#presentation

“Turn her around, so we can see her breasts and sex.”

Hands turned Verona around, and the heat of the fire was against her back. A hand seized one of her breasts, a mouth fastened on the tip of the other. Suddenly Verona lost her balance and almost fell backward, but someone caught her. Then her legs were opened, and her lower lips gently spread. She thought – no expected that – she might be fondled, but no. Instead, she heard them saying that they would have to make her kneel down. This they did. She was extremely uncomfortable in this position, especially because they forbade her to bring her knees together and because her arms pinioned behind her forced her to lean forward.

A voice asked, “You’ve never been tied up like this? Not by any of your lovers?”

“No, never,” answered Verona, summoning all the courage she could muster.

"And you’ve never been whipped?”

Terrified at the thought, Verona did not answer.

“Answer me,” said a voice in a firm manner.

“No,” Verona finally stuttered.

“But you have fantasized about it. Fantasized about being bound and whipped.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement.

Verona said nothing. Then she felt a hand grab at her sex and a finger being thrust into her. A voice – another voice from the one questioning her- said, “No need to answer. She’s wet already!”

Verona felt flushed behind her blindfold as she heard several voices laughing.

“As a matter of fact,” the first voice went on, “if you are tied up from time to time, or whipped just a little, and you begin to like it, that’s no good either. You have to get past the pleasure stage, until you reach the stage of tears. And eventually you will grow to desire that also.”

Then they made Verona get up and someone said that he wanted to take her right then and there. So, they made her kneel down again, this time across an ottoman, with her hands still tied behind her, so that her hips were higher than her torso. Then one of the men, holding her with both his hands on her hips, plunged into her. It did not take him long. He yielded to a second. Another wanted to force his way into Verona’s rear passage and, driving hard, made her scream, “No! No! It hurts! Please no!”. But the man did not stop until he reached his pleasure in her. When he let her go, she was sobbing and befouled by tears beneath her blindfold. She slipped to the floor, only to feel someone’s knees against her face, hands pulling her head and a voice saying, “Open up. Caress me with your mouth.”

And Verona did.

Having escorted Marloes into the room, Eurydice unclipped the cape from the collar around her neck and removed it. Then she and Nena stepped aside. They were about to leave when one of the men said, “No. You two stay and watch. Perhaps it will bring back fond memories for you.” Marloes heard the man who had said this laugh out loud at his little joke. No longer was she the self-assured and confident prostitute that had agreed to come to Roissy. Instead, she felt the cold sweat of fear beginning to run from beneath her arms.

Marloes stood there, now completely nude. Someone told her to walk forward – blindfolded, she stumbled slightly as she went - until she felt that she was standing in front of the fire around which several men were seated: she could feel the heat, and in the silence, she could hear the quiet crackling of the burning logs. She was facing the fire. Two hands checked to see that her bracelets were attached -then they descended the length of her back and buttocks. The hands were not gloved, and one of them penetrated her in both places at once, so abruptly that Marloes cried out. Someone laughed. Someone else said:

“Turn her around, so we can see the breasts and the sex.”

They turned her around, and the heat of the fire was against her back. A hand seized one of her nipples, a mouth fastened on the tip of the other. Marloes lost her balance and nearly fell backward, while they opened her legs and gently spread her lower lips. “nice! The pubic hair has been completely removed,” she heard a voice say. Another voice said that they would have to make her kneel down.

Then someone protested that he wanted to take her, right there on the spot. So, they moved Marloes so that her bust was on an ottoman, her hands still tied behind her, with her hips higher than her torso. Then one of the men, holding her with both his hands on her hips, plunged into her sex. He yielded to a second. The third wanted to force his way into the narrower passage and, driving hard, made her scream. Marloes was used to men taking her, but not like this. When he let her go, sobbing and befouled by tears beneath her blindfold, she slipped to the floor, only to feel someone’s knees against her face, and Marloes realized that her mouth was not to be spared. It did not take the man long. Finally, they let her go. Suddenly they removed her blindfold. Two of the men were standing and smoking. Marloes was sure that one of them was the man who had initially greeted her – the man who was so well endowed. His member was dormant now, but still quite large. Another who was fat and older was seated, a riding crop on his knees, and the one leaning over her fondling her breast was Rene, one of the men who had brought her to Roissy. All four of them had taken her, and she had not been able to distinguish him from the others.

Rene helped her to her feet and made her sit down on the arm of an easy chair near the fire. Her hands were still behind her back. They showed her the riding crop, which was long, black, and delicate, made of thin bamboo encased in leather, the kind one sees in the windows of better riding equipment shops; the leather whip, which the first man she had seen had been carrying in his belt, was long and consisted of six lashes knotted at the end. There was a third whip of fairly thin cords, each with several knots at the end: the cords were quite stiff, as though they had been soaked in water, which in fact they had, as Marloes discovered, for they caressed her belly with them and nudged open her thighs, so that she could feel how stiff and damp the cords were against the tender, lower lips of her sex.

Along one entire wall of the library, halfway between floor and ceiling, ran a gallery which was supported by two columns. A hook was imbedded in one of them, just high enough for a man standing on tiptoe, with his arms stretched above his head, to reach. The well-endowed man told Marloes, supporting her shoulders, and the other in the furrow of her sex, which burned so she could hardly bear it, told her that her hands would be untied, but merely so that they could be fastened anew, a short while later, to the pole, using these same bracelets and one of the steel chains. They said that, with the exception of her hands, which would be held just above her head, she would thus be able to move and see the blows coming. A man told Marloes that she would not have to endure all this at once; there would be ample time for her to scream, to struggle, and to cry. They would grant her some respite, but as soon as she had caught her breath they would start in again, judging the results not from her screams or tears but from the size and color of the welts they had raised. They remarked to her that this method of judging the effectiveness of the whip - besides being equitable - also made it pointless for the victims to exaggerate their suffering in an effort to arouse pity.

Rene said to the other men, “On the way here, she told me that no man had ever made her cry!” This statement was greeted by several laughs. One replied, “She will not only cry; she will beg for us to stop.” All the men wanted to hear her scream; and the sooner the better.

The pride Marloes mustered to resist and remain silent did not long endure. The men even heard her beg them to untie her, to stop for a second, just for a second. Of course, they did not, but instead continued to flog her. Soon her belly and the front of Marloes’ thighs were almost as marked as her rear. Suddenly there was a respite. Rene came over and took Marloes’ tear streaked face in his hand. He lifted it up and said, “Where is that hard armour that you displayed in the car coming here? I thought you said no man could make you cry and yet here you are – sobbing and begging for us to stop.” He then pointed out that whip made of water-soaked cords marked almost upon contact providing bright red welts. The well-endowed man seemed to especially delight in using it to mark her lower belly. Marloes noticed that he again had a swollen erection as did Rene.

After several minutes, the men must have tired because one of them undid Marloes from the chain that held her to the post. She collapsed onto the floor.

As she lay there Rene came over and smiled, calling her by her name. Softly her caressed her hair, smoothed her eyebrows with the tip of his finger, and bending down softly kissed her on the lips. In a loud voice, he told her “You have done well. But there is one more thing you must do. You’re going to kneel, caress old Cyril’s sex.“

The three men approached. Marloes knelt on the rug in front of the over-stuffed easy chair where the older man sat. She was still naked, her breasts whose nipples were erect, were at the level of old Cyril’s knees. She looked at his dormant, drooping sex.

"A little more light,” said one of the men. As they were adjusting the lamp so that the beam of light would fall directly on Cyril’s sex and on Marloes’ face. which was almost touching it, and on her still chained hands with which she began caressing him. René suddenly said: “Say you love it. Say you want it. Say, ‘I love it.’”

Marloes, now thoroughly broken and trying to raise an erection from the old man’s still flaccid member repeated “I love it, I love it.” And Cyril’s member began to rise.

The other three men, commented on her gestures, on the movement of her mouth closed and locked on the sex she had seized, as it worked its way up and down, on the way tears streamed down her ravaged face each time Cyril’s swollen member struck the back of her throat and made her gag, depressing her tongue and causing her to feel nauseous. Cyril grabbed her hair and held her mouth on him as her chained hands massaged his member.

Finally, old Cyril emptied himself into Marloes mouth with a soft moan. Marloes heard it, heard the others laugh. It was her first night at Roissy.

This time they left Emilie alone, a captive clothed only in red cape, lying on her back in front of the fire. She lay there on the cold, stone floor of the library, still blindfolded as mixed thoughts and emotions filled her head. “Now I’ve been completely used. Used in every opening. It’s what Denis said he wanted to see – me having sex with other men. Well, now I have done it. Done it for him. I feel like a slut, a whore. Fucked in the ass. I’m sure ill be sore for days. I had only done that once with Denis, and even though we used a lot of lubricant, it hurt so much I made him stop. And now, I’ve been fucked there by a strange man. I hope Denis is happy.” But on another level of consciousness, Emilie thought, “Who am I kidding? Even though it was Denis’ idea, I went along with it willingly. It sounded exciting and erotic. And truth be told, it was. I was so turned on by the thought of guiltless, anonymous sex. Abstaining the week before, like Gaspar said to do, only added to my sense of anticipation. Yes. Truth be told, I did enjoy it. Best sex EVER. Well, except for the anal part. But I guess a sore butt is a small price for the experience.”

As these thoughts swirled in Emilie’s head, she could hear glasses being filled and the sound of the men drinking, and the scraping of chairs. She heard them putting some more wood on the fire. Suddenly, her blindfold was removed. The large room, the walls of which were lined with bookcases, was dimly lit by a single wall lamp and by the light of the fire, which was beginning to burn more brightly. Emilie blinked and looked around. There were more than a half dozen figures in the room. The two women who had prepared her earlier were standing to the side; they had been joined by another girl, who Emilie had not seen previously. Emilie noted that she, too, was dressed similarly to the other two- a tight dress that left the breasts exposed.

Closer were two men, standing and smoking. Both were masked, as were the other five men Emilie saw in the room. Emilie thought to herself, “Which of these men were the ones that took me?” She looked closer. Their faces were covered from the mouth up, making the faces indistinguishable, but all looked slightly different – hair, build, the way they carried themselves. One was seated, a riding crop on his knees, sending chills through her. The one leaning over her fondling her breast was her lover, Denis. She recognized his touch instantly. Emilie looked up at him and said, “See darling. I did it. I did it for you. I did it because I love you.” Denis smiled beneath the mask and said, “Yes, you did. You were very good. And I love you, too. Very much. But…” His voice trailed off.

It was then that the man who had been seated on the ottoman, the same ottoman where Emilie had been laid across and taken, the man with the riding crop, spoke. “You see, dear girl, what you lover hasn’t told you is that to mark your arrival at Roissy, you are to be whipped. In a moment, we’ll tie you to that support post there in the center of the room and flog you.”

Emilie recognized the voice as the man who had accompanied her in the car on the way to Roissy. She cried out, “Surely, you’re joking!”

But the cold sweat of fear was already forming under her arms.

The unknown man withdrew. Emilie thought it might be over, but she was mistaken. She felt hands on her hips again and heard some muffled conversation. She felt something tapping against her cheek. Then she heard a voice – it sounded familiar. Emilie thought for a moment, then she was sure – Emilie recognized it as Gaspar’s. The voice said, “Open up! Take him in your mouth and caress him.”

Emilie, still blindfolded, obeyed, not quite knowing what to expect. Then she felt a hand on her head and something stiff and hard enter her waiting mouth. She knew in an instant that it was a man’s member. But whose? Gaspar’s voice doesn’t sound like he was all that close. Nevertheless, Emilie closed her lips on the member. The hand on her pushed her head forward. She heard a voice – she couldn’t tell if it were Gaspar this time – say, “Now, suck it. Take all of it in your mouth.”

As Emilie tried to accommodate the request (order?), she felt something else enter her from behind. It was another man entering her vagina. Emilie let out a stifled groan and pushed her hips back to meet the new member entering her. As she did do, she thought, “I must truly be a slut. Here are two men – unknown men- using me at the same time, and I am enjoying – No! - I am loving it. Sex with Denis and Thierry was good, but nothing like this!”

Emilie tried to concentrate on pleasing whoever had his member in her mouth, working her bound hands up and down the shaft, while she alternated swirling her tongue around the tip with sucking. She heard a soft groan and a voice saying, “Oh, that’s Good! Suck it bitch! I want to come in your mouth.”

And as the other man pounded Emilie from the rear, she felt other hands massaging her breasts, rolling her stiff nipples. And then a hand trailing down her belly to her slit. Emilie’s mind raced. “I have always had trouble coming. Even after Denis and I had sex, I would often have to masturbate to reach orgasm. Yet, here I am, about to have a second orgasm in less than fifteen minutes.” And unknown to Emilie, Robert held the video camera only inches away from her face, filming the mouth and hands caressing the member that was thrusting into her.

Instead of answering, Denis instead tightened his grip on the tip of Emilie’s breast that he had been caressing and looked to another of the masked men. When he spoke, Emilie instantly recognized his voice. It was Gaspar. He said, “Emilie, what Eric told you is correct. Being flogged is an integral part of your initiation to Roissy. Remember when you and Denis were at my apartment and I asked you if coming here was truly what you wanted to do, and you said yes…”

Emilie interrupted, saying, “Yes, I said I would come here. Come here and let Denis watch me having sex with other men. Yes, I agreed to that, but not to being flogged. I didn’t agree to that. Tell them, Denis.” Saying this Emilie pushed Denis’ hand away and sat up, covering her breasts with her hand. “Tell them, Denis!”

But Denis was silent. The man with the crop- whose name was evidently Eric- and another of the masked men came to Emilie and taking her by the wrists, lifted her from the floor and guided her to the supporting column in the center of the room where two chains hung from near the top of the column.

Now, Emilie was angry. Angry and frightened. As the men attached the chains to the leather bracelets around Emilie’s wrists, she said, “Denis, don’t let them do this!” Denis didn’t move. Then, “Denis! You son of a bitch! Help! Anyone, help!”

Now Gaspar spoke again, “There is no need for that. No one is going to help you. You are to be whipped and that is all there is to it. You’ll be whipped on that part of your body that had contact with the leather seats in the car. On your buttocks and thighs. A woman is much prettier when she has stripes on her ads. Show her, Jeanne.”

It was at this time that the third woman, the one Emilie had noticed standing in the shadows with Collette and Therese, the women who had bathed Emilie and done her hair and makeup, stepped forward. Gaspar said again, “Jeanne, lift your skirt and show Emilie.” The girl nearly curtsied toward Gaspar, then he bent partly over and lifted the rear of her skirt so Emilie could see. She wasn’t wearing any panties and Emilie saw three or four red stripes across her buttocks. Gaspar said, “You see, Jeanne was flogged a few hours ago. By morning, those stripes will be turning from red to a deep purple. You will be marked in a similar fashion.”

Now a look of resignation started to form on Emilie’s face. Eric and the other man turned Emilie so that her face was to the supporting column and tightened the chains attached to the leather bracelets around Emilie’s wrists, so that she was standing on tip toe. Colette and Therese stepped forward and undid the red cape from the leather collar around her neck and took it away. Once of the men said, “Should we gag her?”

Gaspar said, “No. She can scream all she wants.” Emilie heard the swish of the riding crop. And Robert stepped from the shadows, video camera in hand.

The first man came with a loud groan and withdrew. He yielded to a second. It was easier for Emilie now. The initial pain had passed and the unknown man’s touching her clitoris as he took her, had greatly aroused Emilie, especially since – at Gaspar’s direction – Emilie had abstained from any pleasure the week before being brought to Roissy. “I was so close. So very, very close. Just a moment more and I, too, would have come.”

But now, it was time for the second man. He held Emilie’s hips to steady himself as he plunged into her wet, waiting sex. Emilie, of course, couldn’t really be sure, but she thought this man felt different inside her, that somehow this man was larger. She felt more filled. She thought again to herself, “I always thought I could tell the difference between Denis and Thierry, the mechanic, when they took me, but it was always several hors or even days in between. And I was probably convinced of that because Thierry’s member always looked so large before we had sex.” As the second man fell into his own rhythm, Emilie let out a soft groan. She almost said out loud, “Oh, that’s so good. Now fuck me harder,” but thought better of it. “I remember asking Gaspar if wanting to be with other men made me a nymphomaniac or slut and him saying, ‘If it did, would tat be so bad?’ But I’m sure if I said it out loud and Denis heard it, he would think less of me. Think of me as wanton trash. And I care what he thinks. I really do love him.” Instead, Emilie bit her tongue and let out another groan, louder this time.

The second unknown man released his grip on Emilie’s hips and moved his hands to her rib cage. She heard him say, “Lift up on your elbows. I want to pinch your nipples.”

Emilie gave a startled flinch to her body, thinking, “Dear God! I have heard that voice before. I know that voice! But from where?” Her mind was too clouded with pleasure to think straight, but she did as he said. The man then slipped his left hand under Emilie’s body so that he was able to tease her nipple with his fingers. As he did this, the right hand moved down Emilie’s belly to her sex. It quickly found her slit and at the top, her waiting clitoris, already emerged from its protective sheath. Emilie felt fingers swirling around it, sending small waves of pleasure throughout her body. She began to rock her hips back, grinding against the man’s as his member pounded into her. The fingers of the man’s left hand ceased teasing and instead, began pinching, pulling and twisting Emilie’s engorged nipples.

Then the small waves of pleasure turned into a pounding surf. Emilie’s entire body convulsed, and she cried – out loud this time – “Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh God! Fuck me like the whore I am!”

And as Robert, with the video camera only inches from the still blindfolded Emilie’s face, continued his work, Denis standing nearby felt his own member stiffening.

In the library There were several men having coffee, or was it brandy? Emilie never knew. The men were wearing similar costumes to the other man who had told Collette and Therese to hurry up with Emilie’s preparation – what looked like silk shirts, open to the waist with bellowed sleeves, some sort of tights or leather –like chaps, which covered their legs and thighs but left the sex exposed. At least two wore boots. And of course, masks obscuring their faces.

Emilie was unable to ascertain whether her lover was among them (he was), for one of the men shone a light in her eyes and blinded her. Everyone remained stock still, the two women flanking her and the men in front, studying her. Then the light went out; the women left. But Emilie was blindfolded again. Then they made her walk forward - she stumbled slightly as she went - until she felt that she was standing in front of the fire around which the four men were seated: she could feel the heat, and in the silence, she could hear the quiet crackling of the burning logs. Emilie was facing the fire. Two hands lifted her cape, two others - after having checked to see that her bracelets were attached - descended the length of her back and buttocks. The hands were not gloved, and one of them penetrated her in both places at once, so abruptly that she cried out. Someone laughed. Someone else – Emilie did not recognize the voice - said: “Turn her around, so we can see her breasts and sex.”

They turned her around, and the heat of the fire was against her back. An un-gloved hand seized one of her breasts, a mouth fastened on the tip of the other. Emilie suddenly she lost her balance and fell backward but caught and supported by unknown arms. Then her legs were opened, and someone gently spread her nether lips. Something grazed the insides of her thighs. She heard them saying that they would have to make her get on her knees. This they did. She was extremely uncomfortable in this position, especially because they forbade her to bring her knees together and because her arms pinioned behind her forced her to lean forward. Then they let her rock back a bit to regain some balance.

“You’ve never tied her up?”

“No, never.” It was Denis’ voice. Emilie recognized it instantly, but she thought to herself, “Who is the other voice?”

“You should consider doing that from time to time. She’ll get used to it eventually.”

At this point, someone – yet another voice Emilie did not recognize - said that he wanted to take her, right there on the spot. So, they made her kneel again, this time with her lying, belly and breasts down, over an ottoman, her hands still tied behind her. This caused her rear to be higher than her torso. One of the unknown men, holding her his with both his hands on her hips, and without any hesitation plunged into her sex. Without any foreplay or lubrication, the stiff member tore at the entrance to Emilie’s vagina. She let out a gasp, then, “It hurts! Please wait! Not so quick! Please!” But it was to no avail.

Emilie thought to herself, “This is horrible. I feel as if I am being raped. This is not at all like what Denis and Gaspar told me it would be. I expected candles casting soft light on a bed with silk sheets and having slow, romantic sex with a handsome powerful man. Whoever this is just rammed his member into me. No lubricant! No foreplay! Just jam it in while I’m laid over an ottoman in a room that resembles a fucking library.” And yet, Nature began to take its course. Emilie’s body began producing a type of natural lubricant on its own. The pain in Emilie’s sex began to abate and the masked man – Emilie had no way of knowing who- began a steady rhythm. In…and…out. In…and…out. Whether or not she consciously desired to do so, Emilie’s body began an ancient, similar rhythm. Small waves of pleasure began coursing through her body, especially when the unknown man reached around her right hip and let his fingers find Emilie’s clitoris.

Now Emilie thought to herself, “I remember seeing a news clip on Arte Television where an American politician was interviewed and he said, ‘When rape is inevitable, you should just lie back and enjoy it.”

And in a corner, Denis was watching and certainly enjoying seeing it. And Robert was videotaping the scene.

Flexin’ My Melanin & Talking About #DisabilityTooWhite at the NABSW Conference

I took a hiatus this month from blogging to prepare and attend the National Association of Black Social Workers (NABSW) conference in National Harbor, Maryland.  It was the first time I attended the conference, as well as presented about #DisabilityTooWhite to my social work colleagues.  I was ecstatic to attend a conference where I would be surrounded by melanin, and it was the spiritual and…

View On WordPress

On November 5th, I conducted my first presentation about the #DisabilityTooWhite hashtag and ways White disabled advocates can step up and address the over-whiteness matter within the community at the Disability and Intersectionality Summitin Boston, Massachusetts.  It was the first non-social work/helping professional presentation I gave, as well as the first summit I attended that focused…

View On WordPress

Cara Belle

Fuckdoll presentation

Hannah Hughes

Fuckdoll presentation

Anastasia Doll

Bimbo presentation

Reya Sunrise

Nice presentation