The cage was a serious and intense experience for me. It is the first bondage scenario I have done where I agreed to let PD decide when I have had enough. Looking back, I doubt safety words would have helped my cause anyway. Yet, in my mind it made all the difference. Fear is the word I must use. Fear growing into dread and dread more like fear. You need to make it slow so you can forget. To slow down your mind is not that difficult at first. In the cage everything is slow: pain, time and how the concrete drifts and bends like it rests upon a warm, dead sea. Just don't look up and gaze too long at the bars; try not to remember where you are. One hour is a euphoric pleasure. A heavy swan-sway in a thick pool. Weight upon weight; I sensed the cool metal enter me. I let my self fall through the incoming numbness. My ass, being the center of discomfort, was the last to go. It was being stubborn and forced me to linger around a while longer. My self was stuck in my ass while swan-hood hovered just above. I wanted to shit it out. Two hours and I begin to get a taste. Is this pain? Just the beginning of cramps and bruises. Wake up now, pain is here. Since it's too much all at once, take account of the discomfort in each body part systematically. Do it slow and do not think. And please do not look at me. I won't suck in my gut for you anymore. Do you think I'm admiring my grand, motherly folds? That I've just been waiting for an excuse to hang my head down towards my pussy all day? You're moving around and around me, up my crotch, like I'm a circus freak. Don't look at me. The third hour is transcendence. I am forced to accept my pain. My flesh has nicely settled in to the nooks of the grainy, chipped bars. My flesh rips off those bars in a cold heat. And so slowly does the moistening flesh slide towards the ground. Slow enough to continue the bruising process. Don't look at me now, weeping. Crying for myself and my pain. I let go and the cage came at me fast on all sides. Sensory overload. Large tears slid down the cracks of my breasts and over the folds. I watched them drip. This is not pain. It's a high pitched throb of a tuning fork. One unceasing body pulse methodically pushing the tears out of my face. Four hours equals horror. I look down and see a man reclining just under the cage. He's like a man relaxing in the grass after a picnic, gaping at the clouds. His eyes are wide, his face blank and he is looking at me. I realize he has been staring at my tortured ass shift about for some time. He has been listening to my pathetic babbling and sobbing and he has done nothing. Now is when I cannot go further. Every part of me rejects his dead stare and I beg to be let out.