Lorelei, 912, Moonshine - Turkey Shoot

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\He invents them as turkeys.To him these ladies are nothing more than meat. He witnesses himself as a hunter, a dude who enjoys 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 corded behind their backs, their mitts taped. They are ball-gagged with tubing limited in place with cable 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 tiny cries and whinges escalate. Who could have known? One min you are just walking 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 drags them outside and unchains them and begins exploding pellets, frightening them up good. After all, he wants to be challenged. He’s looking for sport, just a tiny fun. They run through the woods all in a flurry, screaming, squawking. Open season on girl. The blond is the highly first to drop. He takes the others down too, the black-haired and the black-haired girl. The marks of paintball drip down their gentle flesh in crimson trails. It is calm in the woods. Their bods 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 forward on corded breasts, juggling with the juggle of the truck. They make a flurry of appalled chirps. He stops the car and opens the back gate. To each pair of ankles, he attaches a rope. Then he moves the car forward so that they are dragged out of the back by the ankles. He lifts each of them up, their bods suspending upside down in the middle of the woods. He spanks asses. He plays with their breasts and nipples, tight from the cold. His harsh fingers twist and knead, doing with them whatever he wants. Evening comes. A fire burns beside a pond. All three ladies are standing, corded rigidly together at the neck, hobbled this way, moaning, sniveling in the cold. They shuffle close to the fire. But shortly 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 blond is chosen. She is locked into the rungs of the frame, her gams spread, mitts locked behind her back, and a iron bar shovel into her cunt. It keeps her highly still, so that the fire can do its work. She sighs rigid as the heat grows, baking, her pecs heaving. The other 2 ladies are given the task of making sure she’s roasted nice 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 shoveled into the blond’s mouth. She is quieter now. As tho she is providing up, letting go. As tho she can forget her body. She is basted and barbecued, her lush breasts smeared with sauce, running in rivulets down into the fire. Splooge drips from her knees. The flush of her bod may remind him of the rosy inward glisten of pussy. When the lips are stretched and wet, just before the plunge, and now the odor can periodically be smoky.