Sweet Torments: The Best of Alex Jordaine Read online

  Jerry and I stayed in the pool for about an hour, splashing about, and it gradually warmed up. Every once in a while the sun even deigned to reveal itself through a break in the clouds, allowing reflected light to dance on the rippling blue water. Jerry and I swam and played in the pool – and, OK, maybe we did make physical contact a bit more than was strictly necessary in our games there.

  When we got out of the water the changing room was empty apart from ourselves. We dried off in the same cubicle, still in our swimming costumes. However, our bulges were becoming increasingly pronounced and when I took off my swimming trunks my cock sprang out erect.

  ‘Mmm, that looks very nice,’ said Jerry, who pulled down his trunks to reveal his own lengthening erection. ‘Come on,’ he said, his member now as full and stiff as my own. ‘Let’s jerk off together.’

  Feeing light-headed and extremely excited, I encircled my erect cock with my fingers as I watched Jerry bring a hand to his own erection. We both rubbed our cocks up and down vigorously, climaxing at pretty much the same time. And equally lavishly too, spraying out streams of sticky wetness onto each other with great force. It was an amazing feeling, it truly was – my first time masturbating with anyone else, and the most intense sexual experience that I’d so far had in my young life.

  Jerry and I showered, dried ourselves, dressed and headed for home, both of us more than a little subdued. We said very little as we strode along, lost in our own guilty thoughts. Just as we were about to part, however, Jerry brightened. ‘Fancy coming round to my house tomorrow?’ he said. He told me that his mother would be at work all day so we’d have the place to ourselves.

  ‘That’d be great,’ I replied.

  ‘It’s a date, then. See you around 11 a.m.’ Jerry’s face suddenly broadened into a devilish grin. ‘Hey, and no more jerking off until then.’

  That proved easier said than done. I fidgeted about uneasily in my bed that night. My mind was in a whirl going over and over what Jerry and I had done together and what might happen tomorrow. According to my Church all these “impure thoughts” were a sin but the feelings of guilt this caused just seemed to make my cock harder. I was excited as much as anything by the intoxicating shame of my own arousal. Even so, although it took a deal of willpower, I didn’t touch myself that night.

  The next day I killed time earlier in the morning trying to decide what to wear for my “date”. A clean white T-shirt and one of my pairs of jeans, I thought. On a whim, I removed my underwear, taking a leaf out of Jerry’s book, and squeezed into the oldest, and, more to the point, tightest pair of jeans I possessed.

  I set off, slightly nervous but very excited, the knot in my stomach no competition for the throbbing of my shaft. My growing sense of anticipation and the rough feel of the tight denim against my cock meant that I was in a high state of sexual arousal by the time I arrived at Jerry’s house.

  When he answered the door I was struck anew by how devastatingly attractive he was, with his blond hair falling over his forehead; that pretty face and lithe, athletic body. He was wearing nothing but the faded jeans he’d worn the day before, which clung to his form like a second skin.

  ‘Hi there, you’re looking good,’ he said, reaching over and squeezing the bulge in my own skin-tight jeans. I did the same to him, feeling the warmth of his cock beneath the straining denim.

  ‘Would you like a coffee or anything else to drink?’ he asked.

  ‘No thanks, I’m fine,’ I replied.

  ‘You sure are,’ he said with another devilish grin. ‘Follow me, we’ll go up to my room and fool around.’

  Once in his bedroom we hastily stripped and were soon on his bed mutually masturbating, our excitement growing and growing. We climaxed simultaneously in great bursting spurts, and then lay together in the afterglow, the come on our bellies intermingling.

  We washed ourselves and put on our jeans, then went and had a snack in the kitchen and just hung out for a while around the house. But it wasn’t long before our lust erupted again and our swelling members were straining once more against the tight denim that covered them. We were soon naked and erect again in his bedroom, masturbating each other feverishly. And for most of the rest of that afternoon we simply couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

  ‘How about tomorrow?’ asked Jerry, as I was about to leave.

  ‘You bet,’ I replied eagerly.

  It seemed like an eternity to me until we met the next day. I reckon Jerry must have felt much the same way because as soon as he’d let me into the house and shut the front door he pulled me towards him and kissed me hard. I kissed him right back, savouring the slick, demanding feel of his lips and frantic tongue, and reciprocating for all I was worth. Jerry and I carried on kissing passionately while rubbing our bulging cocks together, getting more and more turned on. We then went up to his room, stripped naked again, and began mutually masturbating once more. Then the mood changed …

  ‘Kneel down,’ Jerry said all of a sudden, his tone chilly with command. I obeyed in an instant. ‘Now suck me off,’ he added, ‘and make a good job of it.’

  I was determined to do just that. I engulfed his stiff cock with my lips – it tasted so good, I can’t tell you – and swirled my tongue around its swollen head. My tongue laved his cock, licking the thickness, my lips kissing and rubbing against it so that it flexed and strained against my mouth. Next, I began sucking on his shaft with slow, regular movements, then faster, then slower, then faster still. I felt as if I was born to give blowjobs. It made me feel deliciously wicked, thoroughly debauched and perverted and sinful.

  After I’d been blowing Jerry for a while he announced, ‘I’m going to climax real soon now.’ His voice was full of sexual tension but just as commanding as before. ‘When I do,’ he added, ‘I want you to swallow my come, every last drop.’

  I wanted to do that too, craved it. The thought of it made me shiver with pleasure. I could taste the beads of liquid seeping constantly from the slit of his cock and knew that they would soon be a gushing torrent. Then it happened. Jerry emitted a strangled moan and erupted to a shuddering orgasm, his cock gushing wad after wad of creamy come deep into my mouth. And I did exactly as I’d been told. My head still furiously pumping, I drew down every ounce of the semen that spurted onto the back of my tongue, taking it deep into my throat – every last drop of it.

  There’s not a lot to add to my story after that. Jerry and I carried on meeting in the same way for the rest of that half-term week. And the following Sunday saw me at Mass on my knees again, my cock pulsing constantly as I worshipped that beautiful blond altar server. As a devout Roman Catholic I knew what I was feeling and what I’d done was sinful and wicked in the extreme, but I just couldn’t help myself. I felt so guilty about it all, I really did. And the guilt I felt was delicious.

  That Eureka Moment

  Ask any masochist or sadist about the first time they realised they got off big time on what they do – what they are – and they’re likely to have an interesting tale to tell. Although what our masochist and what our sadist each have to say will be very different, their stories are liable to share in common a cathartic sense of everything suddenly falling into place as if by magic: that Eureka moment.

  The Masochist’s Tale

  When Julie looked back at the person she’d been only five short years ago it felt strange – almost like a false memory of someone else’s life. Had that really been her? Julie Ball was so damn pleased with herself for coming out as a lesbian you’d have thought she was the first person who’d ever done it. She was so sophisticated, wasn’t she? So uninhibited, so daring … So deluded, more like.

  The truth was that in her own way she was as repressed as some frustrated Victorian spinster. There was a whole dark side to her sexuality she hadn’t even begun to come to terms with, let alone explore, for the simple reason that she’d yet to acknowledge it existed at all. Let’s face it, she’d said to herself afterwards wryly, you can’t come out of the clos
et unless you’ve ventured in there in the first place. Julie learnt that lesson eventually, though, and in a very literal sense. It was a woman called Bridget who made it happen.

  Soon after Bridget had broken up with her previous lover, a young woman called Maria who happened to be Julie’s oldest friend, she started making a move on Julie. Maria clearly didn’t mind – her split with Bridget had been an amicable one, as Julie knew very well. The amorous interest Bridget was showing in Julie had been just fine as far as she was concerned as well. The truth was that she’d always fancied Bridget like crazy, thought the tall, charismatic blonde with the short hair, glittering blue eyes, and hourglass figure was absolutely gorgeous.

  Things developed quickly from the time Julie moved in with her. Bridget informed her early on that she was into kinky sex – whips and chains and clamps and the like – but Julie told her she wasn’t interested. She really meant it too, or thought she did. Vanilla sex with Bridget was great, like nothing she’d ever experienced before, and that was surely more than enough, she rationalised.

  Bridget’s bedroom wasn’t short of clothes space and could easily accommodate the clothing Julie had brought with her. But here was the thing: the biggest closet in that room was always kept locked. Julie asked Bridget about it once and she just said, with a sly grin, ‘Oh, that’s where I keep all the stuff you’re not interested in.’ That did spike Julie’s curiosity a little, she had to admit, but she didn’t give it much more thought. She just blanked it out. Until, that is, one fine day when Bridget was out doing some chores …

  Julie had just had a shower and had wandered back into the bedroom in the nude, feeling decidedly horny. She lay back on the bed, her head propped up by a couple of pillows, and began to masturbate. She was just starting to really enjoy herself, her fingers working away at the wetness that had begun to ooze from within her, when she noticed that Bridget’s mysterious closet wasn’t actually locked for once. Julie could tell because its door was slightly ajar. Her curiosity getting the better of her this time, she reluctantly stopped masturbating, swung herself off the bed, and padded over to the closet.

  Julie opened its door fully and her eyes widened like saucers at what met her gaze. She was shocked – not so much by what she saw inside, although that was pretty amazing, but by its sheer volume. Hanging from the walls of that spacious closet were handcuffs, harnesses, chains, whips, paddles, gags, hoods, bondage rope, you name it – all the paraphernalia of BDSM. Julie was also shocked by her own reaction to what she’d discovered in that closet because, despite herself, she was turned on by it – very turned on. The heady aroma of leather in there played its part as well, all but overwhelming her senses.

  Julie shifted her gaze to the floor of the closet where she saw a pile of glossy black and white bondage magazines. There were some other items on the closet floor as well: a box full of different coloured pegs – black, red, purple, blue; a black leather slave’s collar and some wrist and ankle cuffs, also of black leather, which had metal trigger clip attachments; a red ball-gag, and what looked at first sight like a blank video.

  Julie got onto her knees, crawled into the closet a short way, and started to leaf through the pages of the magazines, with their numerous monochrome images of beautiful naked women being tied up and disciplined. Again she surprised herself, because she found the photographs she was looking at powerfully erotic. As she gazed at those striking bondage photos she could feel the heat in her sex growing and growing until it seemed to permeate her whole body. Julie was soon playing with her pussy once more, imagining herself in the place of one after the other of the lovely women in those photos. She could feel her breath quicken and her nipples stiffen and her clit pulse as she wanked and wanked.

  On a whim, she decided to try on the leather slave’s collar that was on the floor. She liked the feel of it immediately. While she was about it, she thought she’d give the red ball-gag a try too. As she buckled it into place the feeling of constriction it gave her sent a further rush of adrenaline to her brain and lust to her pulsating sex.

  Julie played with herself even more energetically now, there on her knees inside the open closet. Her sexual imagination went into overdrive as in her mind’s eye she became an amalgam of all the beautiful women she’d seen between the covers of those glossy black and white magazines.

  She saw herself not only gagged with a ball-gag, as she was now, but also bound, suspended from rafters, soft rope digging into her pussy and rubbing excitingly against her clitoris. And all the while a tall, naked, dominatrix with short, blonde hair – in Julie’s mind she was Bridget – whipped her over and over again until her body was covered in agonising welts.

  Then Julie’s attention moved away from the highly charged images in her head as she looked down and caught sight again of the video. Why was it there? Just because it was untitled didn’t necessarily mean it was blank. In fact, Julie now had a strong hunch it wasn’t.

  She picked up the tape, climbed to her feet, and took it over to the television in the corner of the bedroom. She fed the tape into the video player and pressed “play” on the remote control as she got onto her knees on the carpet. The TV flickered into life and what Julie saw next gave her such a surprise that she let out a gasp of amazement from beneath her gag. There on the screen was Bridget’s previous girlfriend, Maria – Julie’s oldest friend – lying face down and trussed up on the bed in that very room.

  Maria’s arms were pinned together behind her and her legs were held apart and knees bent with her ankles attached to her wrists. Julie noticed that the metal trigger clip attachments to the wrist and ankle cuffs she was wearing had been used to secure her into this position, that she’d been gagged and that purple clothes pegs had been attached to her nipples and pussy lips.

  Not that Julie had given it anything more than passing consideration up to that moment – that denial thing again, she was to realise in hindsight – but she’d supposed it more likely than not that, once they’d become an item, Bridget would have got Maria into kinky sex. Well, here was irrefutable proof that she’d done just that. And to see it on film in this way inflamed Julie’s overheated sexual imagination to fever pitch.

  She went back to the closet, knelt down, and buckled on the leather wrist and ankle cuffs with the metal clip attachments, which had been left on the floor. She also thought she’d go for it with the box of pegs. I mean, what the fuck! In for a penny, in for a pound. She selected all the purple pegs she could find in there, ten in all, and attached one each to her erect nipples and the remaining eight to her labia. Sure, it was painful – very – but in a way that Julie found she liked, and in any event she was too far gone in lust by then to care.

  Julie then returned to watching that homemade video of Maria in her bondage. And as she did so she got back onto her knees on the floor and pleasured herself once more, this time even more vigorously. Her busy fingers, now thoroughly coated with sticky love juice, were making a constant rhythmic, wet sound, which was counterpointed by the clicking and clacking of the exquisitely painful pegs attached to her labia.

  The film had certainly had a very powerful effect on Julie but there wasn’t much happening in it. There was just a lot of Maria squirming in her bonds. And after a while Julie’s mind drifted off again to what she’d like to have done to her.

  She saw herself hanging from her wrists, gagged, Bridget beating her backside furiously with a leather paddle with one hand while she urgently masturbated her clamped pussy with the other … And all the time there was her camera whirring away at the side of the room, filming every deliciously perverted minute of it, creating an obscenely graphic record for anyone to see of Julie’s depravity and degradation.

  Julie was getting completely carried away by now, her fingers a wet click-clacking blur between the pegged lips of her sex, her thighs soaking with love juice. She was on the verge of a massive climax … when all of a sudden she was brought up short.

  The door to the bedroom burst open and
in strode Bridget, who was stark naked, her breasts jiggling, thighs quivering. Julie realised straight away what must have happened: Bridget had sneaked back from the chores she’d so conveniently had to go out to do and then stripped off elsewhere in the apartment, only to appear now in all her naked splendour.

  ‘Well, well, Julie,’ she said with a smirk. ‘And you told me you weren’t interested in this sort of thing.’

  Yeah, like she was surprised, Julie said to herself. God, she’d made it so easy for her crafty lover, fallen entirely for her devious ruse. She was already collared, cuffed, gagged, nipple and pussy pegged, and in an incredible state of sexual arousal – this close to the most colossal orgasm.

  Bridget pulled Julie unceremoniously up off her knees and pushed her just as roughly onto her front on the bed. She used the metal clip attachments on her wrist and ankle cuffs to pin her arms behind her back and her legs together, and there Julie was – at her complete mercy.

  She lay and waited for the inevitable, and waited … and waited. The only sound punctuating the silence was the tell-tale click-clacking of her pussy pegs as she shivered and trembled ever more uncontrollably with anguished anticipation of what she knew – just knew – was going to happen. Her backside and thighs started to quiver convulsively as the piercing ache in her pegged pussy (click-clack, click-clack) became unbearable (click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack)

  Bridget unbuckled Julie’s ball-gag. ‘Tell me what you want me to do,’ she ordered, knowing full well what she’d say. ‘Tell me right now and I’ll do it.’ She pulled the gag from Julie’s mouth.

  ‘B … b … beat me,’ Julie managed to stammer – and just getting those words out precipitated the first tremors of that too long delayed orgasm.