Insex - Pigfarm (129, 323, 781) 2003

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I get restless periodically - wouldn’t you? Knowing she’s out there. Cold, alone, scared… I can nearly hear the silenced whines, pathetic as she struggles, new hay irritating sensitized pink damsel flesh. And I think what I would do: rip off those brief shorts, truss her with plastic digging into pale, gleaming skin, molding those chubby delicious tits. Kittle her so she wriggles, jiggles, and squirms. Should I move her to the shed tied, gagged? Stored for safekeeping, she’d throttle as she sits. Or do I take her for a lil' walk, towed behind the truck? So nice how she sweats and trousers and groans. Trotting to keep up, nude soles tormented by the rocky path, trussed breasts pulled taut, leading the way. I’d use her as a toilet - abase the pretty bitch. I contemplate the mountain, the trees far away. No one can hear her yell when the change meets her sensitive skin. She can just hang by those meaty hooters of hers. Fuck hole filled, suffering, helpless, exposed. Shackled in the barn. I’d muffle the loud thing - stuff cloth deep down the mouth and smack those huge juggling breasts. Stretched her wide, stretched, vulnerable. Would her cunt throb and drip? Maybe pack it up, glide something right in. Then vibrate that engorged clit. She can’t resist, pathetic lil' slut. I won’t let her come - it’s more joy that way. I could lock her in the silo, iron hugging her breasts, compressing them into two tight, purple orbs. Her shrieks would echo as she hobbled on one leg. So tenacious, my yummy captive, wallowing in the dust, writhing, like she thinks she can escape. Serenaded by spring’s showers, I envision her: chained, cuffed, miserable. Wettened to the cocklet she’s pelted by sheets of rain, screaming at the bellowing thunder as the lightening closes in. The photo is nearly enough. Enough to draw me out of bed. To send me to her. To make it real. But no, make her wait. There’s always tomorrow and the next day and the next…