Sweet Gwendoline Ch. 11

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Eventually Doctor Riemen gave me permission to get up from my hands and knees. I was given the box that contained my personal effects and allowed to get dressed.

It felt weird getting dressed in the main lobby, with the receptionist, and other Vineyard employees watching me, but the Vineyard is a strange place. They don’t follow the same rules that we’re taught to follow in polite society. They target submissive people like me, and set up rules to humiliate us, degrade us, subject us to strict discipline and cruel punishments.

“How does it feel to wear clothes again, darling?” Christina asked, and I had to admit it felt odd. I had put on my bra and panties first, and was only slightly clothed, but even the tiny garments I was wearing made me feel different. The Vineyard had made me feel like being a naked slave-girl was my natural state of being. My polyester/spandex panties covered up my vulva and at least made a valiant attempt to cover up my buttocks. My bra completely covered up my nipples, and at least partially covered up my breasts. It somehow felt wrong to wear clothes. I felt like I was breaking the rules somehow by covering up my naughty bits.

“It feels wrong somehow,” I said to my mistress, “It feels like I’m violating the rules by not being naked.”

“Does that sound crazy?” I asked as I retrieved my dress shirt from the box and slid my arms into each sleeve.

“Not at all, dear,” Christina’s Aunt Ruth replied, “You’re merely embracing your submissive identity. Submissives ought to never wear clothing. Sadly, we live in a society that doesn’t permit submissives to display their true selves in public.”

I continued to get dressed, and when I was finished, the ninja-photographer showed up, dashing across the lobby, and calling out my name, “Ms. Schön! Ms. Schön! Don’t leave just yet,” she called out.

The ninja-photographer was an impressive sprinter. Her feet barely even seemed to touch the ground as she flew across the lobby. She was graceful and fast on her feet. I’ll bet she was on the track team in high school.

I froze in place and made eye-contact with her. As a submissive, I was naturally inclined to follow orders, so when she told me not to leave, I did my best to make it obvious I was doing exactly what she had told me to do.

She stopped all forward momentum when she was standing in front of me, and then she held up a manila folder.

“I finished processing your photos, and they got your membership ID finished,” she explained, “I thought it’d be a good idea if you had it before you left the building.”

I took the folder, looked her in the eye and said, “Thank you, Vivian.”

I was really grateful I finally managed to remember her name. Calling her ninja-photographer would have just sounded childish.

I fished my ID card out of the envelope. It had my name, my date of birth, my membership number, my inmate number, and a photo of my face. It said MEMBERSHIP CARD, up near the top, but didn’t elaborate anywhere on the card as to what club I was a member of. It also didn’t list the Vineyard’s address. Apparently, they were very serious about keeping the existence of the Vineyard a secret.

“Congratulations,” Christina said, “You’re now a card-carrying submissive. You can’t get much more official than that.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Christina drove me back home and I staggered into my apartment building. I was emotionally and physically exhausted from my first visit to the Vineyard and wondered how well I would be able to function if Christina kept taking me there.

Julie’s energy was a sharp contrast to my emotional and physical exhaustion. She was like a tree squirrel on a double-espresso caffeine high.

“Gwen, you’re home,” Julie enthused, rushing over and giving me a hug before I had even made it three feet into our apartment, “I have great news!”

“Um, okay,” I said uncertainly, “What news?”

“Lyndsay has invited both of us over to her place for a sleepover,” Julie gushed, “You need to get dressed. Oh, wait, you’re already dressed. Are you ready to go? You look like you’re ready.”

“Julie, you do realize that I’m twenty-one years old, right?” I asked my roommate, “A sleepover is something girls do when they’re between the ages of eight and eighteen.”

Julie took two steps back and gestured emphatically with her hands, “No, the definitions have changed,” Julie insisted, “Nowadays when you invite somebody to your house for a sleepover, it means that you’re inviting them over for sex, and it usually means sex with multiple partners.”

I raised a single eyebrow, and said, “I think the word you want to use is orgy.”

“Orgy?” Julie said, aghast, “No! That’s archaic language! You sound like you’re stuck in the 1970s! Nowadays, an all-night sex get-together is referred to as a sleepover.”

I was too tired to argue with her.

“Okay, Julie,” I said to my roommate, “I apologize for çankaya escort being behind on the linguistic rules. A sleepover is totally what adults do when they want to invite other adults over to their house for sex.”

Julie smiled triumphantly and added, “And Lyndsay has invited both of us over to her house for a sleepover! This may just be the best weekend ever!”

Actually, Lyndsay is an exceptional sex-partner. She’s younger than I am, but her skill at cunnilingus is extraordinary. She has the sort of skill that you’d expect would take decades of practice to achieve. I don’t know how she got so good at it, at such a young age, but she was extraordinary. The only reason I was so lacking in enthusiasm was the fact that I was utterly exhausted.

“We’ll take my car,” Julie said, finally noticing my lack of energy, “You don’t look very pumped right now. In fact, you look like you might fall asleep behind the wheel, so it’d probably be better if I drive.”

I allowed myself to be led, and permitted Julie to drop my tired ass into the passenger seat of her impeccably clean Volkswagen GTI. I swear Julie must have some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder when it comes to cleaning. She’d been driving the same car for over three years now, and it was so uncluttered and spotless, it looked like she’d just driven it off of the dealership parking lot.

“Buckle up, Sweetheart,” Julie said cheerfully as she sat in the driver’s seat and started the engine, “If we get into an accident, I don’t want you flying through the windshield.”

I buckled my seatbelt, and it wasn’t until about three or four miles later that I realized that Julie had called me Sweetheart. I had known Julie for years, and she had never called me anything other than Gwen. So, now after having sex with me just once, she was calling me affectionate pet names? Julie and I weren’t supposed to be falling in love with each other. We were just supposed to be friends and temporary fuck-buddies until she and Gabriel got married. Was Julie not sticking to the plan?

Since Lyndsay and her mother live in the wealthy section of Fairhaven, we couldn’t just drive up to their front door. Julie and I were stopped at a 10-foot tall gate and had to push a button and ask somebody to buzz the gate open. Dasha answered, and immediately recognized my voice. She knew that I was good friends with both Lyndsay and Lyndsay’s mother, so I got buzzed in immediately.

“Who’s Dasha?” Julie asked as we drove through the gate.

“Household servant,” I replied, “Sort of like a maid. She lives there with Lyndsay and her mom.”

“Live-in servants?” Julie asked, “That’s posh. Just how much money do Lyndsay and her mother have?”

I didn’t even want to do the math. Lyndsay’s mom basically owned her own pharmaceutical company. And when you owned a pharmaceutical company, it was basically like having a license to print money. They had far more money than they would ever need.

Dasha was leaving just as Julie and I were arriving. Julie had a chance to exchange a few words with the poker-faced servant, and then Lyndsay enthusiastically greeted both Julie and me.

It was Julie’s first time at Lyndsay’s house, and she wanted the grand tour. Lyndsay gave Julie a hug and agreed to show her every room in the house. Somehow, I felt slighted. I had never gotten the grand tour.

Of course, she showed Julie the Olympic-sized swimming pool. And then she showed her the living room, which was almost certainly larger than my entire apartment. Then there was the laundry room (Julie and I must use a public laundry room down on the lobby level of our apartment building). Lyndsay’s family home also had an entertainment room (with an overhead movie projector and a 240-inch movie screen that retracts into the ceiling). And then there was the exercise room with three elliptical trainers, a balance beam, a Roman chair, horizontal bars for gymnastics and a whole army of foldable exercise mats.

Moving on, the house had a total of five bedrooms, four bathrooms, an attic, an enviable kitchen, equipped with every modern baking, chopping, slicing, blending and frying device I could think of. Then there was the dining room, with a dining room table, capable of seating eight people.

I was starting to get a little bit cranky and resentful at how much more Lyndsay had compared to Julie and me, but after the tour, Lyndsay fed us. I hadn’t had anything to eat all day and I was practically starving. Offering me food was totally the smart move to get me to like her again.

First, there was an extraordinarily delicious soup; with a name that I couldn’t pronounce; served in white, porcelain bowls with gold detailing along the rim. Then there was something called bacon, gruyère and spinach quiche. And finally, there were strawberries & cream torte for dessert.

Oh God, that might just have been the best meal I’ve ever had in my life.

Julie and I both thanked keçiören escort Lyndsay profusely for a wonderful dinner, and Lyndsay replied, “What sort of host would I be if I invited you to a sleepover and didn’t feed you?”

It turns out Dasha did most of the cooking. The dessert was bought from a local grocery store, but Dasha made the soup and the quiche. I had barely noticed Dasha the last time I was here, but I suddenly had a newfound respect for her. She made food fit for the gods.

Lyndsay’s father was in Boston on business, and Lyndsay’s mother was in New York on business. Dasha had been given the rest of the night off, and was out with friends in Westlake Village. This meant that Julie, Lyndsay and I had the entire house to ourselves.

“I showed you how many bedrooms we had earlier,” Julie said cheerfully, “But I never pointed out which one was mine. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

I admired the size and shape of Lyndsay’s ass in her skintight jeans as she led Julie and I upstairs. Julie’s eyes seemed to be glued to Lyndsay’s ass as well. I’m not sure what sort of exercise routine Lyndsay followed, but whatever she did, it had done an admirable job of shaping her ass.

It was almost hypnotic, the way it moved in her skintight jeans as she walked up the stairs. I probably could have watched it for hours, but there was only one flight of stairs to climb, so it didn’t take very long before we were on the same floor as Lyndsay’s bedroom.

“This is my room,” Lyndsay announced proudly, ushering us inside.

It was at least twice the size of my own bedroom, and Lyndsay was lucky enough to have her own private bathroom connected to her bedroom. And her bathroom had a walk-in shower that was big enough, that seven full-grown women could have easily showered in there all at the same time.

There was a 16″ x 20″ framed photo of two attractive Asian women in one-piece bathing suits hanging on the wall near Lyndsay’s computer desk. Neither of the women looked familiar to me, but Lyndsay identified them as Guo Jingjing and Wu Minxia.

“Who?” I asked, not recognizing either of those names.

“They’re athletes,” Lyndsay confided, “From China. They’re both divers, Olympic class divers! They’re totally awesome! And they’ve got the medals to prove it!”

I didn’t really follow sports news, not even Olympics sports news, but Julie knew both of those names and shared in Lyndsay’s enthusiasm. Julie watched the Summer Olympics every four years and was especially interested in the diving competition. She had many athletes that she rooted for, and apparently, Guo and Wu couldn’t be any more awesome if they walked on water.

Lyndsay stopped gushing about Chinese athletes, and got to the part where she pointed out her bed. She had a California king size bed, which is huge. It was easily large enough for all three of us to comfortably sleep on at the same time…not that any of us were planning on doing any sleeping, any time soon.

“Of course, I keep all my sex toys under the bed,” Lyndsay confided in Julie and me, “Isn’t that where all American females keep their sex toys?”

“Um,” I said, not sure how to respond. I didn’t, own any sex toys. Was I supposed to own sex toys? Lyndsay made it sound like a rule, or something.

“I wanna see,” Julie said enthusiastically, and Lyndsay obligingly pulled out two boxes of toys from underneath her bed.

The first item Lyndsay pulled out from her collection of sex toys was something I’d never seen before. In appearance, it was mostly a sleek, shiny, tube-shaped aluminum titanium thing, with a round thing on one end. It looked almost exactly like an old-fashioned microphone.

“It’s called a Doxy wand,” Lyndsay explained, “You turn it on and press the round part up against your clit. The round part is made or silicone, so it feels almost organic, and it vibrates at ten different settings, with the absolute most insane setting at an extraordinary nine-thousands RPMs! Of course, if nine thousand RPMs is too much for you, you can turn the intensity down, until you find a setting that you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh my God,” Julie exclaimed loudly, and she turned it on and began playing with the settings. At its highest rev, it sounded like an army of angry hornets coming to attack us. Julie’s eyes went wide, and the manic smile on her face told me she wouldn’t leave this place until she had the chance to feel what it was like to have that thing used on her.

Lyndsay also had an 18″ long PVC double-sided dildo that would allow two women to be fucked with it at the same time.

Lyndsay also had a mini-travel-vibe, that was much smaller than her Doxy wand, but it still had six speeds and six rhythms, and was also made with medical-grade silicone, so it felt almost organic as a woman pressed the tip of it up against her clit.

“If you’re traveling,” Lyndsay confided, “You don’t want to take anything as big as the Doxy etimesgut escort wand or the two-sided dildo through airport security. When those things show up on their x-ray machines, it can be embarrassing and make those damn annoying TSA people do a double-take and spend extra time going through your luggage, but the mini-vibe is so small you can easily carry it in your purse.”

Of course, things just got kinkier as we went through Lyndsay’s collection of sex toys. She had ropes, a clip-on leash, stainless-steel handcuffs, leather wrist cuffs and ankle cuffs. She also had two spreader bars, a ball-gag, nipple clamps and a high, leather slave collar with leather wrist restraints attached to it by two short chains.

“You’re into bondage?” Julie asked, sounding surprised and curious, but not alarmed. I was afraid that Lyndsay was about to throw me underneath the bus, and out me to Julie, as being a totally into bondage and harsh discipline. I held my breath and could feel my heart pounding painfully in my chest while Julie and I awaited Lyndsay’s response, but Lyndsay played it totally cool and kept my BDSM secrets from my roommate.

“Sort of,” Julie replied, “I’ve had lots of girlfriends before I met Gwen, and some of them were really into bondage. According to them the sense of helplessness and loss of control made caused them to become more aware of the need in their loins, and all their attention was automatically forced to focus on their libido. Their sexual nature came much more brutally to the surface and their orgasms were much more intense.”

“Seriously?” Julie asked.

“Seriously,” Lyndsay confirmed.

Then, taking things to the next level, Lyndsay looked Julie seductively in the eyes, and asked, “Would you like to be tied up and see how it works?”

“Oh, no,” Julie protested, holding up her hands in a defensive gesture, “I’m a big scaredy-cat when it comes to stuff like that. I’d be scared to death of the handcuff keys getting lost or something. I’d be panicking from the very first moment I heard the handcuffs click, as they were tightened around my wrists.”

It was weird, but I felt much the same way that Julie did. There was a sense of panic when I lost my freedom and became helpless, but that was part of the fun. Being helpless, vulnerable and at the mercy of another woman, gave me a huge thrill that made my loins throb a with shameless, wanton, libidinous heat.

“How about you, Gwen?” Lyndsay asked me, “I promise I won’t lose any keys.”

Lyndsay smiled at me with a smile that was both friendly and wicked. She knew I craved bondage and helplessness, and she was giving me an opportunity to get bound and helpless and pretend like I was a bondage virgin, in front of Julie. It would make me seem more innocent and less freakish, but still allow me to have bondage fun.

“I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound awkward, and unaccustomed to being tied up, “Which of these bondage toys were you planning on using on me?”

“What do you think, Julie?” Lyndsay asked, turning to my roommate, “Which of these bondage toys do you think would be good for a bondage beginner?”

“I get to choose?” Julie asked, and her eyes lit up. She seemed utterly shocked that the decision was up to her, but Lyndsay apparently thought it would be more fun to put my innocent, companionable friend in charge of making me bound and helpless.

“You’re Gwen’s best friend,” Lyndsay explained, “You’d never let anything bad happen to her. If you’re in charge of the bondage toys, we all know Gwen will be safe.”

Julie looked to me for confirmation and I nodded my head with agreement. Julie squealed with a sound of girlish delight and began sorting through the box of sex toys.

“Not this, and not this,” Julie said immediately setting aside the nipple clamps and the handcuffs, “And probably not this either,” she said as she set aside the ball-gag.

But then she picked up the leather collar with the leather wrist restraints attached by two stainless-steel chains.

“This has possibilities,” Julie said.

Then she looked me in the eye and said, “Gwen, take your clothes off. I wanna see what you look like with this on.”


Julie had seen me naked before plenty of times, but to strip naked in front of her, so she could try out bondage gear on me, it seemed like a whole different kind of naked. It was taking Julie out of the best-friend zone and putting her into a darker, kinkier category.

Julie still looked and sounded innocent as a Snow White, but she was drifting into the sort of territory where Snow White should never go. This was going to change things between us, I just knew it.

Right or wrong, I did as Julie said. First, I divested myself of my tweed blazer and my high-heeled shoes. Then I unzipped my tweed skirt and dropped that on Lyndsay’s bed, right on top of the tweed blazer. Next, I unbuttoned my dress-shirt and shrugged out of that. Then I rolled down my stockings and took those off as well.

Lyndsay hugged Julie, smiled with delight and said, “I just love this part. It’s like watching as a Christmas present is being unwrapped.”

“A very beautiful Christmas present,” Julie agreed. They couldn’t hide their prurient interest, and gazed adoringly as I bared more of my body and got closer and closer to total nudity.

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