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Zoë : (2) The Force of the Cage
The hotel room door closed behind them with a soft click. Marc switched on only the bedside lamp, leaving the room bathed in a warm, golden light that caressed the beige walls and the large, perfectly made bed. Zoë was a little drunk, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and the excitement, her body still vibrating from the orgasm he had pulled from her under the table at the bar. She let herself fall onto the mattress, arms spread, skirt hiked up her thighs, and looked at him with a slightly unsteady, slightly tipsy, completely offered smile.
Marc undressed without hurry. Shirt first, then trousers, then boxers. His cock appeared, already hard, thick, veined, the head glistening with want. Zoë stared at it, throat dry. She wanted to touch it, taste it, feel it sink into her. He approached the bed and knelt beside her.
He began to undress her slowly, as one unwraps a precious gift. The top first. He slid it down her arms, revealing her heavy breasts, the nipples already hard and pinched by the silver piercings. Then the skirt. He eased it down over her hips, her thighs, until it dropped to the floor. Zoë wore nothing underneath. Only the pink cage, gleaming under the light, and her shaved testicles hanging freely.
Marc lingered. His fingers traced the outlines of the tattoos. On the right breast, the black bull’s head. On the left, the maple leaf. Between them, the small padlock. Lower, just below the navel, the omega letter perfectly drawn. And still lower, on the completely shaved pubis, the word SISSY in capital letters. He caressed them one by one, as if reading a story written on her skin.
“You’re magnificent,” he murmured.
He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth. His tongue circled the piercing, sucked it, tugged it gently between his teeth. Zoë moaned, back arching. He moved to the other breast, same slow pace, same greed. His hands kneaded the soft flesh while his mouth worked. Zoë’s nipples were hard as pebbles, hypersensitive from the hormones and the regular pumping she inflicted on herself. Every suck sent a jolt straight between her legs, all the way to the cage that was already beginning to grow wet.
Marc moved lower. He played for a moment with the small imprisoned penis. His fingers made the cage click, pressed on the trapped head, kneaded the heavy testicles. Clear fluid was already beading through the openings. Zoë writhed under his hands, thighs open, breath short.
He rose and positioned himself over her face, one knee on each side of her head. His cock hung just above her mouth. Zoë did not wait. She lifted her head and swallowed him greedily, lips stretching around the thickness, tongue pressed to the underside. She sucked with hunger, making wet, saliva-filled sounds, eyes closed in pleasure. Marc groaned above her.
He pushed his hips forward and sank deeper. The head hit the back of her throat. Zoë choked for a moment, eyes watering, but she did not pull away. She opened wider, swallowed, accepted. Marc placed both hands on her breasts and squeezed them hard while he made small thrusts into her mouth. Each push filled her cheeks, each withdrawal left a string of saliva. Zoë nearly choked several times, tears running down her temples, but she kept going, ravenous, hands gripping his thighs.
When he pulled out, a long thread of saliva still connected her mouth to his cock. Zoë was breathing hard, lips shining, gaze hazy.
Marc settled between her thighs. He lifted her legs and placed them on his shoulders. Zoë was folded in half, exposed, the cage pointing upward, her ass raised. He spat into his hand and wet Zoë’s anus, already a little relaxed from the arousal. Then he positioned the head against the entrance and pushed.
The cock sank in slowly, centimetre by centimetre. Zoë let out a long, guttural moan. She loved this feeling of being opened, filled, taken. Marc pushed until he was completely inside, hips pressed against hers. He stayed still for a second, letting her adjust, then began to move.
The game had begun.
He fucked her deeply, with steady, powerful thrusts. His hands went back and forth: sometimes they pressed Zoë’s testicles, gently crushing them against the metal of the cage, sometimes they returned to knead her breasts, tug on the piercings, squeeze the flesh. Zoë moaned without restraint, head thrown back on the pillow.
Marc leaned forward. He pressed Zoë’s legs against her own chest, folding her even more. The position allowed him to go deeper, to strike places deep inside her. Zoë felt the head hit spots she did not even know could be reached. She cried out sharply.
He claimed her mouth. His lips settled on hers, licked them, sucked them, kissed them hungrily, sometimes bit them until it hurt. Zoë answered as best she could, tongue tangled with his, moans swallowed between kisses.
The rhythm changed constantly. Marc sped up, slamming his hips against hers in a wet slap of skin, then suddenly slowed, doing only long, languid strokes that made her beg. Then he started again harder. Zoë was losing control. Her body trembled in waves. She clung to Marc’s neck, nails digging into his skin, pulling him toward her as if she wanted him even deeper. She moaned like a slut, incoherent words, “yes,” “harder,” “fill me.”
Marc felt his own limit approaching. He sped up one last time, the thrusts becoming irregular, animal. Then he buried himself to the hilt and came. His cum shot in hot, thick spurts deep into Zoë’s guts. He groaned against her mouth as he emptied himself completely, hips locked against hers.
When he finally withdrew, slowly, a trickle of white cum escaped from Zoë’s anus and ran down her cheeks. Marc looked between her legs and smiled. Zoë’s belly, just above the cage, was already glistening. She had ejaculated abundantly through the openings of the cage while he fucked her. Thick, clear cum had flooded the pubis, the word SISSY, and climbed up to the tattooed omega.
Zoë let out a long sigh of relief. Her hand slid down and touched the cage, almost completely covered in her own cum. She smiled, eyes half-closed, body still shaken by small tremors.
Marc lay down beside her, out of breath, one hand resting on Zoë’s soft belly. She turned toward him, thanked him in a rough voice, and placed a slow kiss on his mouth while taking hold of his cock, which was beginning to soften. She stroked it gently, still feeling the remains of their mixture.
“That was… a beautiful experience,” she murmured against his lips.
But she wanted more. Her fingers kept playing with the softening member, already promising the next round.
Marc closed his eyes, a tired but sincere smile on his lips.
“You’re a beautiful, perverse girl,” he said simply.
Zoë burst out laughing, a full, loud laugh that echoed through the still-warm hotel room.
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