Sweet Butterfly
They say heat goes up, and I can attest to it. Apparently, so does dampness.
My whole body, dangling from the glass ceiling like a ripe fruit, is covered in
sweat. This is what being in a jungle must feel like. This is what hanging from
a huge tree in a jungle must feel like. At night. Under the stars. The world at
my feet. Except I'm the one who is being played with, and I'm not sure I like
it.
When we entered the greenhouse, I rejoiced at the sudden warmth enveloping me.
After all, I was naked from head to toe, and the short walk in the garden made
me realize the first purpose of clothes. Why he was taking me to the greenhouse
was a mystery though. Before I could utter a word, he gagged me securely, and,
holding my hands behind my back, he gently pushed me forward on a sand path
surrounded by small trees and all sorts of plants. As I walked, I could feel the
leaves brush my skin, and that simple touch made me shiver. High above us, the
stars added their faded light to the small lamps scattered among the foliage.
When we reached the centre, under the high glass dome, he ordered me to stop and
stand still. I waited, anxiety building. Then I saw I was not going to be stark
naked for a long time. Not that all that leather was meant as a cover.
My arms go first, tightly bound in a heavy binder behind my back. My legs
follow, neatly encased in thigh-high boots which he slowly laces up, taking his
time. When he asks me to spread my legs wide, I have trouble keeping my balance,
but the soft ground swallows part of the heels and I'm stabilized. Grounded,
too. At that very moment, a tiny butterfly comes flying around me, and I swiftly
jerk my head to chase it away. I hate bugs. Whether sweet or poisonous, creeping
or buzzing, they make me nervous. The little intruder leaves, and I relax. For a
short while. That is, until I choke from a sudden lack of air. The corset looks
divine, but did he really have to choose two sizes under mine ? It takes me a
couple of minutes to adjust, but while I am regaining breath control, a large
leather collar is fastened around my neck, making it impossible for me to turn
or lower my head. One more restraint, in the form of a leather band holding my
hair in a strict ponytail, and the sigh of contentment I hear seems to indicate
I'm fully restrained. Which I am. There's nothing I can move except my eyelids
and fingers. Not that it helps.
I'm curious why my breasts are free of any artifice, but the answer quickly
comes in the form of paint, or what looks like some sort of syrup. As he uncaps
the flask, a flowery fragrance fills the air. Jasmine? Magnolias? I was never
very good in botanic, but it sure smells good. He methodically applies a layer
of sticky translucid lotion on my breasts, adding an extra touch on my nipples.
I distinctly remember Anne Rice's 'Beauty' series, the part about the lotion
that would warm up and bring teasing torture to any part of the body where it
was applied. Is that what he has in mind ? Unsurprisingly, he also covers my
sex, paying particular attention to the most sensitive areas. One, two, three
layers. When he's finished, he steps back and watches me with a wicked smile.
''Ready, girl?''
Sure, but ready for what ? This is much more than what I expected when I
innocently suggested a little 'bondage night.' A knot forms in my stomach. Can
I handle this? As I meditate on my fate and how there is very little I can do to
escape it, I hear the rattle of chains. Chains?
I feel a gentle tug on my wrists, then one not so gentle that pulls my hair
back. I hear a few clicks as the chains are locked in various parts in my back,
on the sides and around my ankles. And then, nothing. Where has he gone?
Suddenly, the sound of an engine starting and…I'm being lifted off. The chains
pull and bend me over backwards. My legs, knees wide apart, gradually reach for
my wrists and my head is pulled up by the hair. Up and up and up I go. Though
the ascent is slow, I'm already feeling nauseous. I'm afraid of heights. Did I
tell him that? Definitely. When the engine finally stops, I'm almost touching
the glass panels of the dome, 20m high above the ground. My body is slightly
bent and I suppose I must look like a moon crescent. Except the fire within me
does not exactly make me feel like a dead satellite.
I barely begin to consider my helpless situation when everything under me turns
into darkness. Dim light from four lamps in each upper corner of the greenhouse
gives an eerie feeling to the scene. The trees are shadow-like monsters,
extending their arms as if to grab me. I'm on the verge of panic. Then, from the
corner of my eyes, which I strain to lower as much as I can, I realise something
else glows right under me. Wrong. I am the one who's glowing. The paint! It's
fluorescent and my sex and breasts shine like silvery stars. Now I'm the moon
alright, reflecting enough light to…oh, no.
As the dreadful thought occurs to me, I see the first one. It suddenly breaks in
from the shadows and flies to my left breast. Its velvet-soft wings flap across
my bare skin, and a faint moan escapes my gagged mouth. The butterfly takes no
notice as it lands on my nipple and begins to suck it, or whatever butterflies
do. The flowery fragrance, the light, and by the look of it, the taste of the
potion makes me the perfect bug-attraction! I feel more sweat on my forehead,
and my heart quickens. This cannot be. Surely he will bring me down now.
I realise how vain my hopes are as another yellow-winged intruder comes flying
in and lands on my right breast, quickly followed by a third one. The silence is
such that I can hear their wings flapping as they caress, suck and tease me. I
try to move my head or feet or hips to scare them off, but I'm too tightly
restrained. My breasts have hardened so much that they now offer very convenient
holds for the bugs. And more of them come to enjoy the party. My mind is
bordering on insanity. And if it was only the breasts. Because of the posture
collar, I can't see further down, but now I feel swift, gentle touches around my
widely-exposed sex. And the white cream I produce in abundance does not seem to
chase them either. How many of them are swirling around my most sensitive parts,
I can no longer say. I'm losing it.
Sheer panic seizes me when I see a giant white butterfly leisurely flying around
my head, caressing my cheeks, then diving down to land right on my clit. This is
too much. My eyes get watery and I would scream if I could. At the same time I
feel the waves of ecstasy approaching and what is left of my reason hopes that
the shaking will make them all go. The waves crash down as I thrash in my
bounds, but the thrashing is kept inside by my severe bondage. The bugs are
still there, enjoying their feast and calling for more friends to join in. I'm
lost. I begin to hallucinate. All I feel is the touch of millions of wings. All
I hear is a continuous buzz, outside and inside. Coming and going. And never
ending.
Chelsea Shepard
The END
