strawberries. The plenteous bosom rose & fell rapidly; she licked her lips & rolled her eyes in some cringing pleasure that at first alluded me, but then I noted the top of a man’s head between her legs. The activity in which he engaged couldn’t have been more lewdly apparent, along with the wet licking sounds which companioned the action. Yet while this ensued, all 4 of her limbs moved in an almost engine-like precision. This, Nate had already expounded upon: 4 more men stood at each corner of the table, lean, leering, naked men, displaying trenchant genital erections. They may as well have been faceless. The stout penises of the 2 men at her shoulders she stroked with her hands. The other 2 men she stroked with her deformed feet. The sound of this quatro of masturbation, coupled with that of the urgent cunnilingus, reminded me of ravenous animals feeding.
Perverse & unnatural as the spectacle may have been, my own arousal was almost too much to bear. The watchers to either side proceeded to manually satisfy themselves without inhibition. I was tempted myself but just couldn’t bring myself to do so. Meanwhile . . .
Bliss’s performance heightened my ability to inspect the severity of her foot-binding. I’d read of a variety of processes, yet hers was clearly the most grievous, her wicked father having clearly mastered the art. Her feet completely rolled in on themselves, which indicated that her arches & toes had been repeatedly broken & re-wrapped for the desired effect. A queer flexibility seemed evident as well–Bliss was able to adjust her “grip.” All the while, the sheer weight of practice demonstrated her seamy, slatternly skill; her strokes picked up to a fever pitch, then at last all 4 men ejaculated on her at nearly the same time; indeed, the “climax” of the show.
Or was it?
When the spent men retreated out of view, there still remained the oral suitor whose ministrations continued. I could detect the rhythmic movement of the man’s head, & the plot of blond fur just visible at his lip-line. Bliss kept her twisted feet aloft, her belly sucking in & out at manifest waves of pleasure; her hands cosseted her inflamed breasts, massaging the deposits of sperm all about in a glue-like glaze. She shrieked, then, & nearly curled into a throbbing human ball when her own climax broke. But when the quake of her release abated . . .
Her suitor rose.
It was Septimus, the colossan. His angly physique seemed to unfold as he, first, stood up, then climbed upon the table, hideously kneeling between Bliss’s legs. Naked, this titan of a man looked otherworldly, a gut-sucked, long-boned creature more daemonical than human in aspect. The small, beady-eyed head declined from the long rack of bony shoulders, to intently spy Bliss’s glazed nudity, & of his genitals.
They were as unnaturally huge as the rest of him.
The erection reared, a snouted serpent; as if on cue, Bliss fondled it with her misshapen feet, kneading drool from its terrifying tip, squeezing the meaty shaft with her unnatural clench. Then she awkwardly strained open her thighs & guided the foot-long-&-then-some organ into her sex–guided, I mean, with her foot.
Septimus’s gaunt form tensed as this aberration of the procreative act commenced. In slow, grueling strokes, the entirety of the penile shaft slid into the tiny, tender seat of Bliss’s womanhood. One stroke after the next, all the way in, all the way out. At the finish of each insertion, Bliss reacted as if being reached into by an arm; her eyes bulged, her hips bucked, even her tongue indecorously jutted–all from the enormity of the violation. My own reaction from watching nearly dropped me into a swoon. Eventually, though, Septimus stepped up pace to the point of coital violence, begetting from Bliss’s throat a staccato of shrieks amid the grotesque slapping of groins. Yet even in the obvious discomfort, the woman-girl plucked her nipples with one hand & dabbled desperately
Perverse & unnatural as the spectacle may have been, my own arousal was almost too much to bear. The watchers to either side proceeded to manually satisfy themselves without inhibition. I was tempted myself but just couldn’t bring myself to do so. Meanwhile . . .
Bliss’s performance heightened my ability to inspect the severity of her foot-binding. I’d read of a variety of processes, yet hers was clearly the most grievous, her wicked father having clearly mastered the art. Her feet completely rolled in on themselves, which indicated that her arches & toes had been repeatedly broken & re-wrapped for the desired effect. A queer flexibility seemed evident as well–Bliss was able to adjust her “grip.” All the while, the sheer weight of practice demonstrated her seamy, slatternly skill; her strokes picked up to a fever pitch, then at last all 4 men ejaculated on her at nearly the same time; indeed, the “climax” of the show.
Or was it?
When the spent men retreated out of view, there still remained the oral suitor whose ministrations continued. I could detect the rhythmic movement of the man’s head, & the plot of blond fur just visible at his lip-line. Bliss kept her twisted feet aloft, her belly sucking in & out at manifest waves of pleasure; her hands cosseted her inflamed breasts, massaging the deposits of sperm all about in a glue-like glaze. She shrieked, then, & nearly curled into a throbbing human ball when her own climax broke. But when the quake of her release abated . . .
Her suitor rose.
It was Septimus, the colossan. His angly physique seemed to unfold as he, first, stood up, then climbed upon the table, hideously kneeling between Bliss’s legs. Naked, this titan of a man looked otherworldly, a gut-sucked, long-boned creature more daemonical than human in aspect. The small, beady-eyed head declined from the long rack of bony shoulders, to intently spy Bliss’s glazed nudity, & of his genitals.
They were as unnaturally huge as the rest of him.
The erection reared, a snouted serpent; as if on cue, Bliss fondled it with her misshapen feet, kneading drool from its terrifying tip, squeezing the meaty shaft with her unnatural clench. Then she awkwardly strained open her thighs & guided the foot-long-&-then-some organ into her sex–guided, I mean, with her foot.
Septimus’s gaunt form tensed as this aberration of the procreative act commenced. In slow, grueling strokes, the entirety of the penile shaft slid into the tiny, tender seat of Bliss’s womanhood. One stroke after the next, all the way in, all the way out. At the finish of each insertion, Bliss reacted as if being reached into by an arm; her eyes bulged, her hips bucked, even her tongue indecorously jutted–all from the enormity of the violation. My own reaction from watching nearly dropped me into a swoon. Eventually, though, Septimus stepped up pace to the point of coital violence, begetting from Bliss’s throat a staccato of shrieks amid the grotesque slapping of groins. Yet even in the obvious discomfort, the woman-girl plucked her nipples with one hand & dabbled desperately
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