1. T h e S t o r y o f O


    Date: 9/9/2015, Categories: BDSM, Fetish, Taboo, Author: -Rolf1971-, Rating: , Source: xHamster

    Yvonne's first scream, O had recoiled and cringed, but as soon as she had started in again and Yvonne's cries had echoed anew, she had been overwhelmed with a terrible feeling of pleasure, a feeling so intense that she had caught herself laughing in spite of herself, and she had found it almost impossible to restrain herself from striking Yvonne as hard as she could. Afterward she had remained next to Yvonne throughout the entire period of time she was kept tied up, embracing her from time to time. In some ways, she probably resembled Yvonne. At least one was led to suspect as much by the way Anne-Marie felt about them both. Was it O's silence, her meekness that endeared her to Anne-Marie? Scarcely had O's wounds healed than Anne-Marie remarked: &#034How I regret not to be able to whip you!... When you come back... But let's say no more about it. In any event, I'm going to open you every day.&#034 And, daily, when the girl who was in the music room had been untied, O would replace her until the bell rang for dinner. And Anne-Marie was right: it was true that during those two hours all she could think of was the fact that she was opened, and of the ring, hanging heavily from her (after one had been placed there) which, after they had inserted the second ring, weighed even more. She could think of nothing save her enslaved condition, and of the marks that went with it. One evening Claire had come in with Colette from the garden, come over to O and examined both sides of the ...
    rings. &#034When you went to Roissy,&#034 she said, &#034was it Anne-Marie who brought you there?&#034 &#034No,&#034 O said. &#034It was Anne-Marie who brought me, two years ago. I'm going back there day after tomorrow.&#034 &#034But don't you belong to anyone?&#034 O said. &#034Claire belongs to me,&#034 said Anne-Marie, appearing from nowhere. &#034Your master's arriving tomorrow, O. Tonight you'll sl**p with me.&#034 The short summer night waxed slowly brighter until, toward four o'clock, daylight drowned the last stars. O, who was sl**ping with her legs together, was awakened by Anne-Marie's hands probing between her thighs. But all Anne-Marie wanted was to awaken O, to have O caress her. Her eyes were shining in the half light, and her black hair, with the streaks of gray interspersed, was pushed up behind her on the pillow: only slightly curly, and cut quite short, it made her look like some mighty nobleman in exile, like some brave libertine. With her lips, O brushed the hard tips of her breasts, and her hand ran lightly over the valley of her belly. Anne-Marie was quick to yield - but not to O. The pleasure to which she opened her eyes wide, staring at the growing daylight, was an anonymous, impersonal pleasure of which O was merely the instrument. It made no difference whatever to Anne-Marie that O admired her face, smooth and glowing with renewed youth, her lovely panting lips, nor did she care whether O heard her moan when her lips and teeth seized the crest of flesh ...
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