Soul Teeth, Chapter 2

Thread 1, Part 2:

Laysan, The Memoirs of a Lesbian Bondage Love Slave

Soul Teeth

(here) - recently

Chapter 2

Paty awoke me from a fitful sleep. My limbs were knotted in agony and my jaw ached so badly that the pain emanated all the way down to my chest. She reached through the bars of my cage and unbuckled the gag that had held my mouth open for the last few hours.

"Oh, my poor baby," she said.

"Uck you!" I whimpered as I tried to make my jaws work again.

"I'm so sorry, Laysan! I had no idea that McNear left you like this..."

"Well you fucking wouldn't, now would you?" I was pretty mad. Mad and sore. "I can't believe that you let that bitch get anywhere near me when you weren't there to supervise. I fucking hate her!"

"I'm sorry, ok? It won't happen again. I don't think that she knows how much you abhor big gags."

"Yeah! Or maybe she does and she's just a sadistic bitch," I cursed as I wiped the stream of drool from my cheek.

Normally this type of thing doesn't happen when Paty's friends come to play.

I am a humongous introvert, but Paty, most certainly, is not. She is a major social butterfly. She has an admirable talent of being able to create very strong friendships with great ease. She has lots of friends and each relationship is deep and sewn with loyalty. I don't know how she manages it. Perhaps it is because most every one of her friendships has a physical component. Paty is not promiscuous, she is simply very sensual and because of this, her friends almost always end up in her bed at some point in time.

As her love slave, you might think that I would become jealous. However, I actually thrive on her friendships because I am an integral part of the physical component. I almost always accompany Paty to social events.

Paty owns a number of restaurants. At one there is a special banquet hall that she has named The Benedetta Carlini Room after some historical figure of some sort. Often, a large number of Paty's friends gather there. The group has even taken to calling themselves members of the Benedetta Carlini, or for short, the BC.

All her friends get to know me and are aware of my role. They all accept that Paty and I are connected by a special bond. So, even though the relationship between Paty and one of her friends becomes physical there is always an understanding and authenticity about the nature of the relationship. That is, they understand that Paty's permanent companionship need has been fulfilled and that the casual sex is simply a benefit of Paty's friendly affection.

When a member of the BC comes to Paty's house for a "special" visit, I am always there as well. Generally, I am almost always naked around Paty's mansion and often wearing some collection of chains. So, as a visitor settles in to Paty's home, I tend to accompany her quietly adorned in my most submissive persona. For, I believe that it is my role to be a catalyst for the evening's activities and it is a role that I seem to take to naturally and with great ease.

Paty says that there is something about how I carry myself that fills a room with a delicious sexual tension that few (if any) can resist. She says there is an allure to the way I hold my shoulders as I kneel on the floor in my chains, and something about the way I tilt my head, or the way I purse my lips as I sit and wait to be called upon. My chest rises as I breathe in an anticipation that fills the room. My skin is flushed and my nipples are erect. She claims I have a way of shaking my hair out of my face and a way that I rustle my chains that simply melts the stresses and concerns of everyday life from any in my company. I don't know. I don't think that I do anything special.

My job is to listen, not interject. So, I try to listen to everything. I mean, I try to listen to more than just words or even sounds. I peek from behind my wild mane and try to observe our visitor's movements and read their mood. Paty says that I have an extraordinary sense of other's emotional state. And, this point, I think, is true. But, then again, I think that anyone in my position would be able to obtain this level of empathy. Without expectations, I am free from having to be thoughtful, humorous, or eloquent. My one job is to sit quietly, observe, and wait to be called upon.

When the time arrives that Paty and the visitor may benefit from my services I am always ready and willing to participate. I love the job after all and I am very good at what I do. It is so simple. I am an expert at both giving and receiving pleasure. I am the perfect submissive, sex toy. I am enthusiastic at performing any desired act that any natural submissive may. Well... anything but abuse. Submissive does not necessarily imply masochistic.

Sometimes my task is to provide physical stimulation to our visitor. This stimulation may range from light tickles or massage to full-on oral sex. Once, Paty was told by a friend that it feels as though my tongue is lined with tiny, magical fingers. Paty claims that if my tongue had fingers, they would play Mozart. That's a strange notion it seems to me, but whatever. I find that there are few things more satisfying than sending another to the heart of some sensual nirvana. It makes me feel like a gifted priestess and I am ushering someone to a higher level of consciousness where the spiritual and physical meet and meld. I like the smells and tastes of sex. I like to listen to they way our lovers breathe. I like to watch the shapes that their lips make as they succumb to various excitations. I like the feel of soft, long hair matted with love's sweat sliding across fevered flesh.

Other times the visitor may choose to pleasure me. I find it easy to lose myself in the experience. Maybe there is something in my physical makeup that makes me particularly attuned to the sensations of arousal. I like it a lot. For example, when I administer a caress of some sort to some women, I sometimes become aware that I am approaching some boundary where overstimulation may detract from the tides of arousal. Personally, though, I never get to that point myself. As far as I am concerned, "too much" is some place I have never seen. Even the most clumsy seem fit enough to take me to wonderful places.

I let the sensations wash over me and allow them to spill into the room. At least, it seems to. Paty says that she becomes aroused simply by watching me become aroused. She also says that she has seen other women orgasm with no physical stimulation of their own - they are simply pleasuring me.

Generally, as things proceed, Paty slowly inserts herself in some way to enhance the experience to levels most women could not even dream of. For, she is no sexual slouch either. She still teaches me from time to time. Sometimes I participate throughout the evening. Sometimes not. Either way, as per Paty's request which I dutifully honor, I eventually slip out of Paty's bed and return to my closet to sleep satisfied that my job is done. Such a night is so easy and natural, I believe, simply because I am the perfect love slave.

Anyway, all these special friends of Paty's also become friends of mine. So, even though I am an introvert my life is rich with friendships. And even though, my submissive nature may leave me exposed, all our friends are respectful of my status as Paty's slave and know not to cross certain boundaries when playing with me. Generally, they understand and respect me and my position.

Most of our friends, that is... McNear sometimes seems to like to push at the boundaries… Like today...

Paty unchained my wrists, so I could move them around in front of me again and pull at the knots that had formed in my tired muscles. I hadn't been able to use my flexibility to move my chained wrists in front of me this time, because McNear had chained them to one of the vertical bars of the suspended cage which had been my bed for the past night. My shoulder, too, ached where I’d had to lay upon it. Even though the bottom of the cage is well padded, my restraint forced me into a bad angle which resulted in too much weight resting upon my shoulder.

"Look," Paty said, "why don't I get you out of the cage. We'll go say good-bye to McNear, then I'll give you a nice, warm, relaxing bath."

"She's still here?! Fuck that! I don't want to see her! Ow! My shoulder aches like after I had that flu shot. Maybe she injected me with something. Can you see a puncture wound somewhere?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Laysan!"

"Whatever. I'll just stay here in my cage, thank you, where I'm safe."

It might seem strange to want to remain in a cage, but, actually I love being in it - as long as I am not chained to the bars that is. Our friend, Ceylon, who is a particularly skilled metal worker, constructed the cage for Paty and I. It is a work of art. The cage is rectangular: one by one and a half meters in area, with a height of a meter. The only way for me to get into the cage is through a hatch at the top and the opening is only accessible when the cage is resting on the ground. After shimmying through the opening hatch in the top, I have to crouch in a ball to one side as the cage is pulled aloft and my freedom is suspended.

A two meter-long, vertical steel bar passes into the the center of the top of the cage. The top of this vertical bar is connected to a heavy cable that may be raised and lowered with a winch. The bottom of the steel bar is anchored inside the structure of the cage to a metal plate which extends outwards to the longer sides of the cage. In turn, two sturdy horizontal crossbeams are welded to this plate. The crossbeams run the length of the cage at the outer edges.

As the winch is engaged and slowly retracts its cable, I have to curl into a ball at one end of the cage in order to avoid getting tangled in the anchor plate and crossbeams as they are pulled up. You wouldn't want to let any body part stray to the top of the crossbeams as they rise up along the inside of the bars of the cage. Nor should hair or fingers linger above the plate as it slowly seals the only exit. For as the winch continues to reel the cable in, the crossbars continue to rise until they bear the full weight of the cage and its occupant and together they are slowly hoisted into the air.

I'm fairly light, so my weight is negligible compared to the heavy, metal cage. Thus, while suspended, even if I put all my weight at one end of the cage, the crossbeams effectively prevent the cage from upending or even tipping at all. It is truly a thing of beauty. And, when aloft, the cage is completely inescapable. I love it.

The room in which the cage is housed has a vaulted ceiling. Nonetheless, the room is completely underground, and thus, windowless. I would not describe the room as a "dungeon" though we refer to it that way occasionally. The walls, for example, are not lined with implements of torture or anything. It's just a tidy, dark room with high, high ceilings. When I am suspended in the cage, generally I am only about a meter off the ground. Paty refers to this height as the "petting zoo" setting. The cage, however, may be hoisted up into the rafters of the room above the level where the suspended fluorescent lighting fixtures shine down into the stark space below. By the time the cage is three meters high, one is enveloped in a thick darkness. We refer to this height as "Purgatory". Due to the darkness of the space above the lights, and the way that the lights shine, an observer on the ground looking up is completely blind to the fact that a cage and its slave dangle far above.

"Come on. Let’s go say good-bye to McNear. It would be rude for you not to say good-bye," Paty pouted. "I really want you to come. McNear will wish to bid you farewell."

"No!" I cried. "She'll just leer at me with that fucking smug smirk on her face. I'm in too much pain! I couldn't stand it... Tell her I disobeyed you somehow and deserve punishment or something."

Paty frowned at me for a few moments. But I knew that she had remitted when she pulled a bed pan from its recess in the undercarriage of the cage and pushed it through a opening between the bars. "Not far from the truth," she sighed.

"Oh, thank you, o love of mine," I smiled as I crouched over the metal pan and did my business. "I'll make it up to you, I promise!"

"You certainly will," Paty said as she retrieved the bed pan, "If I decide to ever let you out of this cage again, Slave.”

She shoved a nice heavy blanket between the bars and gave the structure a light push. As I curled up into a ball, Paty walked to the door and turned off the light. Then I heard the winch engage and the cage and I were pulled up into Purgatory. I smiled to myself, content, safe and secure within my rocking cage.