Sanction

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What begins as your everyday abduction concludes with the enormous stunner, a martyrdom replete with a crucifixion. She begins unhappy. ? On the floor of a straw-filled barn. She wears jogging clothes as tho he caught her unaware. She struggles, her ankles and wrists locked into stocks made of iron rungs bolted through an older four-by-four. A feed plums has been shoved over her head. She moans and cries. A pitchfork is the implement for her instruction. It pokes. It prods. It probes. He frigs her through her shorts. "You pummel dudes with that, dont you?" he says. When the feed plums is pulled off her head, her hatch is stuffed and taped. He tightens leather around her neck. He presses against her windpipe, urging her to be quiet. And he cuts off her clothes. He squeezes her bosoms as tho milking, "Just like a cow." He hits her slit with a dildo. He fondles her snatch roughly. He shoves the fake penis in and menaces her to hold it that way while hes gone or hell strike her, hell suffocate her. She lies naked, up-ended in the stocks with a ebony fake penis poking out of her. He chats to her about her holes. How many does she have? Three? Five? And he instructs her. He trains her to open her brown sphincter for him, each time wider, until he can get the fake penis in that fuck-hole too. She is then opened up out wide, spread-eagle on the barn floor, her limbs forming the angles of a cross. The tines of the pitchfork caress her again. But this time, the treat is shoved into her cunt. He locks a cage around her head. Rectangular box, her assets naked, and the lengthy treat of the pitchfork protruding from inbetween her legs. She becomes nothing but Image, a foreshadowing of what is to come. He binds her hands in a Japanese cradle. Cords tie her breasts, chest, waist, crotch. Her clittie is pinched inbetween the 2 cock-squeezing ropes. She is hung in an inverted suspension. He scourges her. He sits in front of her face and nails her hatch with a dildo, domesticating her, making her usable to him. Ultimately she is his mare. He fits her with a bit and a lengthy tail drooping from her ass. He drives her, holding the reins. A explosion rushes beside the barn. Before her, the lengthy green fields lead upward, into the mountains. He coerces her there, upward, pulling her with a wire that leads from the bumper of his truck to her crotch. She is naked, a intense cross strapped to her arms. She hauls it behind her. And she is barefoot, her steps mincing as she makes her way along the gravel road. She climbs higher. Sunlight increases in size finer. Meadow weeds gleam. The end of her lengthy road, shot from behind, is the upright cross and her stringing up upon it. The broad valley opens up before her. She bakes in the sun. Time passes. She fights to find a purchase for her feet, but there is none. She writhes. She tires. The sun dips down, showcasing her anguish in gold, the light of evening. Not much longer, and her assets is still. She strings up motionless, the final image, icon made flesh.