Taken

August 19, 1788  
 
 
Mon Cher Donatien  
 
I have always given. Given to my family, to my marriage, to my friends. Being what they need me to be. There for them, out of a sense of duty. Obligation. It wore upon me like a heavy chain dragging me down. I think upon this now. Sitting in the dark, watching the moonlight paint what is left of my fading world.  
 
Today was a line I thought I would never cross. I was not drug, was not pushed. I crossed it. Making me… forever changed.  
 
You piqued my curiosity and my fear when you showed it to me. A heavy white garment with elongated sleeves and a multitude of buckles and straps. You slipped it over my shoulders and buckled the four buckles running down my back. Two longer straps fit snuggly under me from the back, then connected to a buckle at the crease of my leg and crotch. Crisscrossing my arms, you fed the final strapping through matching loops then cinched this last restraint tightly behind me. A simple buckling and I was all trussed up.  
 
“Do you know what this is,” you asked. I shook my head yes. It was a straitjacket, meant for the insane. By crossing my arms as they were, I was forced into a self-hug that made my hands and arms useless. I could not reach any of the buckles. The garment was comfortable but snug.  
 
After savoring your handiwork, you pulled something out of your pocket. I could only see it out of the corner of my eye. Before I could react you had reached around me, pried my mouth open forcefully with you fingers. I felt the ring gag wedged behind my teeth. You quickly fastened it in place. The gagging kept my mouth open, the ringed opening was generous… allowing all manner of possibilities for insertion. My imagination went wild. Random thoughts more and more obscene painted my fancy.  
 
Then you got up and went back to your armchair. Prepared your cigar. Took a sip of your cognac.  
 
Meanwhile my drooling flooded out. Past the ring, over my forced open lips, down onto the canvas of my straitjacket. My face blushed. My eyes fell and looked at the crisp sheets on my bed. I felt warmer and warmer, sweat trickling down my back. Feeling itches I could not scratch.  
 
My mind began its inner monologue… Why hadn’t you touched me, teased me, spanked me. Did something to me. All you did was sip and puff, sip and puff. I was your amusement. That both angered and excited me. I had come to feel a certain… possessiveness with you. How I had given you everything, how you had taken advantage of that. Stripped me of all pretense. Curbed me beneath your will. Eclipsed the very sun. Leaving me helpless in your shadow. I loved how you weren’t afraid… to hurt me. To leave your mark, all over my porcelain skin. Marks I had to hide from the world, but would relish when I was alone, when I would bathe. I never knew what you do. But I knew it was what was best for me.  
 
The grey door opened without warning. In walked a younger man, in his mid-twenties. I did not recognize him, but felt that I should. My first instinct was to turn away, but that subsided quickly. He glanced past me to you. You exchanged nods. He came over and you gave him a clip of folded Francs.  
 
“Anything thing I want,” the stranger asked.  
 
“Bien sur,” you replied.  
 
With that he proceeded to take off his clothes, draping them neatly over a chair by the door. His skin was swarthy, he had a hairy chest. But his demeanor was one of all business. Then it dawned on me. He was a male prostitute. Used to satisfying rich women, often while their old husbands watched… and touched themselves.    
 
But all you did was watch. This was not about your pleasure. It was about my being taken. After a couple of deep breaths, I turned on the bed to face my new lover. His shoulders were broad, his hands calloused. He had a shipyard smell about him. The kind of man who leered at women of privilege, wanted to take his own advantage. Now he had me. Here. A Marquise wrapped up tight, with a pretty bow.  
 
The first thing that he did was slip in behind me. Reaching his hands around me, he unzipped the zippers covering my breasts. I felt the chill of the cool air. Blushed at the arousal of my nipples, pert and ready. He did not even begin gently, pinching and squeezing each bud. I could not contain my grunts as he manhandled my breasts. His fingers were rough as he played with each one.  
 
Next, he spun me around on the bed and stood in front of me. This placed my face right at crotch level. His erection was full and glistening at the tip. Without warning he seized my ears, one in each hand, and guided me slowly forward. I could smell his musk, rich and earthy. He barely fit within the ring of the gag. My tongue had to adjust to allow him room to enter.  
 
“Andre, don’t worry… the bitch cannot bite.” I heard you chuckle from off to the side. Andre then began a slow and deliberate penetration of my mouth with his sex. My mouth, already full with saliva, was slick and inviting. He held my ears tight, pushing his full length in my mouth and down into my throat. I gagged and choked on him. Sensing my need for air, he pulled out briefly. Then struck me across the face.  
 
My predicament was frightening, but also arousing. I knew I still had my safe word. Knew that you would not let me go too far. Though I had already gone way past anything I ever thought that I would.  
 
Andre motioned for me to turn around. He then curbed me, forcing me over so my cheek was on the sheet and my derriere was high in the air. You and he both started to laugh. I felt tears well in my eyes. A useless struggle in my straitjacket drew applause.  
 
I felt his cock placed between my ass cheeks. Then felt the slick warmth of oil. Andre used his arousal to spread the lubricant all over my nether regions.  
 
“Remember, her perfume box is mine.” I could feel Andre hesitate. Started to say something, then press his girth against my anus. His other hand began diddling with my swollen lips. This finally made me relax. He took full advantage, plunging into me deep.  
 
I opened my eyes. I could see you sitting in your chair, drawing in smoke from your cigar. Your eyes riveted on me, a faint smile on your face. You watched as the strange man began his hard violation of me. Sodomy. I had learned to take plugs and dildos, but nothing as large as Andre. I felt my rectum stretch, a burning sensation. I hurt but it also excited me. The total effect of the bondage, the ring gag, being helpless here underground in the playroom.  
 
I imagined myself as a kidnapped Arabian princess. Seized by bandits on the road. Taken to a secluded place where I was then… taken. This man used me. He grabbed me by the hips and began his slow, rhythmic penetration of my ass. I felt dirty, cheap and disgraced. Having you watching and enjoying the show made me ashamed, aroused.  
 
Waves of desire came over me. I began to meet Andre’s thrusts with my own. I could feel his balls slapping against my labia. He was so deep. I was in so deep. Finally I felt his body tense, could feel his seed filling me.  
 
Then he began to slap my ass cheeks with both hands, one at a time. I felt the sting. Then the warmth rise and spread across my body. Andre softened inside me. Then shoved me sideways so I fell over on the bed.  
 
With that, Andre was gone. He gathered up his clothes and left the room. It was just you and me staring at each other in silence.  
 
My emotions were a confusing mixture. While I did not climax as I normally do. I did feel an intense rush of pleasure I would describe as an orgasm. I had never felt that way before. I could get off both vaginally and by kisses upon my clit. But this was different. My heart rate slowed down, my breathing returned to normal.  
 
I felt what was left of Andre leak out of me. Making a mess of the bed, just like it had made a mess of me.  
 
You got up and left without a word. I laid there… and sobbed.