† La Madone Anthracite †

Lundi 9 décembre 2019 à 18:05
"The noise is deafening. There is an almost sacrilegious atmosphere in this carnival of monsters, of deserters of love, of flesh enthusiasts, of unconditional fans lost in their own fantasies and I don't know how to define or imagine myself anymore. I just play along. Here, like so many others, I call myself anonymous, I entertain the myth, I rekindle bodies, I spark passion. As soon as he's there – as soon as he seems to be nearby, my name is whore, my soul is intoxicated and my legs closed. I squeeze my thighs in the perfect illusion of having him still inside me and holding him there. The sound system is unleashed, the music is frightening. My love has washed up far away from me near a naked shadow, who feverishly stretches her whole body to the tune of a melancholic melody. A young brunette with milky skin that glistens when the light shines feebly down upon her. I can understand desiring her – this lustful dance arouses him, but he doesn't touch her. I watch him close by, a cigarette jammed between his lips, squinting through the curls of smoke, his smooth hair worn up in a careful bun.

Tonight he is singularly effeminate. He leaves traces of lipstick on his drink which he ends up offering to the dancer. She approaches him, holding his gaze which has finally conquered her. The creature is already at his feet, now obscene. She presses herself to his insistent leg. I stand up in protest, but the other one holds me back; the other sits me back down against him, places my hand back on the seam of his pants which begin to burn me. The other holds me as tight as he can, his arm wraps around me from behind and I feel his heated breath upon my neck. He whispers for me to look. My love doesn't resist. The young girl is acting like a bitch in heat, a beast in agony – she caresses the canvas of his trousers with her face, sniffing and searching. I even feel bad for her because of how long this game is dragging out. He stays still, and the cigarette burns out without him obliging her. The beast on the ground is me, begging for a piece of him. The other one is still holding me against him, implacably, so tightly my chest is hurting. I feel the tip of his warm tongue stirring against my right earlobe. It's so loud I'm in suffocating agony. The music is drilling into my eardrums and yet I can hear his whispers. I uncross my legs and let myself go, forgetting where I am, my eyes still fixed on the spectacle of the girl's degradation. My love grabs her by the hair and thrusts her face into his groin. She doesn't put up a fight as he asphyxiates her between his thighs. I am hypnotised. I find him majestic, I have a thousand thoughts on the cusp of my desires – my body drawn to his, prisoner to another. Look at me, look at me! One hand slips around my stomach. I must be desirable because everyone is watching me, even him. His eyes finally find my own. The pressure on the young girl is no longer necessary. I win. I'm the one who intrigues him. My love discards his toy and turns to us. He walks towards me like in a movie, with ghostly skin, piercing eyes and a wolfish smile, and still with that cigarette that never seems to end. My heart is struggling not to implode and the other one whispers for me to surrender, to calm down. He thrust himself inside me and spreads me out with his other hand and I let him, intoxicated by his approach, quietly sat on the other's lap – who clings to me, lubricates me, whispers cravings in my ear.

My love approaches in slow motion, and time seems to stop as he moves through the crowd, holding my gaze. His eyes are shadowed with kohl, lips smeared in red. He stubs his cigarette out on the table and closes the distance between us. Pressed up between these two men, crushed, coveted, I am seized with convulsions when he also thrusts inside me with his peaceful eyes. The whole tempo changes, the music is now thumping inside my head, he moves against me to the rhythm of the percussions, grazes my lips with his own. I feel like I'm there without being there. The storm goes through my body, paralyses my feet; my nails clutch the arms of the chair. I have tears in my eyes. Wetness runs from my cotton dress and down my thigh. I feel his hands against the skin of my neck, he slips his tongue inside my mouth, tightens his fingers and devours me like the other. I can't close my eyes because he's right there on me, the intensity of his gaze overwhelming me. The sound of the nightclub is soon joined by our rabid gasps and my cries. I literally climax against them. I can't breathe anymore.

What's a woman like you doing with those two, my mother kept asking me. Love, that's all. I was madly in love with Ezra – with his looks, his way of smoking as if he had the most desirable thing in the world between his lips and the way he stared at you with that fire in his eyes. I bury myself underground, I crawl underneath him for his gaze, I starve myself, I belittle myself loving him and sharing him. I'm the odd one out, the debased one, the cheese in the bread. I delight in seeing them intertwine. Just like I despise Baptiste for making him come instead of me. Yet I stay. I persist. I lose myself between these two to love him and suffer the other, to get fucked by them, to coddle them and be that "fag's whore" that everyone hates and gives the side-eye to. I prefer to think that I was chosen. That one year ago, during a dinner party for an exhibition, their eyes landed on me and my high heels and they elected me together. The trap closed around Ezra's eyes and kisses, the venom administered through Baptiste's words and caresses.

I get my breath back. Outside, it's night-time on the capital, the streets are dark and silent. I stagger after them until Ezra stops to talk to me – but I can't hear him, I'm exhausted. Baptiste lifts me up from the ground and heaves me onto his back like an old piece of luggage, then they continue on through the concrete. They don't live too far away. My eyes are burning, but I keep them on Ezra – my love – who's smoking again, the cigarette butt hanging from his lips, the scarlet lipstick has dribbled onto his chin. He smiles to himself, then approaches Baptiste to blow some smoke into his mouth and kiss him. I end up falling asleep. 

The apartment is swelteringly hot. Baptiste has gently lowered me onto the bed and opens the window; he stays there a moment to contemplate the invading lights of the city, the sounds of the few taxis trundling through the dark. Ezra joins him, completely naked. I didn't see him take off his clothes. My love nonchalantly runs his hand through his lover's tousled hair, caresses his face and languorously kisses him. He and Baptiste embrace and I'm ashamed not to be against them. Dimly I watch these two and their little game, consumed with jealousy. Ezra pulls his hair, bites his neck – and it's then that Baptiste surprises me. He stops Ezra and smiles at me. Together, they turn to me with a teasing pout. I'm a poor equation, sulking from being left out. You're not tired? asks Ezra. Lying down next to me, he grabs a joint from behind his ear and lights up. Baptiste undresses himself completely, sits on Ezra and breathes in the smoke with his eyes closed. They keep this up in a way that's so intense it drags me out of my lethargy. I want to join in, too. I slide over to them, as Baptiste sucks it all in to breathe it out over my face. Once the vapour clears, he kisses me. I am numbed by all of this. Two men against me, their breath on my face, hands all over me – all is now surreally delicate. Baptiste removes my dress and I discard my underwear to feel them shivering against me. All night I've thought only of them, of feeling their heat against my naked skin, their cocks a blazing furnace against my thighs. They caress each other until I jerk Ezra off. He kisses me furiously, whispers that he's going to hurt me very much. Baptiste rips me away from him by dragging me violently by the hair, lays me down beneath him. I beg him to let my love do it, but he stubborn – lies down on top of me, teasing his penis at the entrance of my vulva. Ezra is behind him watching me, kissing his lover's neck. I try to break free and join him, but together they're both heavy on me. Ezra presses a finger to his lips to silence me, and lies down against me to watch us. I suddenly see Baptiste slipping himself inside without entering me. I encourage him, offer myself to him, even as he pulls away, breathless. Ezra stretches out beside me, as Baptiste leaves me. He lies down on top of Ezra and kisses him. They jerk each other off – very gently at first, then faster and faster. Together their breathing becomes a sound unto its own. I'm completely wet now. My hand seeks and finds, rubbing my clitoris with the end of my finger. I come first. Baptiste and Ezra place themselves either side of me then wrap their arms around me. I'm shuddering from head to toe as they spread my legs to thrust their extremities inside me, each stifling my screams by taking it in turns to kiss me. I feel myself becoming more than a toy. I want more, I want them just for me, I want them inside me. Something violent stirs in the pit of my stomach, making me dizzy. My love calls me, tells me to come to him.
For one brief moment we are against each other, alone. He penetrates me, his eyes not leaving mine, pulls out a bit, then thrusts again. I love him, I burn against him, I blaze against Baptiste who embraces me from behind. I find myself once more in my position of choice – squeezed between two hearts. They join together in me, their dicks nestling inside me. I hold on to Ezra. Baptiste is clutching me so hard I feel like I'm melting inside him. I try to breathe. I enjoy being like this; between pain and pleasure, mingling together with such violence that I'm begging them not to stop.

Ezra grabs Baptiste. My head is buzzing. The night is only starting for the three of us. Please don't move, keep us together, like this, just for a moment, nice and warm. You're making us hard."
Photography by Cam Attree ©

Aucun commentaire n'a encore été ajouté !

Ajouter un commentaire

Commentaire :

Votre adresse IP sera enregistrée pour des raisons de sécurité.

<< Page précédente | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Page suivante >>

Créer un podcast