Insex - 411 Third Day in the Stool (Live Feed From May 19, 2002) Humid

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Day Three of 411's forty-eight hour feed embarks with 411 looking sleepy. She sits in the chair, naked. The purple hurting on her bumpers are clear reminders of what has gone before. Her poon is drowsy also, a thin, loosened unclothe of flesh. After sponging herself clean, having her morning piss, and applying her make-up, 411 is once more strapped to the chair. This time it has been configured into the pose of a gynecological chair, tho for her, cords have been added to ensure utter compliance. What continues next is her morning shit, a half hour long clyster sequence that embarks with the injection of an inflatable caboose ass-plug that will feed liquid into her bowel. She groans with the injection and inflation of the plug, in demonstrable discomfort. As the clyster bag empties, her tummy inflates, distended from all the liquid. Fluid embarks to drop out around the plug, so the ass-plug is removed. But she's instructed to hold it. Even so, some water bursts out of her ass. She is told to permit it to come out. But then told to stop. This heads on, with her having to marshal all her effort to manage the discharge of fluid. As the splooge embarks to take on a murky chocolate-colored appearance, he humps on her belly. 411's abjection is clear. After all the piercing and enduring of her 2 preceding days, she says this is the worst thing ever. As solid masses embark to peek out her butt, she also pees, adding more color to the scene. Now that she has been loosened of excess baggage, her pose is changed. The chair back is shoved forth to an upright position. Her wrists are fettered to the chair forearms and her ankles fettered to the forth gams of the chair. A pan of molten coals is positioned underneath her seat. Her assets is painted with oil, the paint brush slathering oil about her pubic area. Her poon has awakened. It appears as a round sugary-sweet mass with a vertical fold. Her assets shimmers with oil. She embarks to squirm, her caboose and poon glowing crimson from the heat. The iron rungs of the chair conduct more heat. She can hardly lift herself from the seat. Her poon swells, draping loose and open. She urinates on the charcoal. (Pissing may well be 411's reaction to almost everything.) The charcoal hisses and sputters, going to steam. The coup de grâce of the three-day event is a phat flagellating scene. She gets down on all fours upon the seat of the chair, bent over so that her caboose and hips are prominently displayed. Her ankles are fettered as are her wrists. Her head, upside down, is locked into stocks below the level of her knees. The flagellating embarks on her left foot, one blow at a time. But soon, she sustains a rain of blows on calves and thighs. Before long, her left hip and caboose display a laddering of welts. 411 absorbs the waves, processing, rocking as a way to dispel the bursts of pain. The cane embarks on the right foot. From this angle, we can observe her sole being flagellated and her face at the same time, eyeing the instant affect and her method of accepting the pain, sighing thru it. The slap of the cane resounds. She takes blow after blow sans much sound. 411 appears to be locked in a continual wash of agony as the blows fall sans a break. Her hips and caboose are a mass of crimson and purple stripes. The cane shreds her. As he embarks to chat of concluding up, telling that he is satisfied, she says (remarkably) that she can take more! What a hungry agony slut! He attempts different instruments on her, bringing out a highly big cane, larger than the woody. She emits the loudest sound so far, but hardly a full-fledged scream. It elevates an instant bouncy of a welt as her caboose swells. She says she can't judge between jerks anymore. The carnage of her caboose and hips appears as nothing but line after line of deeply colored welts, many embedded within preceding welts. She sits shyly afterward, subdued. At the end, we observe the 411 sparkle again, as tho she is waking up.