InfernalRestraints - Turkey Shoot

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He devises them as turkeys.To him these women are nothing more than meat. He watches himself as a hunter, a man who luvs new meat. And so it begins. They are naked, his girls. There are three of them. He has them in his hunting cabin. Their mitts are trussed behind their backs, their mitts taped. They are ball-gagged with tubing confined in place with strap ties. Several soles of chain run from neck to neck, so that they are leashed to one another. He sits. He tells them about a turkey shoot. As he talks, he assembles his gun. Their lil' cries and snivels escalate. Who could have known? One minute you are just ambling your mutt or sipping coffee in your home. And the next thing you know, you are naked. And he has a gun. And there is indeed nothing else to do, is there? When he tells you to run. You run like hell. He hauls them outside and unchains them and commences gushing pellets, intimidating them up good. After all, he wants to be challenged. He’s looking for sport, just a lil' fun. They run thru the forest all in a flurry, screaming, squawking. Open season on girl. The platinum-blonde is the first to drop. He takes the others down too, the dark haired and the black-haired girl. The marks of paintball cascade down their soft flesh in crimson trails. It is peaceful in the woods. Their figures lie still, white, silent. They are side by side in the back of his truck, all on their stomachs, all in hogties, all gagged. They rock back and forth on trussed breasts, bouncing with the juggle of the truck. They make a flurry of horrified chirps. He stops the van and opens the back gate. To each pair of ankles, he fastens a rope. Then he moves the van forth so that they are dragged out of the back by the ankles. He hoists each of them up, their figures suspending upside down in the middle of the woods. He slaps asses. He plays with their bosoms and nipples, cock-squeezing from the cold. His rough thumbs twist and knead, doing with them whatever he wants. Evening comes. A fire burns beside a pond. All three women are standing, trussed firmly together at the neck, hobbled this way, moaning, whimpering in the cold. They shuffle close to the fire. But briefly it is too hot. They jostle back and forth, breast to breast, their flesh luminous in the dark. He arrives with a iron grill that he sets on 2 posts. It is in the form of a body. He tells them they have to determine who is going to be cooked tonight. It is for them to decide. They moan. They cry, moving backward, clustered together, the human cook basket waiting. The platinum-blonde is chosen. She is locked into the rungs of the frame, her gams spread, mitts locked behind her back, and a iron pub shovel into her cunt. It keeps her highly still, so that the fire can do its work. She sighs rock-hard as the warmth grows, baking, her pecs heaving. The other 2 women are given the task of making sure she’s roasted super-cute and even. Her flesh heads red. Satisfy hurry, she says, please, Satisfy hurry. And so they turn her so she can cook the other side and pray to be revved again. An apple is shoved into the blond’s mouth. She is quieter now. As tho' she is providing up, letting go. As tho' she can leave behind her body. She is basted and barbecued, her plump bosoms wiped with sauce, running in rivulets down into the fire. Mayo dribbles from her knees. The flush of her body may remind him of the pink internal glisten of pussy. When the lips are stretched and wet, just before the plunge, and now the scent can periodically be smoky.