”“Not Zola or that Belgian Huysmans?”“No, sir. Salten adheres to Oscar Wilde.”“Eh?”“Wilde wrote: ‘The ancient historians gave us del...ghtful fiction in the form of fact; the modern novelist presents us with dull facts under the guise of fiction.’”“But you don’t mean to say that you seriously believe that Life imitates Art, that Life in fact is the mirror, and Art the reality?” asked Schnitzler.“Just so.”My sausages arrived. “And where’s the horseradish, idiot?”“Sorry, your highness.”I swallowed. I felt so vulnerable, so exposed, so whorish and slutty. And, of course, I head the click of a camera.I realised also that my cage must be visible from behind as well. My helpless trapped tiny clitty. Useless. Unable to spurt. Unable to even provide any pleasure to me. A hand gently grabbed my cage, feeling it. Feeling around it. And a finger traced along the length of my tight, exposed hole. I shivered, and moaned into the gag.And then nothing. Again. I just waited, obscenely exposing myself.. More

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