Fort. Loud and fast, like an assault between two doors.
Brutal my hand against her mouth as I grind the back of her neck and push the gag through her teeth. He tries to escape, my prisoner, to laugh first, but the more my ropes grip him, the less he laughs,
and suddenly he doesn't laugh at all,
he just hurts,
maybe afraid.
« Madame,
I would so like to be your prisoner, that you tie me up and forget me on your floor. »
My prisoner ? Oh yes, with joy, be the prisoner that I throw without regard to the ground to scrutinize your wide-eyed irises in surprise,
your face hidden, distorted by one of my lace panties, a ball gag, multiple rounds of large moving tape,
your body forced into hemp, jute and cellophane, so many superimposed layers that you are unable to undo them at the end of the session, I will have to cut them with construction scissors,
a real torture scene before murder in my living room,
you my prisoner who barely know me but who already trust me,
so for you I check everything, the passage and the tension of my strings,
strain on your joints,
the placement of the adhesive on your mouth and nose,
the warmth of your hands and the color of your forehead,
a knife and two pairs of scissors nearby because these games, at this intensity, this is serious.
– Grmrmrrprpppffff….
My prisoner squirms on the ground, with the haggard look of a man who pulled out a grenade by surprise. I crouch over his upturned chest :
- Something to adjust ?
Denial sign.
- Then shut up.
He lowers his chin, I readjust a rope, " To be, was, chutttt… », I come back to his face, I blind him with my palms. Relaxation is immediate, he lets himself sink in the constraint of shackles. I take a step back to scrutinize it and engrave my work in my brain before putting on music, to hug and rock him,
"You are tearing me apart, you fix me, you operate on my heart,
you deport me, you wide me,
I untie you, you drift me ... "
Arthur H's song begins and ends, I embrace my prisoner like a child or a beautiful love, strokes her wet forehead, pat her temples, nibbles his ears, covers her gag with kisses and her back with caresses in the soft late afternoon light.
His head claims to nestle in the hollow of my bosom as if in all the universe there alone was his place,
a smile,
a suspension,
at this second my prisoner knows all about the density of silence, of the beauty of desire and the poignant richness of abandonment,
"Do you understand that I scrape your diapers to the bone becausea part of me do not play ? »
But instead of these words I tell her the worst, what we die of, it is not the feelings but the abandonment, and instead of abandoning him like he asked me to be here, so close in this intimate game, a game that is not, which strips us to the core and looks so much like love.
I also tell him that he is sublime abandonment and that to be so vulnerable in front of me, hampered, tied up, muffled, it's already,
Yes,
agree to let yourself be loved.
He nods his chin, vigorously.
But what did he say in his last email, already ? Ah yes, I remember :
"In session, have no mercy or pity on me. No emotional, Madame. »
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© Madame Lule, cannot be used, in whole or in part, without my permission.
Photo by Alice de Montparnasse.
