Release Year: 2022
He thinks of em as turkeys.To him those gals are no thing greater quantity than meat. He sees himself as a hunter, a fellow who likes recent meat. And so it starts. They are undressed, his gals. 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 hardly any feet of chain run from neck to neck, so that they are tethered to one some other. He sits. He tells em about a turkey discharge. As this guy talks, that guy assembles his gun. Their adult baby cries and whimpers escalate. Who could have known? One minute u are just walking your or sipping coffee in your home. And the next thing u know, u are in natures garb. And this guy has a gun. And there is truly 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 fine. 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 beauty. The blonde is the 1st to drop. He takes the others down also, the dark brown and the black-haired angel. 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 mounds, 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, this 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 centre of the woods. He smacks butts. He plays with their melons and teats, constricted from the cold. His heavy fingers twist and knead, doing with em soever this guy wishes. Evening comes. A fire burns beside a pond. All 3 gals are standing, tied tightly jointly animal play 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 chab sets on 2 posts. It is in the shape of a body. He tells em they have to resolve who is going to be cooked tonight. It is for em to give a decision. They groan. They cry, moving backward, clustered jointly, the human cook basket awaiting. The golden-haired 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 fur pie. It keeps her very still, so that the fire can do it is work. She breathes raw as the heat grows, baking, her chest heaving. The other 2 beauties are given the task of making sure she’s roasted admirable and even. Her skin goes red. Please hurry, this babe says, please, please hurry. And so they turn her so that babe can cook the other side and entreat to be turned once more. An apple is poked into the blond’s throat. She is quieter now. As though that babe is giving up, letting go. As though this babe can forget her body. She is basted and barbecued, her round scoops smeared with sauce, leaking down into the fire. Fluid trickle from her knees. The flush of her body may remind him of the pink interior shine of slit. When the lips are widen and moist, just previous to the plunge, and now the scent can sometimes be smoky.
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