Bdsm Art Agnes

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Toutes les histoires et images de ce site mettent en jeu des acteurs virtuels de plus de 18 ans.
This material is intended for a mature viewing audience ages 18 and over
If you are less than 18 years
click the back button of your browser and go elsewhere.
If illustrations of naked women or men or naked women/men in bondage offend you, or if illustrations of naked people or naked people in bondage are against the law in your locality, state, province, or country, you MUST leave NOW. 
If these stories offend your sensibility, please, 
All drawings 
and stories depict adults aged 18 or over.
Toutes les images et les récits de ce site sont la propriétés de © Agnes-Art.com de © Agnes-3D-Art.com et de ©Agnes-Bdsm.com et ne peuvent utilisées ou reproduites sans la permission de 
All images and stories on this site are © Agnes-Art.com , © Agnes-3D-Art.com and ©Agnes-Bdsm.com properties and they may not used or reproduced without express permission from 

January 2005...
Julie my heroine, your heroine will be just a domesticated animal.
An animal do not speak: Julie will be forever dumb.
An animal has no hands : Julie will lose the use of her hands.
An animal is shameless : Julie will be constantly on heat.
A great illustrated novel on Agnes-Art.com.
Une grande nouvelle illustrée en français. Et en anglais.
Virtual pictures thrilling of reality.
A scenario wrote with the dark ink of your phantasms.
A moist and frosty wind that chills the bones, sweeps the streets of the town.
The morgue, the ancient morgue, deserted for flashy building of iron and glass.
A shadow stops in front of the old and mouldy door.
Closed. Forbidden area. The institute is transfered to 26th boulevard...

Master...
I love him.
I love His odor, His taste.
Master fills up my mouth with His semen.
I swallow what I can swallow.
With my lips I try to suck what it's running on my shin.
Master.
He comes this evening.
He opens the door of the stall, loose my leash that is caught on
a ring on the wall. He forces me to kneel and leads me to His
open fly. The leash pulls the ring that pierces my nose, some
tears flood from my eyes, it's hurting me, but I gulp His penis.
Mmmmm it's good. Thank you Master.
I am owned by Him. The female number 117.
That Master names sometimes Julie.
When I am good and obedient.
She had spent the whole afternoon driving. From narrow roads to narrow roads. From one path to another.
Sometimes stopping in front of an old household, a stony track, an underwood.
She then stepped out of the car, an old barely repaired VW Beetle, repainted in an aggressive pink color (an error made by the garage, that she recurrently rumbled about), grabbed her digital camera on the passenger’s seat, and shot picture after picture.
A strange behavior that had people turn over. When some were around. Part of a wall, dirty rough coats, bark of a tree..
“Patterns”…
Agnes drew to illustrate her stories.
Computer generated images that required such “patterns” to give life to the 3D models she created.
She had undertaken a short trip in this area she barely knew, and that she wanted to be the background of a story she had planned to write.
For a few days already, she had travelled the countryside, crossed hills and garrigues.
She had followed up this small road running along an irrigation canal.
Agnès didn't pay attention to the driving. Her eyes ferretted about, from left to right, searching The Pattern.
The strange equipage that emerged from the little bridge spanning the canal, surprised her totally. Agnès jammed on the brakes and the little car stopped grating very close to the young woman harnessed to the sulky.

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