“No!” The two panthers turned in unison, without consulting each other, towards me, abruptly rejecting my suggestion that the three of them dominate women or men. That said it all. I had no choice but to remain silent. A complicity was forming between the blonde and the brunette, the pale and the dark-skinned, in the middle of the lunch I had organized to bring together these two free and beautiful, wild and sensual women who were destined to meet. I don't remember the rest of the meal. Except that I must have mentioned to them that I had never been submissive and never would be, but submissive, certainly, and also a bit of a whore.
Some time later, I received a message from A., my dear partner in many years of exploring the
A. spends a long time applying my makeup so I'll be the most beautiful, breathtakingly beautiful for the men waiting for me. I put on my earrings, their weight finally making me feel my femininity. We take a taxi. A. spreads my thighs, lifts my dress so the driver can admire the tops of my stockings, my garters, and even my indecent crotch. He sees our fingers intertwine. What does he imagine? I see him caressing his enormous cock. What if A. offered to let me suck him? Maybe, on the way back, M. would come back with
The door opens. We descend the steep staircase. Mr. greets us. A. and Mr. kiss, already complicit. Mr. examines me. Finds me to his liking. Then comes a series of ultimately rather grotesque scenes where I am whipped, my breasts groped. I see this beaten girl asking if it's going to last much longer, in the tone one uses to order a drink at the counter of a suburban bistro. Later, Mr. will examine her pubic hair like a horse trader would a heifer. (Twenty-four hours later, the image of this bestialized young woman
M. and A. tried everything to arouse some desire in the men present to be sucked off by me or to have sex with me. They put me on sale, simulating fellatio to show off my abilities. No reaction. The three of us were desperate. (Here, two thoughts. First, A. and I went to a transvestite club a few months ago. Like a real slut, I threw myself on every cock that came within reach of my mouth. Was it my overly obvious sexual voracity? But I only found one—and not the most impressive—that was erect enough for me to enjoy the process. Second: why is it normal, even recommended, in these clubs to see two women making out, but on the other hand, is it strictly unacceptable for two men to suck or fuck each other?)
So, we laugh heartily. It's a pleasure—even a perversion—to laugh in this place seemingly dedicated to tears and lamentations. Is it this laughter that liberates? Then come several moments that feel like a beautiful ascent toward what, in my opinion, is the essence of BDSM: pushing the boundaries. As a little girl provocation, I point out that the submissive's feet are dirty. A. and M. naturally ask me to clean them with my tongue, protruding from my ass.
A man ties my wrists to a ring fixed to the ceiling. With my arms outstretched, I complacently display myself to the heavy gazes of the men present (I love to show off, hence this acrid pleasure of taking taxis as a lost girl, or, as I did a few years ago, having sex in a Spanish church).
A. fisted me for a long time, a mixture of pain and pleasure. She plunged her bare fingers into my intimacy, literally and figuratively.
M., who pees at length, floods my mouth and my body. Its musky taste, like a high-end perfume. M., who lets me caress her round belly, her pretty buttocks (My tongue searched for her clitoris, but, despite her willingness to offer herself, I couldn't find it. I was discovering her).
A. positions herself behind me to restrain my arms. M. hooks her fingers in my throat. She rubs my neck. With her other hand, she squeezes my testicles tightly. I don't feel the pain, which must be intense. I experience intensely what is happening at the moment when Eros and Thanatos
