Holly’s First Night Ch. 04

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This is a continuation from Holly’s First Night Ch.03.

I woke needing to go to the toilet. As I moved to throw back the quilt so I could sit up I groaned involuntarily; my shoulders hurt like hell, but there was a very pressing need to get to the loo pretty quick. I was in Zoe’s bed, but she wasn’t there. I made it to her bathroom and sat on the toilet, the sweet relief of peeing was confused by the feeling in my arse. I realised that there was still that butt plug in there, and it needed to come out pretty soon.

I don’t think I’ve ever done anything so undignified, or unpleasant, but I managed to reach down behind me, guiding the lump of metal as I squeezed my bowels. It hurt a bit on it’s way out, but then my bowel movement really kicked in. Top tip; avoid Chinese meals if you’re going in for long term anal play. I knew instinctively that I should have made sure it was removed hours ago.

Standing, I gave myself a wipe, flushed the loo and dropped the plug in the sink. It needed a good clean. I began to take stock of what she’d done to me. My shoulders ached, I had faint red marks around my wrists were the cuffs had cut in. Looking over my shoulder in the mirror though, I saw the devastation wreaked by that riding crop; red lines criss-crossed my back and buttocks. When I put a hand on them a few felt raised, but they didn’t hurt like I thought they would.

Holly Eliza Jordan, what the fuck have you got yourself into I wondered. There were faint blotchy red marks were hot wax had been dripped onto my back and breasts. As I cupped my breasts I nearly cried when my palms touched my nipples. Looking closer there was a definite sinister bluish tinge were Zoe had applied those cruel nipple clamps.

Do people really pay good money for this? And what time was it? I wandered through to the sitting room, the green glow of the clock on the VCR was showing 09:13. I groaned, made it to my room and, with a little discomfort managed to pull on my dressing gown. Coffee, that’s what this girl needs I thought. Kitchen, go to the kitchen, that’s where the coffee is.

Except it wasn’t. The jar was there, but apart from a couple of golden brown granules at the bottom it was empty. I groaned in despair for caffeine as I sat down, then I groaned in discomfort as the tortured nerve endings in my back and buttocks woke up and protested at their treatment.

“Holly! You up yet?”

It was Zoe, coming into the flat carrying a paper bag and one of those cardboard trays with two paper cups. The smell of rich aromatic coffee mingled with the even more enticing smell of bacon. She came through to the kitchen, setting her offerings down before me.

“Cappuccino, two sugars, extra froth, and two of Bernie’s best bacon rolls”

Have you ever noticed how a bacon roll makes the world a better place? There were some sachets of brown sauce in the bag, two of which I smeared over the thick pink glistening meat before taking a bite out of my roll. I sat there chewing and savouring that most basic of British meals. A couple of sips of hot bittersweet creamy coffee and things began to look up. I was starting to feel almost human again.

I looked at Zoe. Last night she’d done things to me that I’d never even thought of before.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Sore.” was all I could manage.

“Let me see.”

I slid the dressing gown off my shoulders as she rose and stood behind me. Her cool fingers rested lightly on my shoulders, then she gently began rubbing them. I flinched at her touch initially, but to be fair it did feel good. I felt her bend down and kiss the top of my head.

“Y’know, I’ve never done a scene that long before.” she said.

“Zoe, everything hurts right now, well everything apart from my fingers.”

“That’s good, I like what you can do with your fingers.”

As she kneaded my shoulders she leant down and murmured in my ear.

“Seriously Holly, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you, you took it all and wanted more.”

“Right now I just want to sleep.”

“Yes, that’s probably a good idea. Look you go back to bed, I have a lecture before lunch, I’ll pop out and do a food shop then come back and see how you feel.”

I rose and shuffled, I mean literally shuffled, into my bedroom. I couldn’t be bothered drawing the curtains, just shucked off my dressing gown and gingerly got into bed. As long as I didn’t move it didn’t hurt too much. Drawing the quilt over me, and facing away from the window I drifted off to sleep.


The click-clack of heels, my heels echoed in the corridor, torches set into the stone walls guttered and flickered as I strode past them. In front of me a heavy oak door was slightly ajar. Either side of it stood two figures, one male and one female. He was muscular and tanned, glistening oil emphasising his masculinity. He had on a shiny, tight pair of black boxer shorts that left nothing to the imagination, and a black hood with zips over the eyes and mouth. The zips were closed now, but I felt he could see me clearly.

Similarly tanned and oiled, the girl’s Betist outfit seemed to consist entirely of thin leather straps forming the outline of a bra and panties joined by a single vertical one leading to a choker. Further straps covered her nipples and hairless vagina and acted as a suspender belt for black fishnet stockings. Her knee length boots looked like glossy black patent leather. In her hand she had a black flogger with a thick black penis shaped handle.

“Sister Holly, you are most welcome. Please enter.” they chorused in unison.

The door opened wider and I stepped into a large room filled with people, some standing or sitting alone, others in pairs, yet more in larger groups. The noise of their chatter was quite overwhelming, amplified probably by the stone walls. It looked like a dungeon in some old castle, but was lit much more brightly.

As I took in the groupings I realised their dress varied considerably, there were some in ordinary street clothes, other in formal evening wear, I spotted at least three couples dressed as bride and groom. Others wore what I guess is known as fetish wear; tight leather and latex, impossibly high heels, hoods, gags, some men in what looked like nappies. All ages, races and body types seemed to be present.

Near me a large man with a shaved head in a business suit turned his back to me as he talked to a Marilyn Monroe lookalike blonde. She seemed familiar somehow, not Marilyn, but the essence of Marilyn. The hair and cleavage were definitely right for the famous actress, but her face, well the beauty spot and long, half lowered lashes were there, certainly. I realised as I looked at her eyes; they were mine, the Marilyn wannabe was me.

Suddenly the big guy dropped his trousers, he wasn’t wearing any underwear and I was treated to the sight of his white fleshy backside as she, as I, squatted down in front of him. The long powder blue evening gown had a split skirt, revealing nylon stockinged legs, the thighs a pale white at the top.

She steadied herself against him with an opera gloved hand, the same powder blue colour as her dress. I couldn’t see what she was doing to him, but he threw his head back. Her head appeared on one side for a moment as she looked me in the eye, licked her lips and winked at me. Then her head disappeared from view again. Curious to see what she was doing I walked diagonally to the side of them to get a view.

She was holding his cock against his belly with one hand whilst carefully licking his balls. I noticed she had a tongue stud and she was using that to provide additional contact. Occasionally she would suck a whole testicle into her mouth, obviously running her tongue around and over it. He was obviously getting excited, his eyes were closed and his breathing was definitely getting faster.

Grasping the shaft in her hand she gave it a couple of pumps. Clear fluid glistened at the tip of his swollen cockhead. As she let go of it his cock hovered in front of her face. She licked the pre-cum with the tip of her tongue, making his cock jerk before slowly taking him in her mouth. He moaned loudly and his hips gave a little thrust. All the time she had been looking up at him, maintaining eye contact, but now she closed her eyes blissfully as though she were tasting the ambrosia of the gods. I felt myself getting aroused just from the sheer carnality she… I was exuding. This was getting a little confusing for me so I concentrated on watching him.

He put his hands together behind his back, intertwining his fingers. Maybe it was to try and maintain control? No matter, she was now applying suction if the way her cheeks hollowed out were any indication as she bobbed her head up and down. I realised that every time she did that she took him in a little deeper until finally her nose was touching his sparse pubic hair.

He was twitching now, I could see he was trying to resist putting his hands on her head. Suddenly she pulled back, the length of his cock now glassy with her saliva. Reverently she held her gloved hands up either side of it, almost as though she were praying. Gently she touched him, moving her hands along the shaft, her thumbs meeting under the angry-red swollen cockhead. The skin of his shaft moved easily over its steel hard core as she concentrated on that little spot where his foreskin joined his penis.

“Ohh, too much.” he groaned.

She smiled mischievously, her perfectly white, even teeth contrasting with the red lipstick that was now smeared down the fat man’s shaft. She took the hint however, raising the cock up against his belly again she placed butterfly light kisses up and down it, giving him a chance to retreat from the brink. She was treating it as if it was the only thing in the world that mattered, that existed, everything, every movement, every glance, every touch was calculated to keep the fat man’s arousal at its peak.

Cupping his balls in her hand she took his full length again, holding herself impaled on his cock for a few seconds, then she released him.

“Oh my God, oh my God, yes, don’t stop.”

He kept Betist Giriş repeating that every time the blonde other me took him deep into her mouth. She varied things by just attending to his glans with the tip of her tongue forcing its way into the little slit at its tip. At some point lust overcame pleasure and with one hand either side of her head he began a frenzied thrusting into her willing open mouth. Incoherent sounds were coming from his mouth as he spent his load.

As he slowed down she released him from her mouth, holding his shaft in one hand she began to pump him again. I could just make out the last drops of semen gathering in the crook between her thumb and index finger. She licked the tip of his cock, then she looked over at me, her long tongue gathering up the final drops of gloop on her hand before swallowing it. I have to say that that really gave me a thrill.

The fat man stooped to pull up his trousers as the blonde stood upright. She moved in very close as if to kiss the man, her hand on his chest but I think she merely whispered something in his ear because as she stepped back he handed her a thick envelope. She obviously said thank you and they parted company; he moved over to a group of men gathered around something, or someone. She, surprisingly, came to me.

“Sister, we are so pleased you decided to join us. Will you stay with us long?”

“I…uh, em, err, I don’t know yet.”

She leant forward to peck me on the cheek. I could smell semen on her breath.

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself sister, we are a large and loving family. Everybody is welcome for the right price. Now you must excuse me, I’ve just spotted a wonderfully handsome couple. Maybe we’ll catch up later.”

As she sashayed away, I thought she may look like me, but I wish I had a body like that. She was greeting other people in the crowd, some of whom also looked like me. And then she was gone, lost amongst the crowds.

As I looked around the room it became obvious that acts of intimacy were taking place between men and women, men and men, and women and women in varying combinations and numbers, yet the atmosphere was like some of the formal wedding parties that I’d waitressed at in the past.

Along the wall beside the door I had entered through was a series of tables stretching the length of the room. Laid out on the tables was a buffet. Suddenly I felt hungry, and I needed a drink. I walked over to the table, acknowledging the nods of welcome from everyone I passed. It struck me how friendly everybody was being, they even seemed to know who I was.

It all became clear when I glanced in the mirror behind the table. There was Holly Eliza Jordan staring back at me alright, wearing a plain knee length black dress. With long sleeves. And a white collar and headpiece. Looking like one of the novitiate nuns who helped sometimes at my convent school, only not. A simple black rope cinched in the waist. Black leather court shoes with a three inch heel set off my legs, encased in very sheer black nylons. Yes I checked, they definitely had a seam running down the back.

Then the other details started to make themselves apparent. The material wasn’t fabric but rubber, shiny and tight and very slightly translucent. It was clear I didn’t have a bra on as my nipples seemed very prominent. I was wearing make-up, pretty dramatic make-up at that, especially my eyes, smokey purple with long lashes, complemented with a glossy lipstick. Nails; long, manicured, glossy red. Like a whore.

I expected to see a cross on the chain hanging from my neck, just like the nuns at school. Instead there were the interleaved symbols of Venus and Mars, each seemingly free to rotate. Unlike the Sisters from my childhood, the headband exposed my hair. Reaching up I touched it, the rubber was very thin and smooth to the touch, like it had been oiled in some way. It was like a second skin, there was no resistance to my movements and, as I touched my fingers to the bodice the sense of touch was pleasantly different.

I poured myself a drink; champagne into a tall flute glass, it tasted light and refreshing on my tongue, yet when I swallowed it there wasn’t any alcohol there. Taking my glass I walked into the crowds.

There was a small group of men, maybe half a dozen, all naked and all very obviously aroused. They were queuing up behind a woman who was bent forward, holding onto a chair back. Her crisp white blouse had lace at the neck and the cuffs. Her hair was piled high on her head. She wore black, lace topped stockings held up by a suspender belt. Her thong panties were stretched between her ankles.

“Oh god, stop teasing and put it in me.” It was my voice, begging the man to fuck me.

She let out a long groan as the man standing behind her slid his hips smoothly forward, impaling her on his member. He quickly set up a rhythm, hands clutching at her soft white buttocks. I could see the look of concentration on his face, emphasised by the beads of sweat forming on his creased brow. His pace increased, as the woman, as I moved my hips against him, frenziedly getting close to cumming.

I could imagine how it felt as he released his load inside her, his hands either side of her hips, slamming into her as his orgasm was reflected in his rictus grin, his body tensing as his essence poured into her. He held that position for a very short time, then stepped back to allow another man access. He held himself against the woman’s pussy.

“Oh god, stop teasing and put it in me.” It was my voice repeating the scene, begging the man to fuck me.

The man who had just finished in her spotted me and came over, he seemed unaware or unashamed that he was totally naked.

“Holly, you look stunning, I’ve always had a thing for nuns, even more than naughty secretaries.” He grinned, glancing at the me on the chair before continuing “perhaps me and the boys could give you some divine revelations? How would that be?”

“Now Jonathan, you know you must go through Alexandra to make any appointments.” Zoe’s voice came from over my shoulder.

“You’re a spoilsport Zoe, I didn’t mean any harm.” I heard him mutter as I turned around to face my best friend.

“Run along Jonny, before I tell Alexandra how rude you’ve been.” She smiled at me as she said the words.

I felt him turn away and return to the group of men surrounding my other self. Zoe was looking as assured and elegant as ever; a long white strapless evening gown contrasted with the near blue black lustre of her skin. Make-up perfect as always, her immaculately manicured nails a shocking vermilion red. She leaned in, so close to my ear I could feel her body heat through my rubber dress and whispered

“Now is the time to see if you want to be part of this world, Holly Jordan.”

Then she was striding away, arms held out in greeting as she approached another woman who looked Chinese, smaller, more petite than me. They air kissed, Zoe having to bend at the waist, emphasising her beautiful arse to touch cheek to cheek with her. It looked like the woman asked Zoe a question about me, as they both glanced in my direction, but Zoe ushered her away, deep in conversation before I could work out what they were talking about.

My attention was distracted by movement in a dark corner. A small mixed crowd was gathering and I couldn’t see what was going on. Walking across the room I began to make out a man’s naked torso, his arms stretched above his head. When I say he was a man, I mean he was a god in human form. I don’t think I’d ever seen such a perfectly sculpted body; not bulging muscles like a body builder, just perfectly defined, he didn’t seem to have any fat on him at all. I couldn’t see his face because, it turned out, he was hooded and tied to a giant ‘X’ shaped crucifix, like a St Andrews cross.

There were three huge television screens on the wall, each showing a different view of the man and the cross. I couldn’t help notice his perfectly shaped arse was encased in tight brown leather leggings and the hood was made from similar material. A man standing next to me whispered

“She always makes them wait, it builds up the tension, you know.”

I didn’t have to wait long to discover who ‘she’ was.

A bell tolled, a deep sonorous vibration that I could feel in the pit of my belly. The man tied to the cross raised his head seeking something. I could see the hood had a slit for the mouth and holes for the eyes, but they were sealed by silver zips. He jerked his head round as though listening for something. The murmur of the crowd lowered and died away as in the distance the click of heels on stone approached getting louder. A door I hadn’t noticed, set in the wall near to the cross slowly cracked open. An intense, actinic bright light flooded into the darkness of the room.

The silhouette of a woman outlined against the searing brightness stepped through the door. It was impossible to make out any detail at all as we were all caught and blinded in the intense glare from behind her. The door slammed shut and the light disappeared, and suddenly we, the audience were left in utter blackness. Purple spots danced in my eyes as they started to adjust to the gloom of the room again.

She was there, a dark blur against a darker background, I still couldn’t make her out. She strode forward to the cross. No, she strutted to the cross, her heels must have been at least five inches long. They glittered in the darkness. My vision was slowly returning, as was that of the rest of the audience. As the men saw her, saw me, for it was me, a collective gasp and murmuring arose that was immediately silenced with a stern look from the me in the costume.

She… me… I looked like something from a fetish magazine. She was wearing polished glossy black leather. An over-bust corset, cinched impossibly tight creating a wasp waist was the centrepiece. Above that was a leather choker or collar perhaps. My hair was pulled into a severely high ponytail, granted extra height through the binding of leather surrounding the first hand-width or so of her glossy black hair. Her make-up was the exact mirror of mine. Below the corset was a glossy black thong, on her legs she wore classic black fishnets clipped to suspenders hanging from the corset. On her legs she wore calf length boots with a metal spike heel. In her hand she carried a velvety blood red rose.

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