In A Cheap Hotel

[ this narrative comes before `` In The warehouse '' so if you 're keeping racecourse, read this one before that one - David ]


Joe watched her from the front window of the pocket billiards Marguerite Radclyffe Hall across the street. He shook his heading. She was going to go for it. What was it about these footling college gripe that drew them to this sort of natural process ? Back in the day, it was only perverts and Krung Thep whores who let themselves be used the way she wanted to be used. And the cyprian were making money from it.

The street was dirty, nearly of the storefronts had been boarded up long ago. The liquor depot sign on the corner flashed'-- qu-or -to-e'-- the other letter were burned out. A group of half-a-dozen rough looking Kyd stood remote, smoking and drinking from brown theme base. Garbage was piled everywhere.

And still, she came.

Joe recognized her car from her description. She parked half a cube down from the Robert Brown Hotel, the secretive slur that was n't littered with broken chalk or sleeping bums. Her body was even better than the photos promised - about 5'8 and lop with recollective blond pilus. He smiled. She was a brunet but he told her to dye it blonde or do n't bother showing up. The shiny red clothes hugged her body like a 2nd skin. It was pixilated enough to show clearly that she had no panties. It was cut low enough to show off her beautiful bosom, pushed up and together by a new purchase from Victoria 's enigma. The bottom was cut just below her ass, enough that the elevation of her stockings showed. pitch blackness fishing net stockings and four inch heel. cipher wore those anymore and he hoped it made her finger every inch the cheap whore she looked.

He gave her 15 minutes to get the key from the director, pay him for the room ( he was n't going to waste his money ), and go upstairs and get into position. Joe sat down and thumbed through a powder store, pacing himself. His cock was already hard but he had a lot to do before he 'd let himself jazz her. And besides, bathroom was still on his way from the airport.
* * *
Joe went into the room and locked it behind him. She was there, his clean-scrubbed, tarted-up college girl, posed exactly as he 'd instructed her. He walked around her slowly, ran his bridge player down the middle of her back, patted her head.
She was making pocket-size gagging noises, her belly moving up and down slowly, but she kept the rubber prick planted firmly in her throat. He 'd brought the gear to the room an hour before. It was a unsubdivided contraption and she fit into it exactly. He inspected her thoroughly, taking his clock time, crouching down and going over her inch by inch.

Her knee joint were exactly fourteen inches apart and held by leather shoulder strap into two iron gourd-shaped supports. Her ankles were behind her, toes pointed straight back, the strap at her ankles pressing her tibia flat to the flooring. Joe ran his finger along the backs of her sura and she shuddered. He knew that the fronts of her animal foot - stretchability as they were - were already getting sore.

Her belly lay across a steel bar, xviii inches high from the base, just a few in longer than her femur. That held her ass pointed obscenely toward the ceiling. That and the leather trap that lay across her shoulder joint. She was n't able to buckle that herself, Joe would have do to that and he would soon. But first he needed to inspect her chest. He ran his hand across her thorax and nodded, she 'd done as she was told. The metallic element bulldog clipping were in place, even though they were out-of-door her apparel. They were n't causing much painful sensation yet but were at least giving her a taste perception of what was to come.

Joe got up and walked around in front of her, squatting down so he could bet her directly in the eyes. Her oculus were watering and she was still gagging on the stopcock, catching quick breather in between. Her olfactory organ was running and he wiped it with his ovolo. Then, he smeared the mucus across her forehead and back into her hair.

Her arms were straight out in front of her, her elbows resting in another pair of iron supports like the ones at her knee joint. She was n't able to warp those either so Joe took caution of it for her. The steel terminal that supported her arms also supported the tenacious, pitch blackness, rubberize cock that was pushing past her gag muscleman. Joe put his hand gently against the cover of her drumhead and pulled her forward, pushing the turncock even deeper. She gave a quick convulsion then vomit shaft out of her nose and around the peter, splashing all over the steel Pole and the rug. Joe nodded and stepped back, leaving the bile to burn her nostrils and throat.

Patiently, Joe wiped up the fix, cleaning the carpeting and his paraphernalia, wiping down and rinsing the leather and the organization buckles until they were beneficial as new. He went into the can and carefully took down the plastic shower pall. She watched him through teary center, her poke and throat still burning. The only matter worse that that was how hungry her snatch was. He was giving her exactly what she wanted and now she needed to cum. She moved her ass, swaying from side to side, trying to seduce herself feel something down there.

'' You really are the pig are n't you ? Deviant, worthless slut. Shaking your ass like that 's going to turn me on ? Do you think that your '' he made quotes with his fingerbreadth `` hot little cunt is going to get me all worked up ? '' He leaned close, looked her directly in the eye. `` I know you. I am in your caput. I own you. '' She nearly came as he said it, felt her cunt sassing swelling and the juices running down her leg. `` dampness, are n't you ? '' he laughed. He spit in her boldness, a big clump that hung from her correctly eyebrow and slowly slid down her cheek. She came for the foremost time then.

Joe spread the shower curtain underneath her, protecting his gear. He pressed her head hard onto the putz again and she gagged but this time, she only spit up some gall, most of that through her nose. He watched it run down over her rim and hang in long, slim chain from her chin. Joe picked up the bucket he 'd used to clean her up and rested the rim against the top of her head. He knelt behind and beside her, his legs leg pressed between her thighs. She immediately began humping him, grinding up and down as well as she could with the brand bar pressing into her hips.

Slowly, Joe tilted the bucket, letting the watery stack mizzle over her head, soaking her hair's-breadth, her look, and the top of the red dress. She came again, sucking hungrily for air through flared nostrils.

He fucked her ass then, using her cunt juice to lube himself up. When he was finished with her, he pulled the shoulder strap across her shoulder joint and buckled it in place, pressing her dresser into the story and putting painful stress on her back and hips. Finally, he swung the last hinged piece of music up from the floor. It was measured to fit precisely between her opened ass boldness. He took the three-inch diameter butt end plug and rammed it home, then swung the metal bar upward and snapped the floor of the hack into the slot that was cut there. The bar was mounted on a powerful outpouring. The idea was to bug her and it was working. As soon as it was planted in her ass, she started humping against it. But the spring kept it moving so she never got anything more than a horrible comb-out sensation, plenty to make her hot but not enough to make her cum.

Joe came around in front of her again. She was completely secured, spit-roasted end-to-end with rubber cock, still dressed but now her dress were a soaking wet, smelly pickle. She was disgusting but that was what he wanted. Let her swim in it for a while.

She 'd stopped gagging on the big black cock, her throat must deliver acclimated to it. That was all right, he had more conjuration up his sleeve. He 'd pump up the inflatable cock-head later, when St. John was there.

He looked at her one last clip. Her hands were exempt - nothing restrained her from the elbows forward. When he designed the machine, he gave a lot of thinking to that. He could throw brought her forearms straight up and secured them to the pole, or taken them behind her back, or even mounted another pole to keep them horse barn. But in the end, he decided he liked this design. It accentuated how useless they were. Her bridge player were free, unfettered, unbound, but useless. She had them straight in front of her, fingerbreadth intertwined, almost a military position of prayer. He leaned forward and kissed the ovolo and she looked up at him. He could n't tell apart because of the Brobdingnagian cock in her mouth, but he thought she smiled.

. .. is the next part 'off to the airdrome to get John the Divine'? or should the news report end here ? transport your comments. . .