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  The Cage Sessions

  Book 3: Sinful

  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.

  Note:

  Chapters 1-7 are in Indecent (The Cage Sessions Book 1)

  Chapters 8-16 are in Depraved (The Cage Sessions Book 2)

  Chapter 17

  "Quiet, slut!" says Damien Cage. "This is your lesson in submission. You will submit to me."

  "What did you just call me?" I say, the feminist in me a little angered.

  "A slut," he says. "Because that's what you are. A whore. A tramp."

  I feel a well of anger rising in me. We've reached a set of stairs. He walks up. I stop at the bottom level. Sunshine and humid outdoor air pour down from above.

  "I'm not a slut," I say. "I don't appreciate your talking to me like that."

  Halfway up the stairs, he stops.

  Uh-oh.

  He turns around, his chiseled tattooed chest coming back down to the bottom level again.

  His deep blue eyes are severe yet hypnotic. I could stare at them for a thousand years.

  He grabs my arms roughly, spinning me and pressing me into the wall. I gasp.

  I feel his hot breath on my ear as he growls in a whisper.

  "You are nothing but a goddamned piece of meat. You like to fuck. You're a whore, a slut, and a tramp all rolled into one. We all are. I'm a goddamned slut too. I fuck. I fuck a lot. I lost count how many cunts, mouths, and assholes I've been in. It's okay. It's freeing. It's good to be a slut. When you embrace the fact you're a slut, you're free. Because we're all sluts."

  My head is spinning. This is incredibly erotic and exciting, but it also pisses me off.

  I'm no goddamned slut!

  He pulls my wrists together, yanking me away from the wall and pushing me up the stairs.

  Strangely, being treated like this makes me feel so free. So natural. So much more of a sexual being than I've ever felt.

  Ever since that night with Isabella, I've been a new person. Experimenting, learning about myself, pushing my boundaries. I'm so grateful to Isabella, to Damien, and to Jasmine. I'm learning how to truly be myself through them.

  Satan, says my mother's voice in my head. You're under the Devil's spell.

  Shit, that damned voice is still stuck in my head. Still controls part of my brain. Working on that. Making progress.

  As Damien leads me up the stairs I close my eyes and think about how I got here, how I developed this new sense of true sexual freedom.

  Well, as you know it all started with Isabella and I having sex. Amazing sex. Mind-blowing sex.

  I spent that night at her place, sleeping in her bed with her warm breath in my ear.

  So weird.

  But so good.

  The next morning, we showered together, then ended up having sex again before breakfast. Even more mind-blowing. Toys. Dildos. She even cleaned out my ass and got a tiny butt plug in me. I wore it while we ate breakfast. Felt good, actually.

  The luxury building in which she lives has an in-house restaurant that delivers 24/7. Isabella had them bring up a feast of bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, home fries, pancakes, orange juice, and coffee.

  Must be nice.

  We were both quite spent and needed replenishment.

  Not to mention if you have the money, use it.

  Save, don't spend.

  God, there's my mother's voice again. I may have fucked Isabella, but I'm still not completely free, am I?

  Isabella and I finish breakfast. My virgin butthole isn't used to the plug and it's getting a little sore so I decide to remove it.

  Isabella's bathroom is dark red marble with amazing little designs all over it.

  Must be nice.

  After I remove and clean the plug, I check out my asshole in the mirror. Looks okay. No damage. Still way too tight, though. Gotta loosen it up for Damien.

  Nothing like Isabella's, that's for sure. Got my hand right back up in hers this morning like it was waiting for me. You'd think last night would have been enough for her, but she's fucking insatiable.

  God, I love her to death.

  After applying some Vaseline to ease the soreness, I look at my naked self in the bathroom mirror.

  Damn.

  You know, not bad.

  Breasts perky today. Little nipples still hard from being licked and sucked so much. White skin that only burns/never tans in the South Florida sunshine. Yet porcelain-like.

  I turn to my side. Nice ass. My best feature, definitely. Not big and perfectly rounded like Isabella's, but round and bouncy enough.

  I turn forward again. Good legs. Nice lippy little shaved twat in a ripe mound.

  I step closer to the mirror and stare at my face.

  I do have nice blue eyes, don't I? Straight dark hair that's a little dull but frames my face well. Pouty little nose. Lips could be thicker, but their natural redness stands out nicely against my pale skin.

  I put my cheek stud in this morning. I never wear it at home because my mother would have a fit.

  Looks hot.

  I reach into my purse and put my glasses on. Big black frames.

  As I look at myself in the mirror wearing nothing but glasses, Damien's words come back to me.

  I bet you'd look great in them with nothing else.

  This, huh? He prefers this over Isabella? What is the magic he sees in me?

  God, I don't remember looking at myself in the mirror like this before.

  Just admiring me.

  Feels good. Good to know I can admire myself in a sexual way. Yeah, I think I'd want to fuck me too.

  My cell phone rings.

  I reach into my hipster satchel and look at the number.

  Fuck, it's my mother.

  She's already called three times and left messages, sounding extremely worried about me.

  I try not to answer, but I have to. Or else she'll just keep calling all day.

  "Hello," I say as I return to looking at my naked self in the mirror.

  "Annika!" my mom says. "Oh, I'm so happy you're there. Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine, mom," I say.

  "Where are you?"

  Should I tell her?

  "I'm at Iz's," I say.

  "Well, I'm glad you're with her at least," she says. "I don't think I could have ever forgiven myself if you ended up in a house of the Devil."

  If only she knew what Isabella and I did last night...

  I chuckle to myself, continuing to admire my naked body.

  "Annika, I'm sorry," she says. "Please come home. I said some things I didn't mean to say."

  This is how she always gets me. She puts on a convincing show of reasonableness. I go home, we have a nice meal together, and things return to normal.

  Then the tension slowly builds again until it erupts like it did last night.

  I'm not sure if I want to go back. Definitely not today.

  "Well, Mom," I say, "I don't know. I think I'm going to crash here for a couple of days. And you said some hurtful things."

  "I know," she says. "But it's only because I love you and want the best for you."

  Deep down, I do believe that. Want the best for you, though, means do everything my way.

  "I love you too, Mom," I say. "B
ut I'm okay. Everything is all right. I'm just going to stay with Iz for a couple days, okay?"

  There is a long silence.

  "Okay," she says. "And don't you worry about me. I'll be okay with that doctor's appointment I have on Thursday by myself. Don't you worry about it. I'll be fine."

  Shit.

  Here we go. Passive-aggressive manipulation. Her calling card. I always know what she's doing.

  Then, in my mind, I'm back at the hospital, fourteen years old.

  I go into the room, the first time I've seen my mom since the operation. Paler than I've ever seen her, almost green. Frail. I remember how my grandma looked in her casket. I get a flash of my mom in one.

  Her eyes open, a thin plastic tube under her nose. Her lips are covered with a thin film. Looks like petroleum jelly.

  "Annika," she tries to say but it comes out garbled.

  "Don't speak, Mom," I say. "You're okay. They got all of it. Every last bit of it. You're going to be okay! Isn't that wonderful?"

  She just nods.

  "I'm going to take care of you, Mom," I say, my eyes full of tears. "I'm here by your side... always."

  She takes my hand and clasps it tight. I kiss her knuckles.

  My mom was lucky indeed. The doctors were able to remove all the cancer.

  I was so relieved. I didn't know how I would make it without her.

  Standing in front of Isabella's mirror, my body seems to morph. I notice flaws I didn't see a few moments ago. An odd shape by my hip. The strange birthmark on my side. My long skinny neck.

  Suddenly I want clothing.

  "What time is the appointment on Thursday?" I say.

  "Two o'clock," says my mom. "But don't you worry. I'll be okay."

  "No, mom. It's okay. I'll drive you in. We always go in together. I gotta go, but I'll see you Thursday at one-thirty, okay?"

  "Okay," she says. "I love you, Annika."

  "Love you too, Mom."

  I press End.

  I can't look at myself anymore. I put my clothes back on.

  Chapter 18

  "Do you have any other relatives who live close by?" says Delphina.

  Her windowless office behind the noise machine reminds me of an enclosed bubble. Time and space don't exist here. When we talk it's like we've stepped outside of reality, looking in at it.

  "An aunt in Lauderdale," I say. "My mom's sister. They used to be close but they don't speak anymore."

  Delphina Diamond is in khakis again. Light blue shirt today. Flats. Seems to be her uniform. If she dropped twenty pounds and put some decent makeup on, she'd look better.

  "Why don't they speak anymore?" she says.

  "My aunt is hard to get along with," I say.

  Delphina Diamond frowns, tilting her head.

  "When was the last time you talked to your aunt in Lauderdale?" she says.

  "Oh, years ago," I say. "Actually I always got along with her great. She seemed to really care for me when I was little. She has two sons. Twin boys. Probably about eighteen now. But she always called me her first."

  "That doesn't sound like someone who is hard to get along with."

  "True," I say, seeing where she's going with this.

  "How do you think your aunt would describe her sister your mother?"

  "Umm..." I laugh. "Probably hard to get along with."

  Delphina just nods with that look that says go on.

  "My mom," I say, "tends to... um... preach." Delphina's eyebrows rise.

  "What does she preach?" she says.

  "She's a Jehovah's Witness," I say. "They believe their mission is to convert wherever and whenever they can. It's not like other religions where you just pray in your own way and go about your business. No, it's the kind of religion where you constantly have to be telling everyone how wrong they are."

  "Sounds like the Mormons."

  "Oh, the Mormons are nothing compared to this. In fact, I never understood when my Catholic friends in high school would tell me how strict their church is. Catholic? Ha! You just go to confession and your sins are absolved with a few Hail Marys. I longed to be Catholic when I was a kid! No no no, there is no certain forgiveness as a Jehovah's Witness. Even those who have been in it for years still fear that their turnaround just won't be good enough for Jehovah on the day of judgment."

  "Wow, that sounds like a lot to force onto a kid."

  "It is," I say. "Not to mention they teach you to knock on people's doors. 'Hello, did you know all your beliefs are wrong and ours are right? You must convert to us or you will be destroyed by God.' They do it more subtly than that, naturally, but that's the message. Not a good way to make friends. Then they wonder why people hate them so much. They say it's Satan that makes people hate them. I say it's what they do that makes people hate them. Always judging. Always preaching. They say they never judge, but the very nature of what they do is judgmental."

  "Doesn't sound like a very loving God this Jehovah."

  "They fear Him more than anything else."

  Delphina looks up and to her right.

  "Fear," she says. "That's very interesting. Do you fear God?"

  "Um... no. I mean, not anymore. If there is a God, he gave me my brain and my ability to reason independently. I consider it a tribute to him that I use his gift to employ critical thinking. Otherwise, why would he have given it to me? I can't imagine that God would create me and then want me to dumb myself down as much as possible. Not to mention destroy me if I embrace his gift of critical thinking."

  "Do you fear your mother?"

  I look at the space between the wall and her desk.

  "Um... I... she does get mad a lot," I say.

  "What does she get mad about?" she says.

  I look over at the couch. One cushion in the middle is thicker than the other two. Hadn't noticed that before.

  "I mess things up," I say.

  "How do you mess things up?" she says.

  "I get spots on her furniture. I spill crumbs from my toast on the floor. I don't fold my clothes right. I'm messy. Disorganized. She has a way to do everything and God help you if you don't do it her way."

  "So she does all your cooking and cleaning and laundry?"

  "Yes. She insists on it. I tried doing my own but then she gets in a huff about using double the amount of water so the water bill is going to go through the roof. Better to put both of our sets of clothes together. But then she gets all nosy and asks 'what's this stain?,' 'what's that stain?"

  "Stains?"

  "Well, I have a couple of... um... toys."

  "Oh, good. Do you go to the store over on Grand?"

  Wow, Delphina isn't judging me for having sex toys. Why did I think she might? I was afraid to admit I own sex toys. Even though I know it's okay, it still makes me feel like a pervert to say it out loud.

  But now I'm talking normally about it! Feels so good.

  "Yes," I say. "My mom doesn't understand lube," I say. "She found that one day."

  Delphina smiles.

  "What doesn't she understand about it?" she says.

  "Well, to her, all masturbation is evil," I say. "Satan again. Waste of holy procreation seed. Plus, in her world women don't masturbate. Only men. So when she found the lube she accused me of having a boy in my room. Plus, she accused me of doing anal sex because why else would you need lube?"

  "Did you have a boy in your room?"

  "A couple of times. But I always hid it well, and otherwise always went to his place. I had a couple of boyfriends while I was in college. I was with this guy Jared for the past two years but that's over."

  "Sounds like your mom likes to be in control."

  "Ha! She lives for control. Don't do it that way. That's the wrong way. Do it this way. My way. That's not how you chop onions. This is how you chop onions."

  "Sounds like your mom doesn't trust you to do things on your own."

  "Right. She treats me as a child who can't do anything without her."

  "Why do you think
she treats you like a child?"

  "Because she doesn't think I can do anything right."

  "Is that it? Or could it be something else?"

  Hm, so far I've seen where Delphina has been going. But now I'm stumped.

  "I... um... don't know..." I say.

  "Isn't there a possibility she doesn't want to be left alone and by keeping you a child who can't handle anything she's assured of your never leaving her?"

  Shit.

  Wow.

  I had never looked at it that way.

  "But doesn't my mom want me to do what's best for me because she loves me?" I say.

  "Annika, I've been at this a long time," says Delphina. "One thing I've learned about human nature is that very few people look into another person's eyes and see what the individual wants. Especially parents. Parents tend to see their children as extensions of themselves, not autonomous beings with their own thoughts, dreams, and passions. We'll talk about this some more."

  She sits up in her chair, leaning forward and turning to her Mac laptop. Shit, that's the sign it's been fifty minutes.

  Fuck, these sessions don't last long enough!

  "So next week same time?" she says.

  "Do you have one before then?" I say. "An extra one?"

  Chapter 19

  "So what did you learn?" says Damien Cage.

  "Learn?" I say.

  We're sitting in another plush room with a slightly different view of the pool and ocean. Three bouncy nymphs are sunning themselves naked by the pool. All blondes today. Bitch whore tramps. Bet they've all been fucked by Damien Cage.

  And I haven't.

  Fucking pisses me off.

  "From your night with Isabella," he says.

  "How do you know about that?" I say.

  "I know everything. I'm Damien Cage."

  He takes a walnut and eats it.

  Today's green juice is served with walnuts.

  Healthy.

  "It's Jasmine, isn't it?" I say. "I know she's been talking to Isabella."

  He eats another walnut.

  "Maybe," he says.

  He's shirtless again. Naturally. His shoulder muscles flex a little. Do they do that all on their own?