Sierra Cirque (Creep Suck)
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leep is fitful and only possible after the weariness of sustained shifting around and adjusting the stones that are my bed. It senses like my assets has been covered in blows - the rocks are hurting me. Its getting colder. The sun is lower; It bars thru a window and illuminates the details of what hovers above me. I am one of those web bound carcasses. As it darkens, the chirps and squelches begin -- shadowy flutters of darting fantoms swirl above me. They seem to be attracted by my presence -- frequently diving at me and bombing me with their droppings. The scent increases in size fouler by the day; my wc is my bed. In the embarking he would come and stand over me; staring, pissing, toying with himself. Today, when he brought me the slop, he was wearing a gas mask. The everyday chores of the lands are much more interesting as I permit my mind to stroll to that creature entombed in my barn. It is less distracting of late because of the stink, and I now must face the task of cleaning it. I have well-prepped a platform based on the designs I have seen at the county fair; A grooming table that holds her wrist and ankles so she is on all fours. For days I have been content with just knowing that it was stored there. To compensate and motivate the chore of cleaning it, I want to take it to another level. I am going to bifurcate her -- two for one. At the head I will have her do makeup. The manhood deep throating will have a classier feel. At the tail, a machine will alleviate and erect her cooch for my cock. Something is up; he’s standing over me holding the ebony head bag and that gruesome pole that locks around my neck. He orders me to role over onto my tummy -- I know this drill, so I put my hands behind my back immediately. (Reaching thru the grate he locks the fetters together.) He glides the bag on my head, convulses the chain tight and locks it. I hear the silenced sound of the grate scraping on the concrete. He convulses me out of the fuck-hole by my neck. The concrete scraps my flesh as I fight to build up my footing. This is the worst -- he shoves me forth by that pole. It is a stifling funk -- I cannot observe where I am stepping. He seems to delectation in letting me trip or briskly walking me into obstacles. I’m now on all 4s locked at the wrist and ankles. It must be a table or platform of some kind. He pulls the fetish mask off my head -- the goal of this stance is abruptly clear. A bucket of soapy water and a hose are lying on the floor. Im sure he will make what is to come as gruesome as possible. I can’t help but breathe with fine ease as this vile stench is about to be washed from me.
leep is fitful and only possible after the weariness of sustained shifting around and adjusting the stones that are my bed. It senses like my assets has been covered in blows - the rocks are hurting me. Its getting colder. The sun is lower; It bars thru a window and illuminates the details of what hovers above me. I am one of those web bound carcasses. As it darkens, the chirps and squelches begin -- shadowy flutters of darting fantoms swirl above me. They seem to be attracted by my presence -- frequently diving at me and bombing me with their droppings. The scent increases in size fouler by the day; my wc is my bed. In the embarking he would come and stand over me; staring, pissing, toying with himself. Today, when he brought me the slop, he was wearing a gas mask. The everyday chores of the lands are much more interesting as I permit my mind to stroll to that creature entombed in my barn. It is less distracting of late because of the stink, and I now must face the task of cleaning it. I have well-prepped a platform based on the designs I have seen at the county fair; A grooming table that holds her wrist and ankles so she is on all fours. For days I have been content with just knowing that it was stored there. To compensate and motivate the chore of cleaning it, I want to take it to another level. I am going to bifurcate her -- two for one. At the head I will have her do makeup. The manhood deep throating will have a classier feel. At the tail, a machine will alleviate and erect her cooch for my cock. Something is up; he’s standing over me holding the ebony head bag and that gruesome pole that locks around my neck. He orders me to role over onto my tummy -- I know this drill, so I put my hands behind my back immediately. (Reaching thru the grate he locks the fetters together.) He glides the bag on my head, convulses the chain tight and locks it. I hear the silenced sound of the grate scraping on the concrete. He convulses me out of the fuck-hole by my neck. The concrete scraps my flesh as I fight to build up my footing. This is the worst -- he shoves me forth by that pole. It is a stifling funk -- I cannot observe where I am stepping. He seems to delectation in letting me trip or briskly walking me into obstacles. I’m now on all 4s locked at the wrist and ankles. It must be a table or platform of some kind. He pulls the fetish mask off my head -- the goal of this stance is abruptly clear. A bucket of soapy water and a hose are lying on the floor. Im sure he will make what is to come as gruesome as possible. I can’t help but breathe with fine ease as this vile stench is about to be washed from me.
Added: 2017-01-23 • Views: 11 • Duration: 50:55
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