Angelica returns to Insex to test her limits in a third live feed. Face locked into a metal mask, she waits, languishing on the studio floor as the heat builds and the steel weighs heavily on her head. Chained to the ground, her movement is limited; angelica squirms and struggles but finds little relief.
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Humiliation is my endurance – Pain is my pleasure – Obedience is my defiance – What screams cannot measure – No matter how hard you try – Everything is a tangled struggle
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Maybe Mama was right. There’s something not quite right with that girl. If she said it once, she said it a thousand times. Cause of all the boys come around looking for me. And then the beatings from Daddy. The whippings, and him calling me a whore. He come home early one night, mean drunk, and caught me with that boy from downstate. We fucked for an hour in the backseat of Daddy’s car.
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Will koko suck cock? PD turns the tables on koko, torturing sahara’s delicious body at the expense of koko’s delicious body. Bound and chained in predicaments where every move causes suffering to the other, the two girls try to work together to limit their pain, but the torment grows step by step, until koko is alone, bound tightly. PD dunks her in water headfirst while cattle prodding her into hysteria. The same question comes back to haunt her again and again. Will koko suck cock?…
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The journey is beginning. I’m told to sit down on the floor as Master begins attaching me to a large, heavy steel triangle. My ankles are squeezed painfully into the metal cuffs. I guess people really can be big-boned, because my feet are going numb by the time he’s secured the metal collar around my neck and the cuffs on my wrists. He asks me to pull my legs out in front of me as far as I can. The pressure on my ankles causes me to wince, and I try to adjust my neck inside the collar it’s so tight…..
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Princess Donna has her way with one of PD’s favorites. After lots of bondage, punching, whipping, slapping, and flogging, Princess Donna drops 912, bound and helpless, in a trough of water. Mr. Pogo learns to hold his breath as 912 is dunked and fucked at the same time. And fucked and fucked and fucked.
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Sam’s Return
At home, the focus of her life’s daily requirements are dulling her senses, and eroding awareness of her physical self. Even the ritual of professional achievement is losing its lure. She is compelled by her body. In the haze of daily predictable sensations, she makes the phone call that will always provide her with the nuances of satisfaction.
In what might have been hours or days or a week, Sam is at the airport. She arrives to the smell of kerosine and fatigue. The scent is specific to places of exchange. Normally, the combination is delicate and infused into the air, attempting to conceal itself. But by now, Sam is trained without knowing it. Already she is very aware of these details; the boredom of airport colors, reflections of people at adjoining gates, metal detectors and overweight security personal huddle, too obviously, in one place. The smell of the unit – it is the smell of everything interior…
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Dairy available here.
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