangement not only kept the plug firmly in her backside but also emphasised how open and available she was in front.

The chains were fastened with plastic padlocks. Cheap and easy to secure but impossible to open without cutting, these were individually and uniquely numbered so that any unauthorised removal would be impossible to hide. Not that Sam ever once thought of cheating but the fact that she couldn't was part of the thrill.

She lubed up the plug and, putting one foot on a chair, reached down and carefully eased it inside herself. It wasn't that long ago she had considered anal sex dirty and perverted; what's more, the one time she had finally given in to her ex's constant demands it had hurt like hell and she had determined never, ever, to do anything like that again. However, Celia had persuaded her to give it another try, had taken it gently, starting with the smallest dildos, opening her up, getting her used to it and, nowadays, anal play was a significant part and parcel of their sexuality. Best of all was when Celia used her strap-on to take her from behind. Was that on the menu tonight? She would have to wait and see. It certainly wasn't her place to ask.

Not that she would be in a position to do any asking judging by the next item on the bench.

This was a black bondage hood made from finest lambskin leather. She knew this item as well as she knew the butt plug. The soft supple leather was close fitting and completely covered her head except for two small holes which lined up with her nostrils. The lack of eye holes meant that, once it was on, she was plunged into total darkness. More than that, it was also padded where it covered her ears so that her hearing was severely muffled. She slipped it over her head, biting down on the internally fitted gag thus ensuring that the nostril holes were properly lined up. Then she reached behind her head and, slowly and methodically, tightened the laces running up the back of the hood, until the leather was stretched tight across the contours of her head and the gag was pushed firmly into her mouth, muting her completely.

Last, but by no means least, she groped along the bench until she found the pair of cuffs. After putting these around her wrists she then reached behind herself and clipped them together, binding her wrists behind her back. Unable to see, hear, speak or use her hands, she was ready for whatever Celia desired of her.

At first there was nothing. In the silence and darkness of the hood she had no sense of time passing. She was just there, in the moment, stood waiting. For as long as Celia chose to use her she would have no will, no personality, no ego, no sense of self. The hood made her head as featureless as the living doll she had become, a plaything, to be twisted and turned as her owner desired. Already her juices were flowing.

A touch on her arm told her that Celia had finally come to claim her. Carefully, as befits one blindfolded and wearing four inch heels, she was led into the house and, very carefully now, down into the cellar. Across the floor, maybe four or five steps and then her wrists were freed for a moment only to be lifted up and refastened in front of her. She already knew what was coming, she could feel the chain attached to her cuffs, could feel it tighten, feel the click as the chain links passed over the hoist, lifting her arms, up, up above her head until she was at full stretch.

Obediently she moved her legs apart, but still not far enough for the spreader which was fitted between her ankles. She both loathed and loved this position: her raised arms and spread legs left her wide open, vulnerable, available, ready to be used and abused without let or hindrance.

For a while, for a long while, Celia played with her. sometimes it was a teasing caress, fingers softly playing with her nipples or her nether lips; sometimes it was the mechanical buzz of a vibrator, mostly across her flesh but sometimes pushed inside; sometimes, the best times, it was kiss of the suede flogger, across her breasts, across her buttocks and, the very best of all, wickedly, up between her thighs. In the end it seemed as if every inch of her body was glowing, either from a kiss of the lips or a kiss of the flogger.

And then it stopped, clamps were attached to her already inflamed nipples and she sensed rather than heard Celia leave the cellar.

She knew the next bit well. Lost in time and space, unable to move, to see, to hear, her whole being awash with the smorgasbord of sensations that focussed on the ever growing need within her cunt.

There was another thing. Before meeting Celia she had never even used the 'C' word. Her mother, when she mentioned it at all, had insisted on 'front bottom' and the 'C' word was the height of profanity, never used by 'decent' people. By comparison Celia insisted on her using it. She was never allowed to refer to her vagina as anything else. Strangely she rather liked it. Cunt! Cunt! Cunt! Even gagged it was liberating just to scream the word out loud. But screaming the word did nothing to relieve the aching need between her legs. And the waiting just made it worse - or was that better?

She was lost in her reveries, savouring every moment when she suddenly became aware that she was no longer alone. Celia had returned. She wondered what was next on the menu. Pain? Pleasure? Both? Her hearing may have been muffled but, in the darkness of the hood, her senses were heightened. She sensed that Celia was close, very close and then she felt a tug on the chain around her waist; another chain was being attached there.

She sensed Celia move to one side but the tug on her waist remained steady. What could be holding it? What was she attached to?

She got the shock of her life as she felt hands pawing at her body. She could tell immediately that this wasn't Celia. The hands were clumsy, unsure of themselves, feeling their way as if their owner were groping in the dark. She tried to recoil, to pull herself away and, even though she was gagged, a squeak of alarm escaped her. However, hanging from the chain, she couldn't escape the groping and the spreader between her ankles ensured her sex was wide open and available. There was nothing she could do to stop these hands poking, probing, touching her wherever they wanted.

Almost inevitably what they wanted was her breasts and groin.

Slowly she began to accept this latest twist in the game. She trusted Celia, trusted her completely and, if Celia chose to add some stranger to their sex play, then who was she to complain. She bit back the bile of jealousy that had risen within her. Surely, after all these years, this stranger, this interloper, could never fully take her place. If only they weren't quite so clumsy. She began to relax.

Celia must have been waiting for this because, once Sam had stopped recoiling, she felt another set of hands, Celia's hands, busily freeing her ankles from the spreader bar. She moved her legs together but not too far. She felt the familiar feel of Celia's riding crop between her thighs and a couple of quick taps was all the reminder she needed to her to keep herself open.

Then the tension on the chain was released and as, as soon as was practical the cuffs were unfastened releasing her wrists. Sam had no time to rub the numbness from her hands before Celia took them and placed them on the body in front of her. Now it was her turn to grope in the dark.

Here was the second shock. Almost from the first touch she knew that the other person was male. She couldn't help herself, she had to check. She reached down and yes, he was male, very male and his rigid prick stood out in front of him. It seemed almost sacrilege that a man had invaded their exclusively Sapphic world. Mind you, that didn't stop her fingers playing with his prick just his fingers were probing at her cunt.

Sam was torn in two. Mostly this was really scary. She was heavy petting with a complete stranger, one she hadn't even seen and, judging by the clumsy way he had groped her, nor could he see her. However, beyond the fear was a thrill that ran through her body. This stranger offered an opportunity she had secretly missed. Much as sex with Celia was good, very good, she had never quite lost the longing to feel a man's prick thrust deep inside her. Strap-ons and dildos just weren't quite the same. It had been nineteen years, nineteen long years since she had set eyes on a real prick and now even holding one in her hand felt good. Being chained together like this was an invitation to take it further and she was wound up enough to want to do so. She pulled the man towards her and rubbed the tip of his prick up and down the lips of her cunt. It would be so easy to...

A sharp tap on the back of her hand, probably from Celia's riding crop, told her to desist. While she had little doubt that penetration was where this scenario was heading, it looked like she was going to have to wait.

But that didn't mean she wasn't allowed to feel, and, apparently, they could get as close as they liked as long as penetration wasn't involved. As her left hand played with his prick her right explored his body, found the chain around his waist and followed it around his back and down the crease of his buttocks to the butt plug he was wearing. She also found the other chain, the one that ran from her waist to his, the one that was maybe twelve inches long. She and this man were going to be close companions for as long as it pleased Celia to keep them that way.

Just as she couldn't help but play with his prick, his hand never strayed from her cunt. In the end they found a rhythm, they started to grind together. If ever there was a dance that was the vertical expression of horizontal desire it was this one. If actual penetration was not allowed then, maybe...

For a while Celia let them play like this, Sam was pumping away at his prick, he had his fingers deep in her cunt. They were both grinding against each other. It got more and more feverish. Sam was beginning to lose control when...

Once again there was a tap of the crop and, this time, Celia pulled them apart. She guided their arms to their sides, again tapping with the crop, making it quite clear that touching time was over. Sam and the man stood, either end of twelve inches of chain, waiting.

She kept them like this for several moments. The slightest movement was punished with smack of the crop against her arms, her legs, buttocks or groin. Sam assumed the man was getting the same treatment.

And then Celia stepped in close. Guiding Sam's hands up to the back of the man's head she placed them on the bow that fastened the laces. She even undid the bow to make sure Sam got the message. As Sam's fingers eased the laces loose she felt the man's hands being led up to her head in the same fashion. Once again they were forced right up against each other and, all the while, she could feel his prick jabbing against her belly; she could feel the clamps on her nipples rubbing against his chest.