~ OTAGE ~

la putain du cargo

~ HOSTAGE ~ 

the whore of the cargo

I hardly remember the voyage by truck on the bad tracks of Iraq. I believe that the terrible heat which reigned in the case, the stinking smell of my body and its dejections, the infernal suffering caused by the objects which smashed my anus, my vagina and my mouth with each bump, thirst also, had plunged me in an almost total unconsciousness.

I gathered memories when light draught, slipping through the boards, the murmurs of a harbor, gulls, siren of boat, a vague gleam and a perfume of salt finally woke up me.
I tried to scream, to call for help but the rubber member which dilated my lips muzzled my attempts.

The case moved, turned on itself, oscillated. Noises of a machine. A shock which made me groan. A large deaf slapping as a trap door is closed again. Then darkness. Sea, a boat... I supposed it

Slow rolling, odours of fuel oil, the humming and permanent vibrations of the machinery gave me nausea.
But I had already thrown up all that my dislocated body could return.

Suddenly, in the state of coma where I was, to my surprise, the muzzle was removed.

My jaws went shakingand a stream of water sprinkled my face.

I drunk, I strangled myself, I closed my eyes.
I drank more.

Then a nozzle forced its way through my lips and a sweetened liquid ran down my throat.

I aspired with frenzy, I sucked this nozzle, the food which dropped there... still and still.

The rubber sex invaded my mouth again.

I groaned with despair. I struggled, doing nothing but wounding me even more.

The case moved. The piles tore me, the ropes sheared me. I passed out.

..........