You could feel that deep down she was a slave—to her sexual appetite. That it was enough to grab her by the belt and open it for her to fall into anyone's arms. Something very similar to the chastity belt in the Musée Cluny, which the Crusaders were said to put on women: a very wide silver belt with an appendage covering the sex and which was locked for as long as the Crusades lasted. By the way, someone told me a delightful story about a crusader who put his chastity belt on his wife and left the key with his best friend in case he died. He had barely ridden a few miles when his friend galloped furiously after him, shouting, 'You gave me the wrong key!' Such were the feelings that Louise's belt inspired in everyone. When we saw her arrive at a cafe, scrutinize all of us with her hungry eyes, looking for a reaction, an invitation to sit down, we knew she was hunting. Her husband couldn't ignore everything. He was a pitiful figure, always looking for her, being told by his friends that the woman was in one cafe or another; by the time he found her, she'd already had time to hide in a hotel with someone. So everyone tried to let her know where her husband was looking for her. Finally, in complete desperation, her husband had begun begging his best friends to stay with her so that at least she wouldn't fall into strange hands. The moment came when the desire inside her belly consumed her like a wild fire. He thought he was going to go crazy. Everything that tried to reach orgasm, he prevented. Even when a kiss from him took too long, he would interrupt it. The belt clinked whenever she moved, like a slave's chain. And in truth she was nothing but a slave to that huge mulatto. He was your king. Her pleasure was subordinate to his. Louise realized that there was nothing she could do against her strength and her will. Antonio demanded submission. Her desire died from sheer exhaustion. All the tension left his body. She went soft as cotton. And it was in this cotton that he continued to work with even greater pleasure. That broken, panting, malleable body, which grew softer and softer under his hands, was his exclusive property. His hands searched every nook and cranny of Louise's body, forgetting nothing, massaging, kneading the flesh as he fancied, twisting it close to his mouth to mark it with his big white teeth. For the first time the desire that had always surfaced on Louise's skin like an irritation retreated deeper into her body. It retreated and began to accumulate, transforming itself into a nucleus of fire that, to explode, awaited the occasion and the rhythm that Antonio would determine. Meanwhile, they performed like a dance, with the two bodies turning and transforming themselves in new arrangements, new designs. Now they were glued together, his cock against her ass, her breasts vibrating like ocean waves under his hands, painfully awake, aware, sensitive. In another moment, when he was lying on top of her, crushing her belly like a huge lion, Louise slipped both wrists under her waist, trying to lift herself onto his cock. Only then did Antonio enter her for the first time and fill her like no other man ever had, touching the depths of her belly. Honey was dripping from inside Louise. When Antonio introduced his cock inside her, he made some noise—all the air was being expelled from her womb by that cock that satisfied her so completely, in and out endlessly, touching the door of her womb. But as soon as her breathing accelerated, Antonio withdrew completely and began another kind of caress. NIN, Anais. Delta of Venus: Erotic Stories. #fetish
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