Chapter 6
Lynn studied the empty garage with fresh insight. Recalling what her father had told her shed a new light on the fixtures. Some of them made her tummy twist tight with that blood-tingling mixture of fear and horniness.
Most of it, she had to admit, was just like anyone's garage. The work-bench along the back with its all-purpose vise and rack of tools, for example. The garden implements hanging in neat array on one wall, the lawnmower and wheel barrow standing ready under them.
Even the things that made her tingle could have a perfectly innocent purpose. The eyebolts in the overhead beam, for example, could be for a hoist for working on the car. The drain in the middle of the floor had a sensible purpose, too. Even the coils of rope neatly draped over wooden pegs had uses in a garden or garage. The sawhorses beneath the ropes were spattered with paint, nicked by saw cuts.
But, somehow, she knew that half of what she was looking at had had other uses, years before. The fact that they were still there after so long held a subtle implication that they would be used again. Daddy's stated horror at what Mom had let him do to her hadn't rung quite true.
Lynn climbed the two concrete steps to the side door of the garage and crossed the six-foot breezeway between garage and house. In the kitchen she got a glass of milk, and tried to ignore the way her hands were shaking.
The genes were running true. The way the relatively sane screwing session with Jamey had ended had convinced her of her real nature. More vivid in her mind than the cumming his mammoth cock had given her was the memory of her gut-knotting ecstasy from the mutual finger buggering and what she had done right after.
Lynn squirmed, wriggled her slender thighs together as a surge of horniness itched through her like a burning lizard. The only question left in her mind was how she was going to get her father to do what needed to be done.
After chewing on her thumb for a moment, she put the empty glass in the sink and went to her room and dug into the bottom drawer of her bureau. She hadn't worn the thing in two years. And she had changed a lot in that time. It, plus a little sassiness and a beer or two, should release the animal that was lurking in her father, and in her.
She was bathed, perfumed, made-up and dressed, if it could be called that, when he drove into the driveway. Wearing a robe over what she had found in her bureau, she greeted him at the door with a dainty kiss that delicately hinted of lust.
"Hi, baby," he said, stripping off his tie and jacket.
"Hi, Daddy. Dinner'll be ready in a few minutes. Want a beer?"
"Please," he answered distractedly, his mind on the paper as he settled down in his favorite chair. It wasn't until he was at the dinner table that he commented on her wearing the robe. "How come?" he asked.
Lynn shrugged, and carefully let the front of the robe part to give him a tempting, tantalizing view of her cleavage, but without revealing what she had on under it. "Everything I had seemed to be dirty. "
I'll get you another beer," she said, getting up gracefully.
She cleared the dinner dishes while he had his usual glass of after-dinner wine. She sneaked a glass of sherry for herself. She felt the hot lust-lizard creeping around in her belly, getting bigger and bigger as it fed on her anticipation. Her hand shook, spilled a few drops of the sherry over her fingers. She sucked it off, and felt her guts twist tighter.
She took off the robe and hung it over a chair. Outside the sun was a hot orange ball low in the west. But it wasn't as hot a ball as the one that was searing its way through her insides. She carefully adjusted the too small bra of her two-year-old bikini, and tugged at the bottom half so it covered her bush.
Peter had been fighting his desire for his daughter ever since he had first fucked her. It wasn't that he hadn't had other women since his wife's death. It was that Lynn reminded him so much of her mother that it made him hurt. When Lynn had goaded him into binding, whipping, and then raping her, she had unleashed all the memories he had been keeping so carefully bottled up.
He barely glanced at Lynn when she appeared in the door from the kitchen. Then he did a double take, and felt his cock rocket upwards. He flushed, felt a wave of fury with himself, then instantly transferred the blame to Lynn. The beer and wine steaming through his veins did nothing to help his self-control.
The bikini Lynn was wearing was black nylon and two years too small. He was always surprised by the thrust of her youthful tits. The cups of the suit didn't support them, didn't even cover them adequately any longer. The fact that the undercurve of her lush jugs was visible below the bottom edge of the triangular cups made the effect extremely erotic.
The bottom half of the suit was low on her gently rounded tummy. The knots that tied on the sides of her hips were digging into her tender flesh. Curling wisps of her muff had escaped on the insides of her thighs and above the top edge of the suit.
"What the hell are you wearing that for?" he growled.
The saunter she used to cross the living room toward the television made his blood bubble and steam. "The robe was too hot and it was all I could find," she answered sassily.
In an effort to retreat, he snapped the paper up. "Well go back and try again." His eyes darted over the top edge of the paper, caught sight of her lush butt as she bent over to turn on the television. The suit was riding up into her crack, revealing a wide expanse of her butt cheeks. Remembering the wailing he had given those tender globes made his hands shake. The paper rattled like a seismograph. "No," Lynn said over her shoulder.
"I'm warning you," he grumbled.
"I like it," she sniffed, admiring her sexy lines in the mirror behind the couch. She tugged and adjusted the bra that was mashing her soft jugs, barely concealing her aroused nipples.
"Go put something else on," he rapped, cursing the flames that were roaring up in his groin. "Make me!"
The alcohol made it impossible to keep himself in check. He surged up out of his chair.
"And you'd better do something so I don't scratch your eyes out when you try," Lynn hissed viciously, her fingers curling into claws.
He saw her game in an instant, and a roaring fireball flared in his brain. "You bitch," he groaned, his desire for her overcoming what little judgment he had left.
Lynn's eyes glittered with triumph. She knew she was going to get what she wanted. "Why don't we go out to the garage," she suggested.
"The garage?" Just the mention of it brought back a flood of memories. "How'd you know about the garage?"
"I figured it out."
The memories pounded down the last of his inhibitions in their stampede. "I'll teach you to sass your father," he snarled, gripping her slender arm cruelly and dragging her toward the kitchen. As they crossed the breezeway, the setting sun hit them, bathed them in a lurid red light that made Lynn's body glow like hellfire.
He pushed her into the garage. She stumbled and went down on her hands and knees as he closed and locked the thick steel fire door behind him. Reaching over, he flicked on the lights, bathed the stark concrete floor and his daughter's soft, rounded body in harsh fluorescent light.
His sharp treatment brought Lynn's horniness bubbling to the surface. She got to her feet, rubbing the scrapes from her fall. He loomed over her, his hands flexing. The muscles of his powerful arms stood out. "I'm warning you," she growled. "You'll have to hog-tie me if you want to get me out of this suit."
"That can easily be arranged," he assured her with a softness that curdled her guts.
Balancing wearily on the balls of her feet, she watched him cross the garage and take down a coil of rope. Then he lifted out one of the sawhorses, carried it toward her, and banged it down in the center of the concrete floor. She felt a shudder of terror and arousal as he advanced on her with the rope.
She tried to back away, and stumbled on the bottom step to the door. As she staggered and almost fell, his hand clamped around her wrist like a vise.
She swung her free hand at him, her fear and arousal destroying any desire she might have had to pull the clawed blow. He ducked the swing easily and spun her around, then slipped a loop of rope over her wrist. He grabbed her other arm and had both of them twisted behind her back before she had a chance.
Her feet scraped and scrabbled on the concrete as he hauled her backwards toward the sawhorse. When he kicked the back of her knee, her leg folded sharply. He kept her from hitting the floor by pulling on her arm.
Before she realized what was happening, he had her over the bar of the sawhorse. One quick twist and the rope from her bound wrist was cutting across her just below her barely covered tits. Then her other wrist had a noose around it, and she was trapped. The bar of the sawhorse passed through her arms, across her back. The rope looped from one wrist, across her belly, then to her other wrist and kept her from unhooking her arms from around the bar.
The feeling of helplessness made her pussy weep into the tight, clinging shiny nylon. Her tits ached more from arousal than her knees hurt from the fall she had taken moments ago. She whimpered, struggled weakly, felt the ropes cutting into her wrists and torso.
"I'm going to take a few more turns with the rope," he informed her grimly. "But first I'm going to get that filthy whore's costume off of you."
For a moment she thought he was just going to untie the straps behind her neck and back. But he strode across the harshly-bright garage to the garden tools and took down a sickle. He got a stone and began to hone the edge of the reaper.
"When I'm through with it, you'll never be able to wear it again," he said softly.
He came toward her, the cutting edge of the sickle gleaming brightly. "I wouldn't move a muscle if I were you," he told her. "This is very sharp, even the tip." He fingered the needle point of the tool.
Lynn's guts clenched tight as he drew close. She kept her eyes on the glittering end as he slowly lowered it, and hooked it through the left strap of her bra. She shivered at the touch of the cold, deadly metal against her soft flesh. Without a sound, severed by the keen cutting edge of the curved blade, the thin strap parted. The cup fell away, bared her jutting pink nipple. The other cup, held up by the strap still curled around her neck, stayed up. The exposure of just one of her lush, pale boobs was more erotic than having both bared.
Lynn wished that she hadn't had the surreptitious beer and glass of wine. Terror and arousal had made her bladder full and she needed to pee. She squirmed delicately against the ropes, and felt the remaining bra cup slither on her tit. She had to stay still or it would fall away from her heaving jug.
The sickle came at her again, toward her tender belly this time. The point was up. She looked down and a sudden vision of being gutted by the cruel blade flashed through her mind. The vision wrung a hot trickle of piss from her bloated bladder. The icy steel touched her just below the bra, and hooked up through the thin tie between the cups.
Then, instead of cutting the bra there, between her tits, her father changed his mind. "No, you could repair the straps," he noted, and shifted his attack, dug the point of the sickle between the bottom of the bra cup and her soft, tender boob. She felt the curved tip scratch her warm mound as it scraped up toward her teat. The touch of steel against her nipple sent a searing flare of excitement through her. He eased the point up until it emerged from the top of the cup.
With a slow twist of his wrist, her father slit the cup of the bra. Lynn whimpered and felt her guts wrap themselves into a tight horny knot as he stripped the bra away.
Holding the already tattered scrap of nylon up in front of her face, he proceeded to whittle it into useless slivers with quick flicks of the scalpel-sharp sickle. That done, he started on the bottom half. He made short work of the knotted sides on either flank. The suit fell away, baring her dark bush.
When he aimed the needle point of the sickle at her slit it was more than she could bear. She squeezed her eyes shut, felt the fear-sweat trickle from her armpits. She was balanced precariously in a half squat, unable to sink lower or stand up because of the way she was tied to the sawhorse.
She felt the cold needle tip of steel touch her cunt, then wriggle delicately between her pussy lips.
Her terror overcame her resistance, and a flood of piss burst from her bladder, fountained in a disgusting arch from her snatch. She heard her father laugh at the sight of the humiliating gusher.
The feeling in her belly was beyond belief. God, she was horny! He hadn't yet touched her with hands or cock and she was already a raving maniac.
One corner of Peter's mind was horrified at what he was doing. A gibbering little monkey was reminding him over and over again that it was his own daughter he was threatening with the sickle. But the bottled lust of the last ten years overwhelmed the single imp. The sight of her yellow fear gushing from her snatch made his balls steam.
"Now a few more turns of the rope," he decided, wiping the piss-drenched sickle. After returning it to its place, he went around behind her.
Briskly, efficiently, he bound his daughter more tightly to the sawhorse, wound the rope around her torso, crossed it over her breasts, pulled it taut so it cut into her soft mounds. He finished the job by lashing her wrists as close together as he could without dislocating her shoulders.
"Oooohhhh, Daddy, it hurts," Lynn moaned. "Aww God, I love it."
"Slutty bitch," he grunted. "Just like your mother."
"Yes," she hissed as lust raged through her tormented body. "Oh, God, yes, I am. Punish me, please, punish me."
She was totally helpless. The rope had welded her to the sharp-cornered two-by-four of the sawhorse. The harsh bindings cut into her soft flesh, while the bar of the sawhorse dug into her shoulder blades and back and into her arms where they were bent around it.
Sweat was making his clothes stick to his back and shoulders. With a wrench he dragged the shirt off, then his undershirt. His powerful chest gleamed with sweat in the harsh light. His cock was an aching knot of agony from being cramped in his pants. While she watched, her eyes glittering, he unfastened his belt and pulled it out of the loops. Casually, he draped it around her neck, then shed his pants and underpants, bared his jutting hard-on to her ravenous, terror-racked gaze.
Dragging the belt from around her neck, he stroked it through his hands once, twice, then drew it back and flicked it across her tits where they jutted out between the cutting coils of rope.
The first stroke brought a wail of agony. He knew her titties were supersensitive. They were distended with blood and pinched outward by the ropes. He recalled how his wife had loved having hers tortured. He had lust-wrenching memories of first fastening clothes pins to her tits, and later sharp metal alligator clips. The pin would wring moans and whines from her as her cunt drooled its hunger to the cement floor.
Peter flicked the harsh inner-side of the belt against Lynn's tits again and again. Soon she was whining and moaning and writhing and sweat was beading her face. Tears were trickling down her cheeks.
"Awwww God, awwww God, awwww God," she wailed as the pain and pleasure stripped away the layers of civilization, bared her wanton animal core.
Unable to bear the throbbing agony in his groin any longer, Peter threw the belt aside, sent it skittering and coiling across the floor like a snake. Grasping his dork, he stepped toward Lynn and aimed his dick at her passion-twisted mouth.
She saw him coming. He saw gross lust flare on her face as she licked her lips. He saw the hunger in her eyes, and wished he had the willpower to withhold the meal from her ravenous mouth. The thought of tormenting her by not giving her his cock to suck brought a fresh steaming flow of cum from his swollen nuts.
He touched his dick to her lips, and watched her nibble his knob with tender, loving devotion. Slowly, he eased his dork into her and let her sweep his pecker head clean with her tongue and lips. He studied how it distended her lips.
He spiked her face with his cock with loving slowness, felt her hot mouth embrace his steaming meat. Her lips slid down its length, wrinkling the soft skin. Her tongue made love to the nerve-packed underside of his shaft, triggered a sizzling flow of pre-cum.
Reaching down, he cupped her head in his hands. He stroked stray strands of hair out of her face and wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs the way he had when she had fallen and skinned her knee as a child. And all the while his monster cock was stuffing her sucking mouth.
Lynn was totally devoted to the man who had bound her to the sawhorse. The searing agony in her tits, the pain in her tortured shoulders, the ache in her half-squatting legs, all were testimony of his love for her.
As he tenderly wiped away her tears, she suckled on his steaming dork. She tasted the hot leakings of his glans and stroked his shaft with her tongue, tried to bring more. He began to fuck his dick in and out of her mouth as she sucked and drew on him, tried to trigger the blistering flow of his cum.
"Cock-sucker," he growled at her. "Cock-sucker."
The word made her insides coil with pleasure. She was a cock-sucker, his cock-sucker. She was his cock-sucking daughter, slave, and lover. She felt his pecker bruise her throat as he pumped it into her slurping mouth. Spit drooled down her chin as her mouth flooded from the delectable taste of his seepings.
He was ramming at her, harder. His grip on her became stronger, more demanding. She managed to get more and more of his rigid rod into her mouth. His balls swung, battered her chin with every stroke. She snorted through her nose, sucked in air whenever the chance came - when his cock wasn't blocking her windpipe. She sensed the growing tightness in his groin, and braced herself for the deluge that was to come.
In a final wrench of cruel self-control, Peter ripped his cock free of his daughter's sucking mouth just as the first searing glob of cum ripped the length of his shaft. Thick white semen burst over her nose and cheek like a spitball. Holding his spurting dork in his fist, he shook the next spattering over her eyes.
Her mouth gaping like a fish's, she tried to catch his gooey spoutings on her tongue. The sight of her hungering for his semen made his groin knot tighter, and wring more pleasure, more burning jism from his pounding prostate. He plunged his still-fountaining dick into her ravenous mouth and felt her suck and draw on his cock as wave after wave flooded over her tongue and down her gulping throat.
Holding her head between his palms, he burrowed his spurting prick deep into her. Finally, she had drawn the last of his searing essence from him. She kept on sucking his pecker until it was shriveled and withered. It was as if she had extracted the very blood from its tissues. When he drew away at last, she let her head hang wearily. Creamy juice was trickling slowly down her face, her chin was dripping spit and jizz.
Stalking over to his pants, he yanked out a cigarette and matches. After lighting up, he dragged out a stool and eased his butt onto the cold metal seat. He studied his helpless offspring pensively as he smoked. For a few minutes she just panted wearily with her eyes closed and her head hanging. Then she roused and glanced around, obviously afraid he had abandoned her. She squirmed against the ropes, shifted her cramped legs to ease the pain in them.
"Oh, Daddy," she sighed. "Slut," he snorted.
"Yes, Daddy," she agreed humbly. "Where do you and Carl go?"
"There's a shack, out in the woods on the south side of town."
"How many times have you been there?" "Twice. Once, the time I told you about, with just Carl. The second time was with Sandra and Carl."
Peter dragged on his cigarette. "She that incredibly stacked brunette?"
"Yes."
Peter snorted. "Slut."
"Yes, Daddy," she whispered in a tone that was an insane mixture of shame and pleasure.
"The ropes hurt?" "Yes, Daddy."
Stubbing out the cigarette, he got to his feet. "Shouldn't have had so much beer," he grunted. "I need to take a leak." He started for the door.
"Don't leave me!" Lynn called sharply. "Huh?" He turned on her.
"Please, don't leave me," she whimpered, really begging for something she couldn't put into words. "I got to pee," he complained. "Don't worry, I'm not through with you yet."
"Please, don't leave me," she repeated. "There . . . there's a drain in the floor. Right under me." For a moment he stood there, his heart beating hard and fast. "Just like your mother," he whispered. "A filthy, piss-loving whore."
Lynn hung her head. "Yes," she moaned. "Yes." "Bitch," Peter snarled, coming toward her. "Foul, filthy, wanton bitch."
Lynn lifted her head, and squirmed against the ropes cutting into her breasts and shoulders. Her lust wrenched the words from her, "Piss on me, Daddy. Piss on me. Use your piss to wash the cum off my face."
"Sweet Jesus," Peter growled, his lust fire-balling up through him like an atomic blast. The need to piss was a red-hot cannonball in his gut.
"Please," Lynn moaned, her dark eyes fastened on his half-hard dork.
Grasping his pecker, Peter aimed it at his daughter's face. The urine erupted from his cock like spray from a fire-hose. The glittering yellow stream splashed over her forehead and eyes, sluiced down her nose and cheeks, carrying away with it the slimy remnants of his cumming. Her mouth opened and the hot stream played over her tongue and teeth. Then he lowered his aim, hosed her tits and belly.
Lynn was being cremated by her roaring lust. She had seen his dick spit, and then she was being pounded by the steaming flood. Hot piss had spattered on her face, her eyes, drowned her in its salty essence. It had streamed in hot rivers down her cheeks and her lips, washed over her shoulders and her body.
She had felt the river shifting and opened her mouth, let him wash the cum from her tongue and cheeks with his salty wastes. Then he had hosed her body with piss.
Her pussy had knotted in a series of orgasmic waves as his pee had streamed from her body, then swirled and gurgled into the drain between her thighs. The hosing went on and on and on, then ended in a series of quick, sharp spurts that got her tits.
She shivered, felt his piss chill her as it evaporated. She felt drops trickling slowly down her face and her body and tipped her head back, rolled it from side to side to make the urine trace sinuous paths over her cheeks.
"Oh my God," she sighed as the ecstatic after-quake of her sodden cumming twisted through her tormented body.
"Now you're almost as filthy on the outside as you are on the inside," Peter told her, angry at himself for the raging lust he was feeling from all he had done to her. And he knew he wasn't finished with her yet.
"You disgust me," he growled. "You're filthy with piss. You need a shower." Going over to the wall, he uncoiled the hose attached to the faucet and gave the valve a twist. The hose stiffened as the pressure fought the pistol-grip nozzle at the end.
Lynn bellowed with shock as the stinging stream of ice-cold water lashed her tits. Bucking and writhing against the ropes, she gasped for air as the frigid stream battered and pounded her exposed flesh. The water hit her face, her eyes, flooded her nose and mouth. She twisted to avoid it, battled the unyielding ropes that held her wrapped to the sawhorse. Sputtering and choking, she felt the stream pound her tits, then her belly and thighs as her father washed off his piss. He moved behind her and the stream played over her back and shoulders, then her ass.
He finished by moving around in front of her and aiming the hammering jet of water at her gaping pussy. The water lashed her cunt into searing flame, ripped along her tender folds, pounded her clit, douched her ravenous, streaming hole.
The spray cut off sharply when he released the handle on the nozzle. For a moment all she could do was gasp, trying to catch her breath. She felt a hot flush spreading over her body as her blood vessels dilated in reaction to the frigid hosing. Her hair hung in matted strings around her face. Chilly rivulets streamed from the sodden locks.
"Oh, my God," she whispered as unholy sensations raged through her ravaged body.
"Poor, slutty bitch," Peter growled at his daughter. "You really love it, don't you?"
"Yes," she admitted softly. "Yes."
"I've got one last treat for you tonight," he said ominously.
"Anything," she sighed ecstatically. "Anything at all."
"Back through under the sawhorse," he ordered. Awkwardly, squirming like a duck walking backwards, Lynn waddled under the bar she was lashed to. The act of rotating around the two-by-four tore the skin off her back and inner arms. The ropes cut deeper into her tits.
"Stretch your legs out," he ordered from behind her.
Her knees creaked with agony as they straightened. She was now hanging under the sawhorse by her arms, face down. Her ass was high in the air. Dropping her head, she looked back along her body, past her rope-ravaged breasts, past the soggy curls of her twat. She saw him standing behind her, ten feet back.
He had a jar in his hand. He was smearing his towering hard-on with something oily. His gaze was focused on her invitingly offered tail.
"Know what I'm going to do?" he asked softly. "Tell me," she whispered, wanting to hear it from his lips. A flame of anticipation was flaring in her belly.
"I'm going to bugger you," he answered. "I'm going to ram my cock into your asshole. I am going to drive every inch of my dick up your rear. Then I am going to fuck it in and out of you until I cum." "Ahhhh, God," Lynn gasped.
She let her head hang, and watched him advance on her. He paused, and she felt him smear her ass crack with lubricant. The sudden penetration of her asshole by his finger wrenched a gut-deep moan from her. He twisted and turned his finger in her shitty socket, then drew it out, left her bung burning and eager.
Then, tormentingly, he ran his cock up and down the crack of her ass. The hot stroking of his pecker made her pussy drool. He teased it with his pecker, until she was ready to scream with hunger.
Then he touched the hot knob to her asshole and a wave of fire surged through her. Gone from her mind was the pain and degradation. All that was left was delicious warm anticipation of having her ass violated by her father's cock.
"Just like your mother's," Peter grunted as he studied Lynn's lush, white ass. His cock was an arrow parting her butt cheeks, a mis-aimed Cupid's dart splitting a Valentine from the top. He pushed slowly, felt her asshole resist his penetration, felt the rubbery ring pinch his cock head. He felt her asshole wink as she fought to admit him, felt his dick tip pinched as she succeeded.
Wriggling his cock from side to side, he slowly wormed it into her winking butt-hole. His balls steaming in anticipation, he thought of the hot socket that would clasp his dork.
Lynn moaned, made his blood steam as he wedged half his cock head into her resisting rear. He drove harder, felt his dick slither through on a coating of grease. He felt her bung clamp into the groove behind his knob. The hot grip of her shitter on his cock head almost brought him off right then. He paused for a moment, let the urge to cum fade. It was difficult, because he could feel her shitter winking around his shaft.
Then he slowly fed her asshole the remainder of his throbbing tower. The greasy walls of her rectum stroked his prick, sent flames surging along her nerves. The pool of jizz in his groin seethed and bubbled eagerly as he drilled full depth into her ass.
Lynn felt like she was being split open by the tower driving into her asshole. The first dilation of her bung, as the muscle tried to accommodate itself to the unfamiliar penetration, had been exquisitely painful. Then it had burned, and stung, and at the same time, itched for more. When he had stopped with the head of his dork in her, the stabbing, stretching feeling had faded to a delicious ache. Then he had driven into her the rest of the way, and it had been like a shit in reverse. She had gone from empty to full as his shaft filled her rectum.
His hands gripped her waist, and he began to slowly piston his cock in and out of her rear. The friction between cock and asshole walls was fantastic. As her shit tube was stroked by her father's prick, an orgasm roared toward her with the inexorable force of a tidal wave.
The tight hot grasp of Lynn's asshole brought Peter to the explosion point in a few slow strokes. He fought to keep from ramming hard into her, afraid of tearing her with his impatient prick. He did manage on the last stroke to gently bury the full mammoth length of his shaft in her greasy tube. His balls, knotting up against his gut, nudged her hairy pussy labes. Then his groin exploded, hosed her bowels with searing waves of cum.
Lynn's orgasm swept over her and tumbled her into a wilderness of carnal pleasure. She felt her guts being hosed with hot semen, felt the cock in her ass spasming until she was filled with live steam.
His pecker was still socketed in her asshole when she felt him untying the knots that bound her to the sawhorse. He unwound the coils of rope and eased her arms from around the hard bar. Sliding down, she let his shrinking dick slither out of her rear as tingles sizzled through her from the returning flow of blood.
Before he could back away, she turned and wrapped her arms around his hairy legs. Her mouth found his dork. As she slurped his cock clean, her insides slowly crisped to ashes.