Photo Shoot (hour 6)

(...i wasn't sure where to post this...)

He peers critically through the camera's lens, sharpening focus with tiny twists of the ocular. Her small rounded ass fills the frame, the soft globes of her cheeks striped with narrow raised red welts, most of them beaded with small droplets of coagulating blood; her rectum bruised, torn, and gaping, oozing a thin stream of creamy semen trickling down over her shaved perineum.

He sighs contentedly. The light is perfect; she seems to glow from within, her tightly-bound wrists nestled in the soft concavity at hip level behind her, her hands slowly turning dusky blue in the small of her back. The side of her face is pressed to the floor, dark strands of her hair trailing in a puddle of blood-tinged drool; her jaw held firmly open by the ring gag, her swollen, cracked lips stretched tight as rubber bands. Her tongue lolls like a blind worm in a fruitless attempt to moisten them, then retreats again into the hot wet darkness behind the leather-wrapped metal ring. He glances at the camcorders, tiny green lights still blinking reassuringly; tempted to check whether they've successfully captured his cock forced into her throat, her thrashing, gagging, gurgling struggles for air...but no, the light won't last, and he wants a shot of the long abrasion along her ribs and waist, scraped into her pale skin as the dog's dewclaws repeatedly raked her flanks, his knot buried behind the tight ring of muscle, flickering in and out of view, streaked with blood, her sphincter clamping around it convulsively as she'd choked on his own invading cock from the other end.

He sidesteps, crouching, feeling his way with the ball of of his foot, and takes his shot, making sure the camera is placed carefully on a small stand and the lens cap is firmly seated before he unclips his knife and slices her hands free of the plastic handcuffs; he's found it pays to be meticulous about his equipment. He watches her fingers twitch feebly as the blood rushes back into them, fluttering to floor at her sides like dying moths. Her green eyes are half-closed and glazed, unfocused; he glances at her chest, her little breasts squashed against the hardwood, fresh purple and blue finger-shaped bruises defining the shadowed curves. Her ribcage expands and contracts almost imperceptibly with her shallow breathing.

He nudges her with the toe of his boot; she rolls to her side compliantly, curling into a fetal position, eyes closing with a wince that crosses her slack face like a shadow. "Look at me, bitch." Her eyes fly open; she blinks and tries to focus on him.

"Is your cunt wet, slut?"

Her eyes widen, brimming with tears; slowly she twists her head from one side to the other, a silent "no," curling her trembling fingers into loose fists, helplessly gripping air.

He places a booted foot on her neck, lug sole resting lightly over her throat; it ripples as she swallows painfully against the mild pressure, more viscous drool trickling from her gag. "Spread your legs, bitch." Obediently she parts her thighs; the hairless seam between them glistens in the failing light. He arches his brow pointedly as his gaze travels from her cunt to her eyes, her pupils dilated and luminous with terror.

He leans down, looming over her, one palm on his upraised knee, increasing the pressure on her throat. She stares back at him, tears finally flowing again, her sobs distorted by the gag into wet gurgles interspersed with gulping gasps for air. "You smeared your shit on my dog's cock." His voice is low, soft; more conversational than menacing. "You'll clean it up. Now."

Her eyes flick toward the animal, stretched out on a fleece-covered dog bed in the the corner behind him, snoring softly. Her eyes close briefly; a look of utter exhaustion crosses her face as she opens them again, rolling stiffly to her hands and knees. He aims a kick at her anyway, smiling as his boot smacks her solidly in the cheekbone, raising a strangled moan. She stops short, gathering the leash trailing from her collar and lifting it toward his hands, head bowed. He scowls impatiently, gesturing silently with a jerk of his head at the dog, reaching for his camera instead. She continues her crawl to the sleeping animal; the dog stirs...lifts his head to look at her...rises to his feet, yawning and stretching, then sniffing the air. He watches the dog begin to pant with a wolfish grin through the viewfinder, returning the animal's smile as he zooms in on her face.

	May 21, 2012, 01:33:30 PM Login with username, password and session length

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