411 and 101 return! Edited footage from their live feed in August of 2001 is great fun. When they’re not screaming from pain, even 411 and 101 laugh at their predicament. And as 411 crumples from laughter, 101 crumples from shocks to her cunt. Predicament torture, objectification, and 411’s permanent piercings, all in one neat package. It’s an Insex moment of agony, hilarity, and history you don’t want to miss.
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PD goes at spacegirl with a cattle prod, and in the next moment he buries a vibrator in her pussy. Bound to the pink chair for the duration of an informal live feed, spacegirl is forced to take everything PD metes out as he drags her back and forth over that rich and delicious edge, the divide between pleasure and pain. It starts innocently enough, with spacegirl in shackles and chains and working on a computer. The chat voice sputters in and out. Soon enough, spacegirl is bound to the chair and gagged with hard plastic tubing held in place by a metal band. A bag tied over her head has her measuring her breath as PD binds her breasts.
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He thinks of the Insex set as an autopsy room, where bodies are laid out, sliced, and cracked open. He thinks of the show as vivisection, as a method of discovery, every ounce of female flesh – a book. And her hair falling down about her throat, her painted lips and eyes, the endless fabric of young skin, her limbs, fingers, hair, cunt – a library. He studies her. He tests her endurance during the first hour with metal, the next hour with wrap after wrap of rope, and for the third hour, rubber. He weighs her down, ties her body into knots, encases her, then relents. After he is finished with the first torments, he begins.
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A friend gave me his phone number weeks ago. “Call him. Just call him,” she said. I’d stopped dating. It wasn’t the guys. Well, maybe a little. “Look, I’m over ‘relationships’ for the moment. I just want to be by myself for awhile. That’s all.” My friend shrugged. “Call him,” she said again. I was the youngest of three girls. Growing up, I’d watched my sisters and their boy friends. Clumsy kisses in the barn. Hands groping, pushed away, more groping. I had dreams, murky pictures in my head. And I’d fumbled with myself some nights, unsatisfied, my fumbling increasing my longing. Like cocks were doing now.
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Gagged and spread-eagled by a harsh metal spreader bar, her juicy pussy looks delious and inviting as PD straddles her face. Cyd wants to play too so a coin is tossed to decide this helpless victims fate. Who gets her ass or who gets her mouth. One dildo goes in her ass and one in her cunt. The hard black cocks fuck her mercilessly. Rhythmically in her pussy and deep down into her throat. Her holes are fucked hard and deep. It almost sounds as if she purrs like a little kitten, while the two pervs get off on her discomfort. Not one, but two mr pogo’s invade her private sex holes by surprize, forcefully entering her tight flesh. Her ass gets fucked slowly while het mouth is occupied by the other black invader. A hard deep push makes her scream. She was not ready for this.
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Endurance is my master’s pleasure for a carnival of nasty delights. My submission almost defies life. To submit is to ignore that voice inside your head that is urging you to run out of the room. And it takes all my strength not to run.
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My hands were secured behind me and I was placed in the box with my head protruding through the top. I saw the plastic bubble shaped cover that Pd was going to put over my head, and that was when the nervousness started. Hmmm, I thought, there isn’t much room in that cover at all for the bugs to run around…they’re going to be near my head no matter what.
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I sometimes like to flaunt my girl-ness. My pleated skirt bounces as I walk, swinging and swaying and hinting just enough at what lays beneath. I flaunt my strength, flexing my girl-muscles, the control I imagine I have on the people that I walk past. I approach the building that is now so familiar to me, waiting for the elevator that always takes forever to arrive– I never saw what hit me.
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Bound and half-strangled, 912 stews in a sexual smog. She’s fucked, spanked, flogged, ass-fucked, and whipped in this dark rape fantasy. 912 at her best, drenched with sexual want. She dangles by her neck, already dreamy, half-gone. Her dress is filmy. You see everything. And she is filmy, transparent, as though she’s draining off slowly, and you’re drinking her, taking your time. You pull the rope tighter, so that it digs into her throat. You cover her nose and mouth. She fights for air. Dropping her to the floor, you drag her by the hair, cowing her with a cattle prod. A tray with condoms, dildo, ass plug, and lube is set beside her. She’s forced to plug herself even though she’s shackled. It’s all for you, for your enjoyment. She fucks herself. She’s bent over a stool and spanked. Tears fall. Her mouth is stuffed and taped. She’s spanked harder.
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I woke up sore and aching. My whole body was a conductor for pain. I reflected on the events of last night. It had started out as fun actually. My school girl clothes put me in the mood for mischief, and I shuffled around, contorting my body and trying to get out of PD’s ropes. PD stood in the corner, laughing at my foolhardy attempts and I grew ever more determined to work my way out. Every success was countered by PD with an adjustment, a larger knot, a rope around my neck pulled continuously higher. Still I kept trying at the ropes, pushing and working at the knots, giggling all the way. PD finally made me sit on my knees and pulled the rope taut. Now I had to struggle to deal with the pressure on my knees, which were quickly becoming sore. I hadn’t realized how much energy I had expended in trying to get out of PD’s ropes earlier, I was getting really tired really fast. I tried to sit back on my feet to relieve my knees, this position put a lot of strain on my thighs, and tightened the rope on my neck further,but I held on…
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Dairy available here.
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