Date: Fri, 3 Oct 2003 17:38:24 -0700 (PDT)
From: Sandra <alessandratamino@yahoo.com>
Subject: Alessandra's Atonement: Part 1

Alessandra's Atonement: Part 1

By

Alessandra Tamino
(alessandratamino@yahoo.com)


Disclaimer: This is a continuation of the series begun
with Alessandra's Awakening, and represents a
fictionalized account of my experiences. This is NOT
intended for minors or those who find graphic lesbian
experiences repugnant.  Please email me with feedback!
Part 2 will end the series.

Thanks to C. for her lustful inspiration!


Part 1


Melissa greeted me at the airport, all smiles and
casual sensuality.  I was ridden with guilt and
simultaneously immersed in memories of my time with
Lyn, and it all felt so awkward.  On the ride back to
my flat I gazed dreamily as Melissa drove, and could
barely muster a polysyllabic response to Melissa's
inquiries.

"Traveling really tires you, I guess," she overkindly
remarked.

"Yeah, it's grueling."

"Or maybe you're so tired because you met some wild
gal out there!" she laughed.

I inwardly cringed, but joined in her laughter.

"Yeah, right, sleepless in Seattle."

When we got to my apartment she folded me in her arms
and began to kiss me.  I had to fake a response, so
removed I felt from her, so overtaken by Lyn's
lingering aura and the excitement that I realized had
not been a part of my life for months.  In the middle
of the kiss Melissa seemed to stiffen.  She pulled her
head away and looked me quizzically in the eye.

"Who is she?" she demanded.

"Who's who?" I replied.

"Don't play games, Sandra, I can taste her, I can
smell her cunt from your mouth."

She glowered at me but I continued to feign innocence.

"Fuck you, you unfaithful bitch.  I thought you were
for real."

"Melissa," I said, " listen, it wasn't what you
think..."

She had gone and I was too disinterested to follow or
to beg.  The images of Lyn's beautiful long legs and
delicious cunt and  the sound of her irresistible
voice lulled me into a kind of stupor and reignited my
passion. Melissa's physical beauty -- which was
considerable -- at this moment exerted no influence.  I
began to regard her affection for me as cloying, her
courtesy as boring, her love as constricting. Let her
go if she wished.

Far from being tired, I was energized.  I stripped and
showered and luxuriated in my bed but was too restless
to sleep.  I rose and gazed at my naked form in the
mirror: I liked what I saw, liked the obvious slut who
would submit herself to a young and beautiful stranger
so readily.  Was this a sickness or a healthy
rebellion?

I pinched my nipples and felt my cunt start to warm. I
retrieved my vibrator and returned to the bed and
coaxed it into my pussy and gave in to the partial
relief it brought.

Several days went by and I had yet to hear from
Melissa. I was frankly surprised; even though my ardor
had cooled, I didn't think our rift was unmendable.
After a week I decided to take the high road and call
her: I got her answering machine and left a message
suggesting dinner. No response.  I emailed her.  No
reply.  I called again, and again heard nothing.   She
had dropped out of my life as quickly as she had
dropped in with Joann.  I admitted my error, admitted
to myself that I had behaved atrociously to a person
who seemed to love me, but I refused to renounce the
secret tryst that had spoken so deeply to my innermost
needs.

So I now found myself consumed by the same desperate
yearning that had led me to taste the glories of
submission, that led me to the fateful meeting with
Jennifer and Melissa, consumed but alone.


A month passed with no word from Melissa -- or Lyn, who
had my email and phone number.  I was growing frantic,
cursing myself for my folly.  How could I have
destroyed something so good in pursuit of an illusion?
It had become harder and harder to cling to those
moments with Lyn, intense and unique and breathtaking
as they were, for sustenance.  I was back where I was
when I first placed the ad that introduced me to my
new world -- the new world that was crumbling around me
-- only worse, because I had tasted possibilities and
could never return to the grey routine of the past.
My friends' company became far less appealing, filled
as it was with petty concerns and predictable
pleasures.

I half-thought of dating some of the many men who
approached me, until I came to my senses.   Then one
Saturday night I could restrain myself no longer and
decided to take a risk.

Dressing seductively in my maryjanes and clinging
skirt I prepared to visit a new lesbian club, a
different one, one with a raunchier reputation than
the last, ready for anything.  Just before I left my
apartment I gave myself a once-over in the mirror:
lipstick and eye-shadow added to my vampish feminine
allure (if I could only meet my double!) -- but
something was missing.  I smiled mischievously as I
affixed my collar: this was sure to drive a few of the
dykes wild.

I wasn't at the bar for minute when a tall dark
hard-looking tattooed bitch sidled up to me.  She
provocatively took my glass of wine and drank it down
in a gulp.

"Thanks, cunt" she said.  "Get me another."

I motioned to the barmistress and ordered two more
glasses.

"That's a good slut."

We sipped the wine and I began to feel that
nearly-lost  thrill of lust and danger.  The bitch was
hardly feminine, but not unattractive.  Her breasts
were full and the inviting cleft between her legs was
already becoming dark with moisture.  Without saying a
word she drew a chain from the pocket of her leather
jacket and clipped it to my collar. Pulling on it she
brought my mouth to hers and bit my lip savagely and
said:

"Follow me, cunt."

I obeyed and she led me downstairs past the eyes of
dozens of curious onlookers.  I was brought into one
of several rooms on the lower level.  It was dark,
carpeted, and strewn with large pillows.  On one of
the two sofas sat two women kissing and fondling, and
on the other lay another, naked from the waist down,
fingering herself casually.  They all looked up when I
entered and my bitch proclaimed:

"Hey girls, fresh meat!"

For the next 3 hours I sank to the nadir of
degradation.  I was treated brutally: my hair was
pulled, I was slapped, pushed, cursed, spat on, toyed
with, dragged from one pussy to another.  If I paused
for breath my face was shoved back into a cunt or ass
and I was spanked with ferocity.  Each of the four
women, after I had licked their pussies into orgasm,
after I had slathered their asses with my tongue, took
turns with their strap-ons, fucking me relentlessly in
both ass and cunt, forcing me to lick their dildoes
and repeating it as I crawled on my hands and knees to
another waiting crotch.  I was exhausted, spent -- but
they weren't through with me yet.  Two of them lifted
me and held me aloft while two others impaled my cunt
and nether canal with their pseudo-cocks.  I came out
of sheer desperation and they left me slumped on the
floor like a discarded rag.

There had been neither elegance nor suspense, but I
derived some measure of benefit by interpreting the
whole scenario as a fitting punishment for my
unconscionable behavior towards Melissa, towards
myself.  It was nearly 5 AM when I managed to get home
and throw myself into the transient comfort of sleep.
It took the entire Sunday to recover.

Yet each week I returned for more, driven by a force
beyond my control. I developed quite a reputation at
the club: a do-anything slut. One night I was forced
to strip at the bar and was given a `demonstration
whipping' for the clientele.  I typically followed the
first girl who approached me, meekly submitting to
strange requests in the private rooms.  Occasionally
I'd see another submissive slut.  Bets were taken on
who would come first.  Once I was made to lick another
sub's cunt and instructed to make her come as quickly
as possible; she on the other hand was commanded not
to come at all, and inevitably we'd both be abused
further for our transgressions.  It was thoroughly
disgusting, yet I couldn't stop: this was, after all,
just what I deserved, wasn't it?

On my seventh or eighth foray -- I had begun to lose
count -- I half-recognized a figure at the bar, someone
I thought I saw there occasionally.  She was
approximately my height, with fine light hair that
hung just above her shoulders, slim, dressed smartly
in a business suit, obviously a professional of some
sort.

"Why are you wasting yourself on this trash?," she
said in a clipped British accent.

I turned to look at her.  She had the most engagingly
sensuous eyes and bright inviting smile.

"What's it to you,?" I replied haughtily.

She laid her lovely hand on mine and said:

"I hate to see a good slut like you squandered on
swine like them."

She moved her face very close to mine:

"Discipline and submission require respect, artistry,
and intelligence."

As I gazed into her eyes I recognized the truth of her
utterance and decided on the spot that I had paid
penance enough.

"Well," I murmured, my defences crumbling, "why don't
you show me?"  I was pleading and on the verge of
tears.

"I'd love to, honey, but first let's introduce
ourselves.  I'm Claire."

She extended her hand and I brought it to my lips and
kissed the tender inward of her palm.

"And you?" she inquired.

"Bond," I replied in my best British English, "Sandra
Bond."

She laughed and wrapping an arm around my waist
delivered me from the quicksand hell of my making.

We arrived at my flat and as we entered I had a longer
and clearer look at Claire: she was both finely toned
and strong.  Her face was far from classically
beautiful, but it shone with the light of intelligence
and fine sensuality.  Her dark eyes fascinated and her
mouth, with its thin determined lips, moistly
beckoned.  I threw myself into her arms and she
allowed me to kiss her full on the lips, and returned
my kiss with passionate vigor.  I slid to my knees,
utterly overcome, utterly grateful: the craziness of
the past two months had taken a terrible toll and I
was fragile beyond knowing.

Claire undressed herself slowly and seductively for
me. How I heaved with excitement as I saw revealed her
small pert breasts, her taut thighs, the closely
cropped blond pussy with its soft exposed pink slit..

"Now, Sandra, my little slut, take off your dress."

I pulled it over my head.  My nipples were rigid and
my cunt wet and aromatic.

"A proper mistress should know every inch of her
slut's body," she said as she walked around me in
appraisal.

"You are very lovely, very beautiful, far more
beautiful than I."

"Oh, no, mistress," I interrupted.

"Silence!  Who gave you permission to speak to me
unbidden?"

She bent me over and pushed my head to the floor.  She
ran a finger down my spine making me shudder, and then
SMACK!  A sharp blow on my right buttock.

"Oh," I whimpered.

SMACK!  An even harder blow on the same side making me
burn.

"I see you've not been properly trained," said Claire.


She drew her fingers along my cunt and brought them to
my mouth.  I sucked voraciously.

"Good girl," she cooed.  "Now show me to your bed."

I instinctively made to rise but Claire forced my head
down again.

"On your knees, cunt, unless I tell you otherwise."

I crawled to my bedroom as she followed behind.


(To be concluded....)