And the God-dess recreated Man
Fleeing the guilty face of the
crucified one does not mean fleeing from life.
|Perhaps it is like a cocoon, like the threads
of a spider’s web spun inexorably around me. Thread after
thread, the cocoon envelops me and holds me powerless as a captive
The latex skin clasps, squeezes me tight until I cannot move at all. I am lying down, paralyzed yet very much alive. The skin covers mine like an intimate part of me. Only my mouth and nose can still be reached. My sex is sheathed in a part of this skin, enclosed so that I cannot stop myself from getting hard. In a forced erection, the latex embrace holds in the blood that swells the part of me that I can no longer control. There is neither insolence nor triumph in this state, as the cocoon is on the inside and only a bulge gives any suggestion of what is happening.
||My anus is also under control, filled by
something unfamiliar that has entered me and swollen until it clings
insistently and firmly, making sure I remember I am the prey. Now
a large tube appears at my mouth.
I open up and am penetrated there too, filled and suddenly suffocated, panic-stricken. Mistress’s hand on my brow gradually calms me. I realize that this possession still lets me breathe through a central tube. Two small tubes soon enter my nostrils and I am connected to life by these veins bringing me fresh air.
I realise I am totally enclosed in this skin, this protective cocoon.
Mistress’s hand gently strokes
my hair. I suddenly feel I can hardly breathe. The tubes are blocked…
panic! I vainly arch my back in my prison, twisting like a terror-stricken
prey, my heart thumping in my ears, my lungs straining for air…
Because the philosopher says,