Archives mensuelles de mars, 2011

Je viens de mettre en ligne une suite de mon roman bdsm Un emploi d’été.

Vous trouverez ici le chapitre 2: « Un bel objet ».

Bonne lecture!

Publicités

Three years in a row I had been at that kinky event, and three years in a row I had contemplated it. I had seen it being carries around the room, depending on the needs of the other participants, I had seen other alluring queer women come in and out of it, I had seen people have sex on it or around it, be spanked, paddled and caned over it, sucking the whole spectrum of cocks through its bars. I had even watched a scene in which a woman had her long thick hair tied to it. Oh, and that extended scene where another woman has been peacefully lying in it almost all night long under the auspice of her sadistically benevolent top. I had been around the room myself, flogged on the table, whipped on the cross, fucked on a rug, and, a couple of times, I had been seen crawling on the floor, on the other end or not of a leather leash, but I had never been put in the cage.

I had looked at it closely and I knew its every details. It was not your regular dog cage, the foldable kind that you can conceal when you have guests coming. This was a dungeon, and the cage felt real, stable, impossible to fold and hide, resolute, definite, extremely appealing. Really, more than a cage, it was a small cell, with strong vertical bars on all sides including the door, and more bars on the top. The particularly attentive maker had even thought of putting a padded purple lining so the little pet or bad girl or slave locked in it could enjoy some comfort. I liked its cold bars and the metallic clunk of its door when it was being shut closed. I craved to be behind… within those bars, on the other side of that heavy door.

So, when my owner asked me what I was fantasising for the play party, I did not miss a beat and immediately replied: “The cage.” The other details did not matter much to me as long as they revolved around the cage. If I remember well, she just smiled and nodded.

So here I was, waiting by the cage. I had run to it the minute it had become available, because in that crowded space I did not want to miss my turn. Now I was waiting for them to come back. Them both, I mean, my owner and my girlfriend who, in this particular world I live in, are not the same woman. They would be two to cage me tonight, and I would watch two sets of feet walking around the cage when lying in it. Provided I did, because I was aware that I had no power over what would happen next. I could just hope that my plea had been heard.

I had expected my two torturers to beat around the bush, so to speak, that is, to leave me unbeaten around the cage for a while. But I guess they both knew how much I craved it, or maybe they craved to see me in it, for the minute they were back, standing next to the cage, with me standing in front of them in my shiny fetish outfit, they told me… to get undress. Or my owner told me and my girlfriend nodded in agreement. To take off my fishnet shirt, to remove my leather chest harness, to let go of the black kilt, to lower my black panties and pass them over my boots. Those I was to keep. And then, without further ado beside putting a bit in my mouth and buckling it behind my head, oh, and putting a collar around my neck, they ordered me on my knees and told me to crawl into the cage.

The cage was small but could accommodate my whole body. Standing on my hands and knees, I had my head touching one end when the door closed on my feet. But suddenly, it was like the whole world was obliterated, muffled by the bars of the cage. I felt as comfortable as I my moves were restricted, and as I was aware that they could, at any moment, slide their arms and feet and toys through the bars and that there would be nothing I could do to escape their caresses or their strokes. I was theirs, in the space of that cage more than anywhere else. Their drooling captive little thing to use, to beat, to fondle, and to neglect if they so felt inclined. And all along the way I trusted them to use, beat, fondle and even leave me waiting me just the way I needed it which is always my owner’s ways. I could only moan and make indistinct sounds because of the bit that was gagging me.

Everything, from the cage, felt blurred, but I have flashes of vivid memories. I remember a flogger, through the bars of the cage, that I received on my back, on my ass, both soft and harsh strokes, both leather caresses and bites that made me moan and wiggle and scream and want to move away from the pain—but of course there was no way out and I knew I had to send my body back towards the lashes. I recall a foot in the cage, my owner’s, under my lips, that I kissed and licked and would have kissed and licked forever, my nostrils close to the leathery smell of her boot, my drooling mouth making it wet. I have various memories of hands on me with no possibility for me to evade then—had I wished to. And between the fondling and the whipping and the beating and the more tender caresses, I could feel their kissing and fondling each other outside of the cage, and I had thoughts and images of the two of them fucking over my head, coming in my face as I was lying helpless in the cage.

Eventually, I was told to get out of the cage. When they spread my blanket on the padded lining of the cage, I knew what might be coming. Why would they bother to protect the furniture if that was not against the messy slut they were toying with… Or maybe their juices would drip all over me in the cage? My brain stopped spinning again when they sent me back in the cage on my back.

Being in that new position made me feel even more vulnerable. I was lying on the floor, in the bottom of a cage, with my owner and my girlfriend looking down on me, and they could have walked on me and I could not have escaped. She, my owner, walked on me. She slid a foot between two bars and pressed her boot on my face and on my chest, making my head light under the pain. She stuck a cock in my mouth after taking the bit off. I could watch the two of them kiss and being closed to each other as I lied on the floor. Soon they were sitting on the cage, my girlfriend was pressing her body against my owner’s—in that special world where my girlfriend can top my owner. Then flogging her, flogging me too with each stroke. The leashes were brushing against my bare pussy, sending waves of desires through my body, but all I could do was remain there, helplessly and desperately moving my pelvis back and forth to sooth away the desire and, in fact, only nurturing it.

And then, when I thought I would die of unfulfilled cravings, my owner directed her attention to my cunt. She did not insert her fingers or her hands, she did not use a dildo. No, from outside of the cage, she slid a condom on a stick, her holly pagan walking stick, and shoved the covered end in my cunt. Up to the hilt. And I welcomed it, opening my legs even wider, with my feet on the bars to offer full access to my wet pussy that was and is always hers.

And then commenced the long process of playing with my cunt with the stick, filling it wide and deep, and teasing it with its wooden volume. And all that time, they were kissing and fondling each other, only minding my exposed body to fuck me deeper and deeper, almost matter-of-factly. Also hitting the stick, which sent waves into my cunt, arousing it even more. And suddenly, while I had forgotten almost completely about the crowded space since I had entered the cage, I was suddenly aware of the people around, of all those leatherdykes who could witness what was happening to me, what turned me on. I was there, on my back, with my cunt in the air, being fucked like a—what? A slut? A whore? A dirty bitch that is craving to be filled with anything that comes handy. With the stick inserted between the bars of the cage, which my owner was thrusting in and out of my cunt, bringing me to the verge of coming. And I lied there, whimpering, begging softly to be allowed to come, overwhelmed by the sensations in the midst of my body, contained by the cage. And when I finally heard my owner granting me permission, I came hard with my juice oozing from the tiny interstice between the wood of the stick and the walls of my cunt, and oozing even more when the stick came out of my hole before diving back.

I came for a long time, in pulsing, constant gushes, making the blanket wet and pungent with my fluids. Even when I was ordered out of the cage, still on the blanket, I came holding my owner’s leg with mines, my pussy rubbing against her shin, feeling more than ever like her bitch in heat, shameless. Only because I am also a reasonable girl and knew she had to leave did I stop coming.

I was left in good hands, in the arms of my sweet girlfriend, who held in her hand the collar that, at some point, I did not remember when, had been removed from my neck. On the couch I sat with her, for a long time, my thoughts still a bit foggy, still sighting the now empty cage from the corner of my eyes, wondering when I would have a chance to go back between its bars.