Lorelei, 912, Moonshine - Turkey Shoot

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He devises them as turkeys.To him these chicks are nothing more than meat. He watches himself as a hunter, a man who enjoys new meat. And so it begins. They are naked, his girls. There are trio of them. He has them in his hunting cabin. Their forearms are bound behind their backs, their mitts taped. They are ball-gagged with tubing confined in place with cable ties. Several soles of chain run from neck to neck, so that they are tethered to one another. He sits. He tells them about a turkey shoot. As he talks, he assembles his gun. Their lil sobs and snivels escalate. Who could have known? One min you are just walking your dog or nipping coffee in your home. And the next thing you know, you are naked. And he has a gun. And there is really nothing else to do, is there? When he tells you to run. You run like hell. He hauls them outside and unchains them and embarks exploding pellets, frightening them up good. After all, he wants to be challenged. He’s looking for sport, just a lil fun. They run thru the woods all in a flurry, screaming, squawking. Open season on girl. The blondie is the first-ever to drop. He takes the others down too, the brunette and the black-haired girl. The marks of paintball drip down their gentle flesh in crimson trails. It is quiet 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 forth on bound breasts, juggling with the juggle of the truck. They make a flurry of appalled chirps. He stops the camper and opens the back gate. To each pair of ankles, he affixes a rope. Then he moves the camper forth so that they are dragged out of the back by the ankles. He hoists each of them up, their bods hanging upside down in the middle of the woods. He slaps asses. He plays with their globes and nipples, taut from the cold. His rough fingers twist and knead, doing with them whatever he wants. Evening comes. A fire burns beside a pond. All trio chicks are standing, bound rigidly together at the neck, hobbled this way, moaning, whinging in the cold. They shuffle close to the fire. But briefly it is too hot. They jostle back and forth, tit to breast, their flesh luminous in the dark. He arrives with a iron grill that he sets on two posts. It is in the form of a body. He tells them they have to decide 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 blondie is chosen. She is locked into the rungs of the frame, her legs spread, forearms locked behind her back, and a iron pub shove into her cunt. It keeps her highly still, so that the fire can do its work. She sighs rigid as the fever grows, baking, her torso heaving. The other two chicks are given the task of making sure she’s roasted adorable and even. Her flesh goes 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 pushed 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 obese globes smeared with sauce, running in rivulets down into the fire. Juices dribbles from her knees. The flush of her assets may remind him of the pinkish internal shine of pussy. When the lips are opened up and wet, just before the plunge, and now the odor can occasionally be smoky.