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It's been many years now. I think back with tenderness to what I was. I felt strong and mature. Outrageous and experienced. But with hindsight, I realize I was little more than a wolf cub. I was already a hunter, I already knew how to experience. I wasn't afraid of anything bizarre even then. I was already putting myself on the line. The seeds of perversion had already sprouted in my brain. I was gambling a lot that day. Maybe too much. I wondered with some trepidation and a pinch of fear if I wasn't doing something too dangerous. But the demon had already taken hold of me. That demon that always pushes you further. That demon that makes you chase ghosts without the reins of your imagination. It had been a long journey, which started when I was a clumsy and introverted sexting, dreaming of realizing all those fantasies that took shape day after day. After all, why not? Why not try to live fully, to taste the apple of sin without stopping at the first bite? It was all so damn fluid and natural. I'd discovered that crossing the shadow line was very easy. From fantasy to reality. You just had to want it.
And so the demon slowly took hold of my soul. He was devouring it bit by bit. He demanded complete submission. I could, yes, I could keep control of my life. I had a job, I played sports, I lived alone in a more than decent apartment in the big city abroad where I had moved. I was between 25 and 30 years old. And I was free, independent, sexting. But I was also a slave to the demon. He urged me to look for and accept all situations that were not trivial, not obvious. There were also normal encounters: a drink, sex for two that sometimes lasted and sometimes not. But that wasn't enough for me; it wasn't enough. I simply wanted to find the limit. And I couldn't resist a well formulated proposal. I was perfectly aware of all that. I abandoned myself without resisting it.
In that train, a thousand thoughts crossed my mind. That regional train that would soon leave me in a remote station on the outskirts of the big, sprawling city. I had boarded it at the Gare Saint Lazare, at the end of rue d'Amsterdam, which I had reached on foot. I loved the dark face of Paris. As always, I was attracted by the shadow. And I was heading there. After so many years, I remember the heartbeat when I left home at night. It was winter. I could see the darkness. And I distinctly feel the heartbeat, that mixture of euphoria and fear that made me feel alive. Nobody knew where I was going. If anything happened to me, no one would know how to find me. My historical friends and family were hundreds of miles away. It didn't matter, it didn't matter at all. A few late commuters made their way back to their suburban dorms. I just went there for a different purpose.
If I close my eyes, I can see the little station where I got off. Anonymous. Gray. Few travelers got off and swarmed away without paying attention to anything. Ordinary people who were probably coming home. They wanted, or so I imagined, only the warmth and comfort of their homes. Everyone but me. A man was waiting for me. Short, insignificant. He was there for me and waiting for me. A nod of greeting suspended between embarrassment and shyness. I went up with him in his shabby little car. He immediately started the engine and we drove off. A few words were exchanged between us. Probably after making sure it was me he had seen in the picture, he didn't need anything else. I wasn't there for him. The road quickly became a provincial road in darkness. On either side wooded embankments and the branches of the surrounding woods stretched out over us. Then, a light. A miserable square housed a modest country restaurant, little more than a trattoria. A banal country inn with its own parking lot. A single window shone. Only one car was parked. All around was silence. The restaurant was closed. There was light inside. There was someone inside for me. Or rather, I was there for someone. It was my destination and the end of that journey. My mysterious companion was no more or less than my very personal Charon. Of course, in his own way he was a devil too. But in that case his role was only to ferry me from light to shadow. To take me to the lustful hell that had been promised me. He'd cast the bait a few days earlier. Of all the fish that fell into his net, he chose me. He had judged me, his goodness, to be the most interesting fish. The fiercest. The most suitable one. The Chosen One. The one he intended to offer as a gift to his friend and his wife...
What was I doing there? Because I was in that godforsaken, vaguely misguided-looking place. Who was waiting for me inside? Would I find what I was promised? Would I be surprised? As the only meagre precaution I had left at home my wallet, watch and chains. Little cash in my pockets. What interest would I have in a thief's clothes? I'd take it easy like this. I had so many fears in the days before. But I never hesitated. I never had the slightest doubt that I'd go. Was I facing the abyss? Of course you were. I would have thrown myself into it. Because it was my nature.
I had been contacted, as I said, a few days before. The place of the solicitation could only be the web, receptacle of every desire and every transgression for those brave enough or crazy enough to want to try everything. It was a world with its rules, hard and merciless. The cruel law of supply and demand forced every male to compete with his sharpest weapons: good looks, brilliance, security, sensitivity, listening, sympathy. Vae victi. That world took no prisoners. It had to harden very quickly, to understand how to move, to understand how to adapt instantly to situations and to the people who presented themselves to us from time to time. The competition was fierce. For every woman there were at least 20 males. Win or die.
But it wasn't a woman who picked me up. It was a man, my Charon. And his challenge was one that could in no way be refused. He posed as a go-between for a friend of his. A friend of theirs, since he had a companion. Their friend was separated, so he told me. Was she too shy to expose herself? Or was she herself intrigued by the fantasy she illustrated to me? Was I just an instrument in a game I was actually excluded from? Although I was already an expert, I hadn't yet fully acquired the sensitivity to penetrate the psychological folds of the game. It was enough for me to co-star in it. And I'll never know the truth. He and his wife had volunteered to work as prostitutes. They were looking for a guy who would suit her taste. To offer her an evening of passion. We'd had a little chat and he'd tried to figure out a little bit about me beyond the pictures I sent him. It was a matter of appearance for sure (nobody does charity work, even less in the slippery and superficial world of chatting). But it was also a question of how to pose yourself. It was a real casting: as far as I know, I was first put on a shortlist, then emerged as the undisputed winner. I don't know on the basis of which characteristics. I didn't see the woman, who we will call O as "Offering" if not from behind. A mass of messy blonde hair, a sensual back. That was enough for me. Of course there was a risk that I might not like her in person. And it would have been very difficult to pull myself back in a situation like that. But I went because it was the game that intrigued me beyond O's appearance.
But it was even more perverse: O would be blindfolded and wouldn't see me. Do you understand now why the demon was so ferociously inciting me? How could I resist such a challenge? Or rather, how could a man like me resist such a challenge: I didn't even try...
We went in. I was introduced to the inside of the place, very bare and simple. An open sofa bed, bizarrely incongruous with the environment. But I didn't stop on these details; my attention was attracted by the two people waiting for me. Two women. One was a very sensual lady, the companion of my Charon. She greeted me kindly. The other was the woman for whom I had been chosen as a gift. Or she was wearing a black dress, boots, what immediately seemed to me like thigh-highs. She was blindfolded. Yes, or she was blindfolded because this was part of the fantasy and the game her friends had prepared for her. I was all surreal. She got up and we shook hands. I understood once again what really excited me; the absurd side, the paradoxical side. Shaking hands with a woman blindfolded, knowing what was going to happen. She knew it; I knew it. And the double awareness made me dizzy.
The two of them disappeared, saying to call them "the end of everything". The silence fell and we came face to face. Who knows what thoughts were going through her mind? I wonder if she was excited, if she was afraid. I wonder if she was excited already. She wanted to get out of the embarrassment and came straight to me. No more time for pleasantries. What could we possibly have said to each other? I'm looking for her mouth now. Greedy, intense, devouring. The shy one who jumps, because she can no longer handle the whirlwind of emotions that shakes her. I was there to follow the fantasy, and I came with the same enthusiasm. My hands flew in search of open flaps of skin. It had to be direct and brutal and it would be. I stood up in front of her, and the message couldn't have been more explicit. Perhaps with the experience I have today I would have ordered her to kneel, but there I dared not. She was groping and unbuttoning my pants and started to use her mouth. I was still amazed at her fervour; and her depth. She was always trying to get him all the way. I never felt his teeth; his mouth stayed wide open so that I could only feel the wet softness. First his lips, then his mouth, then his throat. He gave me the shivers; I took more and more initiative; I knew I could afford it. So I grabbed the back of her neck with gentle firmness and began to push myself. She had no problem absorbing and indulging that direct assault. I held her until I almost suffocated her, only to see her drool. Like a bitch. Then it was my turn. I slowly undressed her, leaving only her stockings (yes, they were really hold-ups!). I wanted to live up to the pleasure that had been given to me. To live up to the choice. And, more banally, I wanted to give her pleasure. To feel her tremble. I wanted to give her an evening she would never forget; even if only once. I didn't stop tormenting her clitoris and her crack. I continued until her spasms turned into an orgasm. Or at least what seemed like an orgasm to me.
When I felt her completely soaked and open, I wanted to penetrate her. I asked her to go doggy-style. A short, dry sentence: "en levrette!". I've always loved to see when my playmate turns and arranges herself to be mounted. I love to see her offered without restraint. I walked in effortlessly, grabbed her hips... and started pushing myself inside her. I alternated between speed and depth. I possessed her without restraint, without respite. There was transport between us. Being unable to use my eyes, I'm sure her other senses were heightened. Smell, taste, touch, hearing. How did my moans reach her?
When I came out of her body slowly and we lay down side by side. I caressed her hips softly as our breathing slowly slowed down. I caught her inner torment What to do? I decided to ask her directly, "Will you take off your blindfold?" Quiet. He hesitated. It was so damn paradoxical. She had to decide whether to see the face of the man who had just fucked her. Then she did. And the look on her face made me realize that her friends had chosen well.
And so the demon slowly took hold of my soul. He was devouring it bit by bit. He demanded complete submission. I could, yes, I could keep control of my life. I had a job, I played sports, I lived alone in a more than decent apartment in the big city abroad where I had moved. I was between 25 and 30 years old. And I was free, independent, sexting. But I was also a slave to the demon. He urged me to look for and accept all situations that were not trivial, not obvious. There were also normal encounters: a drink, sex for two that sometimes lasted and sometimes not. But that wasn't enough for me; it wasn't enough. I simply wanted to find the limit. And I couldn't resist a well formulated proposal. I was perfectly aware of all that. I abandoned myself without resisting it.
In that train, a thousand thoughts crossed my mind. That regional train that would soon leave me in a remote station on the outskirts of the big, sprawling city. I had boarded it at the Gare Saint Lazare, at the end of rue d'Amsterdam, which I had reached on foot. I loved the dark face of Paris. As always, I was attracted by the shadow. And I was heading there. After so many years, I remember the heartbeat when I left home at night. It was winter. I could see the darkness. And I distinctly feel the heartbeat, that mixture of euphoria and fear that made me feel alive. Nobody knew where I was going. If anything happened to me, no one would know how to find me. My historical friends and family were hundreds of miles away. It didn't matter, it didn't matter at all. A few late commuters made their way back to their suburban dorms. I just went there for a different purpose.
If I close my eyes, I can see the little station where I got off. Anonymous. Gray. Few travelers got off and swarmed away without paying attention to anything. Ordinary people who were probably coming home. They wanted, or so I imagined, only the warmth and comfort of their homes. Everyone but me. A man was waiting for me. Short, insignificant. He was there for me and waiting for me. A nod of greeting suspended between embarrassment and shyness. I went up with him in his shabby little car. He immediately started the engine and we drove off. A few words were exchanged between us. Probably after making sure it was me he had seen in the picture, he didn't need anything else. I wasn't there for him. The road quickly became a provincial road in darkness. On either side wooded embankments and the branches of the surrounding woods stretched out over us. Then, a light. A miserable square housed a modest country restaurant, little more than a trattoria. A banal country inn with its own parking lot. A single window shone. Only one car was parked. All around was silence. The restaurant was closed. There was light inside. There was someone inside for me. Or rather, I was there for someone. It was my destination and the end of that journey. My mysterious companion was no more or less than my very personal Charon. Of course, in his own way he was a devil too. But in that case his role was only to ferry me from light to shadow. To take me to the lustful hell that had been promised me. He'd cast the bait a few days earlier. Of all the fish that fell into his net, he chose me. He had judged me, his goodness, to be the most interesting fish. The fiercest. The most suitable one. The Chosen One. The one he intended to offer as a gift to his friend and his wife...
What was I doing there? Because I was in that godforsaken, vaguely misguided-looking place. Who was waiting for me inside? Would I find what I was promised? Would I be surprised? As the only meagre precaution I had left at home my wallet, watch and chains. Little cash in my pockets. What interest would I have in a thief's clothes? I'd take it easy like this. I had so many fears in the days before. But I never hesitated. I never had the slightest doubt that I'd go. Was I facing the abyss? Of course you were. I would have thrown myself into it. Because it was my nature.
I had been contacted, as I said, a few days before. The place of the solicitation could only be the web, receptacle of every desire and every transgression for those brave enough or crazy enough to want to try everything. It was a world with its rules, hard and merciless. The cruel law of supply and demand forced every male to compete with his sharpest weapons: good looks, brilliance, security, sensitivity, listening, sympathy. Vae victi. That world took no prisoners. It had to harden very quickly, to understand how to move, to understand how to adapt instantly to situations and to the people who presented themselves to us from time to time. The competition was fierce. For every woman there were at least 20 males. Win or die.
But it wasn't a woman who picked me up. It was a man, my Charon. And his challenge was one that could in no way be refused. He posed as a go-between for a friend of his. A friend of theirs, since he had a companion. Their friend was separated, so he told me. Was she too shy to expose herself? Or was she herself intrigued by the fantasy she illustrated to me? Was I just an instrument in a game I was actually excluded from? Although I was already an expert, I hadn't yet fully acquired the sensitivity to penetrate the psychological folds of the game. It was enough for me to co-star in it. And I'll never know the truth. He and his wife had volunteered to work as prostitutes. They were looking for a guy who would suit her taste. To offer her an evening of passion. We'd had a little chat and he'd tried to figure out a little bit about me beyond the pictures I sent him. It was a matter of appearance for sure (nobody does charity work, even less in the slippery and superficial world of chatting). But it was also a question of how to pose yourself. It was a real casting: as far as I know, I was first put on a shortlist, then emerged as the undisputed winner. I don't know on the basis of which characteristics. I didn't see the woman, who we will call O as "Offering" if not from behind. A mass of messy blonde hair, a sensual back. That was enough for me. Of course there was a risk that I might not like her in person. And it would have been very difficult to pull myself back in a situation like that. But I went because it was the game that intrigued me beyond O's appearance.
But it was even more perverse: O would be blindfolded and wouldn't see me. Do you understand now why the demon was so ferociously inciting me? How could I resist such a challenge? Or rather, how could a man like me resist such a challenge: I didn't even try...
We went in. I was introduced to the inside of the place, very bare and simple. An open sofa bed, bizarrely incongruous with the environment. But I didn't stop on these details; my attention was attracted by the two people waiting for me. Two women. One was a very sensual lady, the companion of my Charon. She greeted me kindly. The other was the woman for whom I had been chosen as a gift. Or she was wearing a black dress, boots, what immediately seemed to me like thigh-highs. She was blindfolded. Yes, or she was blindfolded because this was part of the fantasy and the game her friends had prepared for her. I was all surreal. She got up and we shook hands. I understood once again what really excited me; the absurd side, the paradoxical side. Shaking hands with a woman blindfolded, knowing what was going to happen. She knew it; I knew it. And the double awareness made me dizzy.
The two of them disappeared, saying to call them "the end of everything". The silence fell and we came face to face. Who knows what thoughts were going through her mind? I wonder if she was excited, if she was afraid. I wonder if she was excited already. She wanted to get out of the embarrassment and came straight to me. No more time for pleasantries. What could we possibly have said to each other? I'm looking for her mouth now. Greedy, intense, devouring. The shy one who jumps, because she can no longer handle the whirlwind of emotions that shakes her. I was there to follow the fantasy, and I came with the same enthusiasm. My hands flew in search of open flaps of skin. It had to be direct and brutal and it would be. I stood up in front of her, and the message couldn't have been more explicit. Perhaps with the experience I have today I would have ordered her to kneel, but there I dared not. She was groping and unbuttoning my pants and started to use her mouth. I was still amazed at her fervour; and her depth. She was always trying to get him all the way. I never felt his teeth; his mouth stayed wide open so that I could only feel the wet softness. First his lips, then his mouth, then his throat. He gave me the shivers; I took more and more initiative; I knew I could afford it. So I grabbed the back of her neck with gentle firmness and began to push myself. She had no problem absorbing and indulging that direct assault. I held her until I almost suffocated her, only to see her drool. Like a bitch. Then it was my turn. I slowly undressed her, leaving only her stockings (yes, they were really hold-ups!). I wanted to live up to the pleasure that had been given to me. To live up to the choice. And, more banally, I wanted to give her pleasure. To feel her tremble. I wanted to give her an evening she would never forget; even if only once. I didn't stop tormenting her clitoris and her crack. I continued until her spasms turned into an orgasm. Or at least what seemed like an orgasm to me.
When I felt her completely soaked and open, I wanted to penetrate her. I asked her to go doggy-style. A short, dry sentence: "en levrette!". I've always loved to see when my playmate turns and arranges herself to be mounted. I love to see her offered without restraint. I walked in effortlessly, grabbed her hips... and started pushing myself inside her. I alternated between speed and depth. I possessed her without restraint, without respite. There was transport between us. Being unable to use my eyes, I'm sure her other senses were heightened. Smell, taste, touch, hearing. How did my moans reach her?
When I came out of her body slowly and we lay down side by side. I caressed her hips softly as our breathing slowly slowed down. I caught her inner torment What to do? I decided to ask her directly, "Will you take off your blindfold?" Quiet. He hesitated. It was so damn paradoxical. She had to decide whether to see the face of the man who had just fucked her. Then she did. And the look on her face made me realize that her friends had chosen well.
Poke Bella
