Skylar Cross - [The Cage Sessions 02] Read online

  The Cage Sessions

  Book 2: Depraved

  By

  Skylar Cross

  Copyright 2014 D2Rev Publishing / Skylar Cross

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  All characters depicted in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 8

  "Bring in the Cage Girls!"

  So proclaims Jasmine Ryder in her Roman-style helmet as she steps aside, swinging her whip, her attached tail dancing from her ass. Golden eyelids and eyelashes painted on. Bulge (big bulge) protruding through her leather thong with golden chains on the top.

  The room is oak-paneled and dark. Three rows of chairs are set up along three sides of the room, forming a U-shaped audience. The fourth side of the room is nothing but a black curtain. A large space awaits in the center.

  Even though the air conditioning is cooling the room nicely, I'm sweating as I wait for something to happen.

  Isabella is calm and naked, fully painted as a… peacock? hibiscus tree? multicolored mutant zebra?

  Not sure. Something like that.

  The body paint artist sure took his sweet time on her, that's for sure. (What, you didn't think she'd gleefully volunteer to get naked and painted? Come on! You know her by now.)

  Through the black velvet curtain come two cages, pushed by two muscular men wearing nothing but leather thongs and combat boots. In each cage is a naked girl on her knees wearing a blindfold and ball gag. In varying degrees of ink the words "SLUT" and "WHORE" are painted all over their bodies.

  Jasmine crouches down between the two cages.

  "Hello, Cage Girls," she says. "Are you ready to please me?"

  Both girls make affirmative grunting noises through their gags.

  Shit, I'm getting ahead of myself here. Where did I leave off?

  Oh, yeah. Sorry.

  Damien had just finished singing Far Away by Nickelback, sending my cunt all a-waterfallin'. Oh, and my heart too.

  Isabella and I just sat there at our cube table, mouths open. The party returned to normal but it took both of us a few seconds to come down from the powerful emotional display we just experienced.

  There's something there. Something behind that song. I want to uncover it. I want to understand his pain.

  A chubby guy with blond spiked hair comes up to us. He's visibly drunk, cigarette in one hand and a big empty glass in the other.

  "What the fuck are you supposed to be?" he says to Isabella.

  "Excuse me?" she says in her don't-fuck-with-me voice.

  "Your outfit. Or lack of one. God, you're fucking hot."

  His eyes look like they're going to pop out of his head as he ogles her.

  "Have you been working on that line all day?" I say, emboldened by Plutonium-239.

  He looks at me and smiles.

  "So why don't you two ladies and I blow this joint?" he says, trying to smoke his cigarette but missing his mouth. "Or you can just... blow... me."

  He laughs like he's said the funniest thing anyone has ever said.

  Charming.

  Like a demon rising from hell, Jasmine Ryder's tall frame moves up behind him.

  I feel a tingle down below. What was that?

  "I don't think so," says Isabella.

  "Oh, come on," says Chubby, attempting once more to get his cigarette into his mouth. This time he makes it. "Don't be a fucking prude. I know you want it, the way you're decked out with those tits on display. Come on, how about we take a walk?"

  "How about you take a walk?" says Jasmine in a feminine voice with a solid undertone of masculine presence.

  Second tingle.

  What the fuck?

  I cross my legs.

  Chubby spins around, a little shocked at Jasmine's statuesque figure. She's a full foot taller than he is.

  "Holy fuck!" he says. "What jungle did you emerge from?"

  "I'm Jasmine, Mr. Cage's public relations manager and personal assistant. Hello, Annika. Nice to see you again."

  "Nice to see you again too, Jasmine," I say.

  Isabella's eyes are completely wide, staring at Jasmine. Not hard to do.

  "I apologize for this 'gentleman''s behavior," says Jasmine. "I'm removing him now."

  "Thank you," says Isabella.

  "Jasmine, this is my friend Isabella," I say.

  "Pleasure to meet you," says Jasmine. Is that a spark I see in her eye?

  Or is it in my eye? Or are we all sparking with each other?

  "Yo! Hey! Wait a sec here!" says Chubby. "Who the fuck are you having removed, you Amazon queen? I'm here with Kepney-Baker Investments. You can't kick me out."

  "First of all," says Jasmine. "Yes I can and yes I am. Second, I'm going to advise Mr. Cage to withdraw his money from Kepney-Baker seeing as the firm has badly represented itself here tonight. And third, you're the most annoying little man I've met all night."

  "Fuck you too. I'm not leaving."

  Chubby starts to walk away but Jasmine places a firm hand on his chest. She keeps him in place without any effort. He tries to slap her hand away. She looks at us like Foghorn Leghorn being threatened by the chicken hawk. With her other hand, she slaps him in the face.

  Two security guards in black blazers appear behind and to either side of Jasmine, letting her take the lead. I get the feeling most people let Jasmine take the lead.

  "Now," says Jasmine, "I'm going to ask you nicely one more time to leave. If you don't, then I can't be responsible for the condition in which you find yourself tomorrow morning in a dumpster behind a Circle K in North Miami."

  Chubby is out of words. He swings a wide roundhouse punch to Jasmine's face. Jasmine nonchalantly leans back and looks at us with a smile. His fist goes sailing right past her nose. At the same time, she swivels to her right putting her body weight into a right jab to his stomach.

  I put my hands up to my mouth when I hear the loud purge of air from his mouth as he doubles over.

  One and done.

  Jasmine nods to the two security guys who glide over. She swivels the bent over Chubby around, handing him to them like a used hors d'oeuvre tray. Each guard takes an arm and Chubby is gone.

  Jasmine dazzles tonight in a red dress and black shoes with high heels. Like she needs high heels. Black onyx necklace. Several shiny black bracelets.

  I notice a tattoo on her arm. Similar writing to the new one I saw on Damien's back.

  Hmmmm.

  "Investment boys," says Jasmine. "Put them in charge of million-dollar accounts and suddenly they think they own the entire city. My apologies to both of you."

  "Not a problem," says Isabella. "I rather enjoyed the way you handled that. I get the feeling you've done this before."

  Isabella shifts her legs to the side, flashing her thick eyelashes.

  She's flirting, isn't she? I admit the atmosphere is so sexualized it's hard not to be turned on.

  But Isabella has found her target. And when she latches on, there's no stopping her.

  Does Jasmine fuck girls? I wonder.

  Then a disturbing thought fills my head. Does Jasmine fuck Damien? Is Damien gay? If he gets fucked by a transsexual, does that even mean he's gay?

  Shut up, Annika! You're overanalyzing again. There is NO way Damien Cage is gay. You don't even know if Jasmine has had surger
y or not.

  Not that it's any of my business.

  (But I'd love to find out!)

  Ever since I walked past the glowing cubes on the way in here, I've had a sense I'm in a genderless world.

  Except for Damien. He's all man.

  But where the fuck is he?

  Jasmine turns and nods to somebody. A girl in a leopard-print bikini walks up to her. No, strike that. A naked girl wearing paint made to look like a leopard-print bikini walks up to her. She hands Jasmine two gold-embossed cards.

  Jasmine places one in front of each of us.

  "Ladies, it is my pleasure to invite you to tonight's private show. Just present these over at the entrance to the house at midnight. You will be granted access to the seating area."

  "Seating area?" I say.

  "Yes," she says with a curious look. "Are you familiar with the private show?"

  "Yes, but I don't think I'm ready for the rule."

  Jasmine laughs.

  "That's more an Internet rumor than anything. Don't worry. You're merely here to watch. Nothing is expected of you this evening. This is just a private show." She turns to Isabella. "I guarantee you will enjoy it."

  Yep, definite sparks between Isabella and Jasmine. Shit, I wonder if Jasmine even has a cock. Maybe she's snipped. Although Damien did tell her to jerk off her "uncut cock" the other day. Was that literal?

  Third tingle.

  Damn.

  "See you inside," says Jasmine, "You'll know when it's time. The lights will dim and there will be a gonging sound. In the meantime, if you'd like to be body painted, we have the body artist Karl Werz here. Just head over past the bar and you'll see him. Tell him I said you can go ahead of any line if there's one there."

  "Thank you," I say, "but I think I'll be fine."

  "Where did you say?" says Isabella.

  Of course.

  "Right over there past the bar on the right," says Jasmine. "You can't miss him. Just look for the man with the white ponytail painting the naked girls. Can't miss it. Nice to see you ladies."

  Jasmine gives Isabella a strong stare.

  "Nice to meet you," says Isabella as Jasmine walks off.

  Isabella watches her as she moves through the crowd. The mass of dancers part like the Red Sea to let her through.

  "Oh my God!" says Isabella. "I think I'm in love. Or in lust, anyway."

  "Yeah," I say as I sip my drink, "she's something all right. I met her when I was here the other day."

  "She's like the perfect package. Part man, part woman. And the way she handled that chubby dickhead. Ohmigod, I'm wet!"

  "I'll admit that was kinda hot in an genderless sort of way. Then again, everything around here is kinda hot in a genderless sort of way."

  "Don't you love it?"

  Isabella is clearly intrigued but I'd love to get a slice of masculine rockstar energy in the form of the muscles and tattoos I've fantasized about since being a teenager. Before I get shitfaced and pass out, anyway.

  "Annika," says Isabella leaning down close to the table, "wanna get body painted?"

  "How did I know you were going to say that?" I say. "I think I'll pass, but if you want to..."

  "I do."

  "I'm shocked."

  "Come watch?"

  "Yes."

  Although it came out more like yesh.

  Ooops.

  I leave my drink. The world wobbles a little as I step away from the table.

  We walk over to the body painter's tent. It's to the left of where the pool used to be, behind the makeshift wall set up behind the DJ.

  Isabella makes me laugh. Any excuse to get naked. I've seen her naked several times. Weird she never made a move on me.

  Hey, what's up with that?

  I make a mental note to ask her later.

  Hey, wait a minute... why do I care?

  The body-painter is finishing up a girl who looks barely eighteen.

  He's put her in an Egyptian goddess bikini with lots of hieroglyphics. Remarkable. Fucking hot actually.

  Isabella gets naked as we wait for the body painter to finish the girl he's working on. I swear clothing to her is just a nuisance.

  The artist swishes the final brushstrokes onto the blonde girl. He wears a loose white shirt with black pants and shoes. About sixty. Long white hair in a ponytail. White goatee.

  "This is amazing!" says the blonde girl as she admires herself in the full-length mirror. "Thank you!"

  As she saunters off, the artist's eyes go wide at the sight of his next project.

  Isabella is undoubtedly Karl Werz's most perfect canvas of the evening. He takes one look at her and scratches his head. I can almost hear him thinking What the fuck am I supposed to do here? There ain't no improving this. Guess I'll just decorate it.

  He starts by swishing paint this way and that until she becomes something angelicly aquatic. Or tropically forest-like. Or nautically wave-like.

  Lots of leaves... or maybe they're waves... or scales... or wings. Hard to tell.

  With his perfect canvas, he lingers a little too long. A line of other girls has formed, some getting very impatient. But I really don't think he gives a shit.

  A throng of guys has formed around the body painter's tent too. I sit to their right on a stool, waiting. Invisible.

  I consider walking over and snapping my fingers in front of their eyes, but it probably wouldn't jolt them out of it.

  The artist finally finishes. Isabella gets up, resplendently colorful and textured. Unlike the other girls who were painted to disguise their nudity, Isabella's paint highlights the fact she's naked.

  "Oh my God!" she says as she admires herself. "You are incredible! Thank you so much!"

  She hugs Karl Werz. He squeezes one of her buttocks. Why not, right?

  The guys' eyes follow us... well, her... as we walk back to our table.

  When we arrive, Osira is right there to remove the "Reserved" placard she must have placed on the table when we left. Two new refreshed drinks magically appear.

  I sip my new drink.

  Pow!

  Easy, Annika. Don't want to get drunk before you see Damien.

  Speaking of which, where the fuck is Damien?

  I scan the crowd, but see him nowhere. Is that it? Does he even attend his own parties? Or does he just spike the sauce of a few hundred clits by singing a powerful song and disappearing?

  Probably all part of his weekly plan. Jack up the buying temperature, then make his selections from the sidelines. I wonder who the slut tramp whore bitch was who was with him. Probably has one of them in every room of the house, I bet.

  I take another sip of the nuclear concoction. Oh yeah, I'm seriously buzzed now.

  The lights dim and a deep gong suffuses the entire party. Several dancers look up and around with what-the-fuck-was-that? looks.

  But those of us "in the know" break from the party. I see handfuls of others gliding to the large patio doors of the house. Drapes cover the doors from the inside, blocking the view from the outdoor scene. Security guards take private invitations and allow the chosen ones to enter.

  We give each other a look, then get up from our table and walk toward the house.

  "Showtime," says Isabella.

  Chapter 9

  I look around the oak-paneled room. Isabella sits to my left. Air-conditioning feels good but I'm sweating. Three rows of chairs set up in a big U.

  Everyone is silent. The men are well-dressed and calm. No annoying frat-boy types as I half-expected. The women are all elegant and attentive. Only one besides me isn't painted.

  Another gong sounds.

  Through the black curtain walks Jasmine Ryder.

  A nearly naked Jasmine Ryder.

  She wears an outfit that is part-Roman Gladiator, part dominatrix. Golden helmet. Black leather thong held in place by a large gold chain with big rings. Leather bikini top. A tail.

  Oh my God, a fucking tail!

  And to top it all off, she's carrying�
�� yep, you guessed it… a whip.

  Her face is painted in gold warlike markings. Her eyelids and eyelashes are gold. Gold contact lenses.

  There is a definite bulge in the black leather thong. Not even trying to hide it. From here, it looks fucking huge.

  One question answered.

  Jasmine looks directly at me.

  Shit, was that another tingle in my pussy? And did my sphincter just spasm?

  My God, yes it was. What the fuck? Where is Damien? Why is this exciting me? I don't want to get excited without him in the room!

  Then I catch Jasmine looking at Isabella. There is a flicker behind her eyes again.

  Am I jealous?

  No, just confused at the onslaught of eroticism.

  Jasmine continues to survey the crowd for what feels like three months, staring into each face. Almost like she's making sure this person belongs here.

  I gotta admit, she's fucking intimidating. Oh, okay fine, goddamned sexy. There. I said it.

  She's not one of those transsexuals who can be fully "passable" as some say. Maybe in a long winter coat in New York. But not here.

  She has man shoulders, arms, and buttocks. Not very muscular but enough to know the doctor said to her momma "It's a boy!" Breast implants definitely.

  Tingle.

  Fuck, I'm getting wet. Stop, Annika! This isn't supposed to happen with anybody but Damien. What the fuck is this?

  Jasmine is facing away from us now, surveying the crowd on the other side of the room. Her ass faces us, a thin strip of black leather traveling up her sweet round cheeks. (My God, did I just write that?) A tribal tattoo sits lengthwise across the top of them.

  Isabella puts a hand on my leg and squeezes. I feel a warmness wash all over my body.

  I look at Isabella. I get a sudden flash of diving my head between her legs to eat her pussy.

  Oh my God, what is happening to me?

  It's like the entire house is suffused with a pansexual energy that pulsates and throbs all around, filling the air with sensual electricity.

  Satan.

  I hear my mother's words.

  Stay away from the unclean thing. Tell the Devil to "Get thee behind me!" like Jesus did.

  But is this really the Devil?