Seventeen
This morning I sit. Though less stressful than standing on one leg, Bai has parted my feet to the maximum, my ankle bracelets secured right and left to the posts with rope of extreme tautness. My neck collar is bound to hold me upright. Wrists secured to my waist belt. I am blindfolded, the sightless condition when combined with silence and motionlessness, turning me more and more into an object from which there is nothing to be expected until my tormentress or my governess desire a reaction. A hideously large p***s gag fills my mouth. An equally large dildo stuffs my anus. I fight tumescence as always, the pressure on my prostate fostering erection.
“Thank you for coming, Biando. The fish will be fresher with you delivering.”
The words bring me from the peculiar reverie of se
