He thinks of em as turkeys.To him those angels are no thing greater quantity than meat. He sees himself as a hunter, a dude who cant live without new meat. And so it starts. They are exposed, his beauties. There are 3 of em. He has em in his hunting cabin. Their arms are tied behind their backs, their hands taped. They are gagged with tubing held in place with cable ties. A small in number feet of chain run from neck to neck, so that they are tethered to one one more. He sits. He tells em about a turkey discharge. As that guy talks, this chab assembles his gun. Their adult baby cries and whimpers escalate. Who could have known? One minute u are just walking your dog or sipping coffee in your home. And the next thing u know, u are nude. And this guy has a gun. And there is indeed no thing else to do, is there? When this chab tells u to run. You run like hell. He drags em outside and unchains em and begins spewing out pellets, scaring em up worthy. After all, that guy wishes to be challenged. He’s looking for sport, just a adult baby joy. They run throughout the woods all in a flurry, screaming, squawking. Open season on cutie. The blonde is the 1st to drop. He takes the others down likewise, the brunette hair and the black-haired cutie. The marks of paintball trickle down their soft skin in red trails. It is quiet in the woods. Their bodies 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 tied tits, bouncing with the bounce of the truck. They make a flurry of terrified chirps. He stops the truck and opens the back gate. To every couple of ankles, that guy attaches a rope. Then this chab moves the truck forward so that they are dragged out of the back by the ankles. He hoists every of em up, their bodies hanging upside down in the midst of the woods. He smacks booties. He plays with their melons and teats, tight from the cold. His heavy fingers twist and knead, doing with em soever that guy wishes. Evening comes. A fire burns beside a pond. All 3 beauties are standing, fastened tightly jointly animal training the neck, hobbled this way, groaning, whimpering in the cold. They shuffle close to the fire. But in a short time it is also hawt. They jostle back and forth, breast to breast, their skin luminous in the darksome. He arrives with a metal grill that this guy sets on 2 posts. It is in the shape of a body. He tells em they have to make a decision who is going to be cooked tonight. It is for em to come to a conclusion. They groan. They cry, moving backward, clustered jointly, the human cook basket expecting. The blonde is chosen. She is locked into the rungs of the frame, her legs widen, arms locked behind her back, and a metal bar thrust into her bawdy cleft. It keeps her very still, so that the fire can do it is work. She breathes heavy as the heat grows, baking, her chest heaving. The other 2 angels are given the task of making sure she’s roasted precious and even. Her skin goes red. Please hurry, this babe says, please, please hurry. And so they turn her so this babe can cook the other side and entreat to be turned anew. An apple is pushed into the blond’s face hole. She is quieter now. As though this babe is giving up, letting go. As though this babe can forget her body. She is basted and barbecued, her round milk cans smeared with sauce, leaking down into the fire. Fluid oozes from her knees. The flush of her body may remind him of the pink inward shine of bawdy cleft. When the lips are widen and soaked, just previous to the plunge, and now the scent can sometimes be smoky.

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