Turkey Shoot

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He devises them as turkeys.To him these girls are nothing more than meat. He witnesses himself as a hunter, a guy who loves new meat. And so it begins. They are naked, his girls. There are three of them. He has them in his hunting cabin. Their arms are strapped behind their backs, their palms taped. They are ball-gagged with tubing restricted in place with wire ties. Several soles of chain run from neck to neck, so that they are leashed to one another. He sits. He tells them about a turkey shoot. As he talks, he assembles his gun. Their little cries and snivels escalate. Who could have known? One min you are just ambling your or supping coffee in your home. And the next thing you know, you are naked. And he has a gun. And there is truly nothing else to do, is there? When he tells you to run. You run like hell. He hauls them outside and unchains them and starts spewing out pellets, scaring them up good. After all, he wants to be challenged. He’s looking for sport, just a little fun. They run thru the forest all in a flurry, screaming, squawking. Open season on girl. The blond is the first to drop. He takes the others down too, the dark-haired and the black-haired girl. The marks of paintball dribble down their tender skin in red trails. It is calm 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 strapped breasts, bouncing with the bounce of the truck. They make a flurry of appalled chirps. He stops the car and opens the back gate. To each pair of ankles, he fastens a rope. Then he moves the car forth so that they are dragged out of the back by the ankles. He hoists each of them up, their bods stringing up upside down in the middle of the woods. He slaps asses. He plays with their milk cans and nipples, cock-squeezing from the cold. His raunchy fingers twist and knead, doing with them whatever he wants. Evening comes. A fire burns beside a pond. All three girls are standing, strapped firmly 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, titty to breast, their skin luminous in the dark. He arrives with a iron grill that he sets on 2 posts. It is in the form of a body. He tells them they have to determine 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 blond is chosen. She is locked into the rungs of the frame, her gams spread, arms locked behind her back, and a iron pub thrust into her cunt. It keeps her very still, so that the fire can do its work. She breathes rigid as the fever grows, baking, her pecs heaving. The other 2 girls are given the task of making sure she’s roasted cute and even. Her skin goes red. Satiate hurry, she says, please, Satiate hurry. And so they turn her so she can cook the other side and plead 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 milk cans smeared with sauce, dribbling down into the fire. Mayo runs in rivulets from her knees. The flush of her assets may remind him of the rosy internal shine of pussy. When the lips are stretched and wet, just before the plunge, and now the odor can periodically be smoky.