Slink Blow - Sierra Cirque
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Sleep is fitful and only possible after the weariness of stable shifting around and adjusting the stones that are my bed. It perceives like my body has been covered in blows - the rocks are hurting me. Its getting colder. The sun is lower; It slats 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 start -- shadowy flutters of darting fantoms swirl above me. They seem to be attracted by my presence -- regularly diving at me and bombing me with their droppings. The odor grows fouler by the day; my wc is my bed. In the commencing he would come and stand over me; staring, pissing, toying with himself. Today, when he brought me the slop, he was dressed in a gas mask. The everyday chores of the grounds are much more interesting as I allow 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 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 -- 2 for one. At the head I will have her do makeup. The fuck-stick inhaling will have a classier feel. At the tail, a machine will moderate and erect her labia for my cock. Something is up; he’s standing over me holding the dark-hued head bag and that terrible pillar that locks around my neck. He orders me to role over onto my abdomen -- I know this drill, so I put my palms behind my back immediately. (Reaching thru the grate he locks the fetters together.) He slides the bag on my head, spasms the chain taut and locks it. I hear the silenced sound of the grate on the concrete. He spasms me out of the crevasse by my neck. The concrete scraps my flesh as I fight to gain my footing. This is the worst -- he shoves me forth by that pole. It is a stifling funk -- I cannot witness where I am stepping. He seems to pleasure in letting me excursion or briskly ambling me into obstacles. I’m now on all fours locked at the wrist and ankles. It must be a table or platform of some kind. He pulls the bondage mask off my head -- the goal of this posture is all of a sudden clear. A bucket of soapy water and a hosepipe are lying on the floor. Im sure he will make what is to come as shitty as possible. I can’t help but sigh with excellent ease as this vile stench is about to be washed from me.
Sleep is fitful and only possible after the weariness of stable shifting around and adjusting the stones that are my bed. It perceives like my body has been covered in blows - the rocks are hurting me. Its getting colder. The sun is lower; It slats 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 start -- shadowy flutters of darting fantoms swirl above me. They seem to be attracted by my presence -- regularly diving at me and bombing me with their droppings. The odor grows fouler by the day; my wc is my bed. In the commencing he would come and stand over me; staring, pissing, toying with himself. Today, when he brought me the slop, he was dressed in a gas mask. The everyday chores of the grounds are much more interesting as I allow 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 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 -- 2 for one. At the head I will have her do makeup. The fuck-stick inhaling will have a classier feel. At the tail, a machine will moderate and erect her labia for my cock. Something is up; he’s standing over me holding the dark-hued head bag and that terrible pillar that locks around my neck. He orders me to role over onto my abdomen -- I know this drill, so I put my palms behind my back immediately. (Reaching thru the grate he locks the fetters together.) He slides the bag on my head, spasms the chain taut and locks it. I hear the silenced sound of the grate on the concrete. He spasms me out of the crevasse by my neck. The concrete scraps my flesh as I fight to gain my footing. This is the worst -- he shoves me forth by that pole. It is a stifling funk -- I cannot witness where I am stepping. He seems to pleasure in letting me excursion or briskly ambling me into obstacles. I’m now on all fours locked at the wrist and ankles. It must be a table or platform of some kind. He pulls the bondage mask off my head -- the goal of this posture is all of a sudden clear. A bucket of soapy water and a hosepipe are lying on the floor. Im sure he will make what is to come as shitty as possible. I can’t help but sigh with excellent ease as this vile stench is about to be washed from me.
Added: 2021-12-30 • Views: 101 • Duration: 50:55
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