Sandra Silvers and Whitney Morgan

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In the cramped outhouse Sandra and Whitney opened up sore, sore muscles as hottest they could control in their confines, while both were strapped with ordinary yet effective lengths of rope, wrists strapped behind backs and ankles strapped together. They were steeling themselves, the moment had come… The shed door sploogs open as they make their bid for freedom, broad eyed and instantly moist haired, make up streaming, from the downpour outside! Faceholes ball-gagged with knotted cloth, the big breasted pair fight and bounce, breath heaving their torsos as each hop makes them nibble onto their gags. Sneakered soles stumble and slip over the rainy field, but the concoction of moist grass and hobbling hinders their progress. Hopes of break away are dashed as the running in rivulets chicks realize their owner was just retrieving a van. He bundles them into the back of the vehicle, denim denim and cotton tee-shirts wettened wet, sorry yells faintly heard over the without mercy storm as they are driven to their secured fate...