Fulfilling Girlfriend 8217 s Fantasy In Boys Hostel
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The Hostel free porn video
I escort him down the hall and hold the door as he passes through. After he enters the concrete chamber, which resembles a high cellar with a bank of neon lights flashing far above, I pull the heavy door closed behind him, secure the latch and hand him the leather gloves.
?Is that her!?? the man says excitedly. His name is Mack, nothing more, and his voice is muffled by the ski mask I had given him minutes earlier to conceal his identity.
I watch as he approaches the woman hanging by her ankles from a chain at the center of the room. By the look on Mack’s face, he cannot believe what he is seeing.
?She’s a pretty little lamb,? he offers softly, almost meekly. What more should I expect from a CEO who runs a large Midwestern bank and lost the respect of his wife years ago? He needs to blow off steam, take his frustrations out on someone fragile. The woman dangling before him is simply a victim of fate.
?Yes, a pretty little lamb,? he says again. ?Far prettier than I had ever imagined after seeing her photo!?
The woman’s eyes bulge with terror and disbelief when Mack approaches her. She tries to scream but the wad of rubber stuffed in her mouth, the role of tape placed across her lips subdues her cries. She can only squeal and whine. If she tries hard enough, she can scream.
Her driver’s license identified her as Terry, a 23-year-old strawberry blonde from Florida with blue eyes that, in the light of day, had flashed with youthful zeal. She had caught our attention on the pier at Melbourne Beach. A pretty coed like her, dressed for attention in the summer sun, would draw a high sum of money on the underground market. They always do.
The gentleman in the mask—Mack—was the highest bidder. He thought nothing of transferring $50,000 from his bank for time alone with Terry, the only name we had used when opening the secret auction under torture.
?You’ll find everything you need in the cabinet over there,? I say to Mack, pointing across the small room toward the steel chest set against the wall. ?If you need anything else—anything at all—just ring.? I turn for the door but pause before reaching it.
?One more thing,? I add. ?I suggest you take it slow.?
?No worries,? Mack says while pulling on the leather gloves. He looks over at his chesty prize twisting on the chain and grins. ?I’ve been waiting weeks for this. The pleasure, I must confess, will be all mine.?
I return to the balcony to watch. The secondary bidders—runners-up in our auction—have received a pass to view the action about to begin below. This often doubles our income and provides the necessary revenue we need to continue our venture.
We are watching through the one-way window as Mack circles the buxom blonde strung up like a side of beef before him. He circles her slowly with his hands on his hips. His prize twists on the chain, crying loudly and struggling to follow him around the room with her eyes, which isn’t easy since she is hanging upside down.
Mack steps to the cabinet and opens the doors. He rummages through the contents, looking beyond the wires, the box of needles, the selection of whips, the rope, and the other supplies. He selects a pair of surgical scissors and kneels down by Terry’s head, where he casually displays the sharpened blades and says something that sends the coed thrashing on the chain.
Terry’s strawberry hair sweeps the floor and her shirt slips down her torso toward her head until she cannot see. It is almost funny the desperation this causes her, as if she does not have other things to worry about. She continues to struggle, frantic at being momentarily blinded.
Unmoved, Mack begins at her ankles, slicing off her tight denim jeans. Terry must feel this because she tries to reach out and grab him, to stop the tearing of her clothes. But with her hands cuffed behind her back and her elbows synched together with a strap of leather, she cannot reach him and her jeans peel away, parting like a flower at the seams.
Terry’s black panties compliment her pale white skin. The lacy garment clings tightly to her rounded hips. She groans loudly, unable to see as Mack slices off her shirt, allowing it to fall to the floor.
The excitement in the booth is expected. Shows such as this happen just once a month. I pass out cigars to celebrate and pour a round of brandy, which our clients happily receive. We smoke and watch through the window, looking down upon the cellar where Mack grabs Terry by her hair and pulls her back until she is painfully arched and nearly naked on the chain.
His actions are casual, almost smooth. He holds Terry by the hair for a long moment, allowing her screams to rise in intensity. He leans over and curses her, twisting her head, her body, before releasing her with a laugh.
Terry’s cries have climbed a notch. She swings from the chain, back and forth, back and forth across the room. Mack watches, grinning, before giving her a push, listening to her wail when she swings away, then back, they away.
When the arch of her swing brings her back again, Mack braces himself with one foot forward and grabs the center of her matching black bra. Inevitably, the weight of terry’s momentum begins to carry her away. The straps on her bra pop like ribbons. The clasp tears. A metal under-wire cuts through the fabric and the lacy garment rips from her chest.
The men in the booth can hardly contain their excitement. ?Holy shit,? one of them says, leaning forward for a better view. ?It’s just as I thought!?
?Her tits are huge!? another laughs. ?The biggest I’ve ever seen!?
The two touch glasses in a toast, apparently pleased with our victim’s large endowment. Without the support of her bra, Terry’s breasts roll over her shoulders and hang heavily toward the floor. They quiver when she starts thrashing on the chain, screaming, her arms twisting behind her in search of release.
?Let’s tune into the action,? I stand and say. I flip on the speaker, opening a flood of cries into the booth from the chamber below. ?Let’s hear what our entertainment has to say about the moment at hand.?
Down in the chamber, over the speaker, terry is howling miserably. Her cries continue, even rise, and her body convulses with her sobs. Mack has knelt again by her head and is brushing her long hair, practically whispering in her ear.
?My little lamb,? he says. ?We’re just getting started. I’ve had my eyes on you for a long, long time. You have no fucking idea how bad I’ve wanted this! I’ve lost sleep thinking about the things I would do to you!?
Terry’s response comes in her frantic, muffled cries. She tries speaking, begging, but the tape over her lips—the rubber stuffed in her mouth—distorts her desperate words. Mack only grins under his mask, but there is something wicked in his eyes. I can see it as he traces his leather-clad fingers over Terry’s heavy breasts.
?So soft,? he says, feeling the undersides of Terry’s inverted tits. ?I bet you’re real proud of these. They’re so soft, so smooth. They’ve gotten you everything you’ve ever wanted. I’m sure of it. Everything you’ve ever wanted until now.?
Mack traces his fingers down the inverted slope of Terry’s dangling tits. Her nipples have grown thick in the cellar air, turning hard while he brushes them lightly, almost tickling them, as if he is playing tenderly with a lover.
Suddenly his bark grows louder. He stands in a rage and rips at Terry’s black panties, pulling them. But they do not tear. Instead, they dig into the furrow of her cunt, the cloth wedging between her pouting lips. Her cries are desperate and her thrashing reflects her fear. She tries to twist away but she is too slow, and Mack catches her nipples between his fingers. The cords in Terry’s neck turn to strands of steel. Mack does not hesitate, nor does he apologize when pulling her forward, not by the hair as he had done earlier, but by her swollen nipples.
?Poor girl,? one of the men laughs. ?Poor fucking girl! What a show!?
Terry screams wildly as her breasts stretch into cones. The pain erupts in her nipples and her arms coil behind her. Her face turns bright red, the blood rushing in behind her cries.
But Mack is only laughing. He pulls, then pulls some more. He pulls on Terry’s tits until his fingers slip from her nipples and she swings away, her breasts bouncing, her chest heaving with her screams.
Mack is waiting for the return swing and when it comes, he tries to regain his grip on Terry’s fat nipples. Yet he misses and again she swings away, trashing on the chain, howling miserably and twisting to elude his outstretched fingers.
?You’re a slippery little lamb,? Mack says, a tone of frustration in his voice. He gives Terry a mighty push, sending her swinging even higher than before. ?If that’s how you want to play, so be it.?
Mack leaves for the cabinet and retrieves two sets of pliers. When he returns he grabs Terry by the hair, effectively slowing her momentum. Only then does she see the pliers in his fists, but it is too late for her to brace herself for the pain that will follow.
?This is going to be good,? says one of he men in the booth. ?Real fucking good.?
Mack opens the pliers slowly, grinning, then closes them sharply over the woman’s tortured nipples. He pinches the tender buds flat in the jaws of his tools, watching the spittle drip from Terry’s gag, her eyes darting open, the tears rolling up her face and falling to the floor.
Helpless and wounded, Terry chokes under the pain. She releases a terrible scream when Mack begins to pull, not with his fingers, but with the pliers.
The steel does not slip, and Mack has the leverage he needs. He pulls Terry, who is screaming loudly, several feet on the chain until her tits stretch and her nipples threaten to tear. Tiny creases extend down the length of her breasts, which have darkened in color and filled with blood due to her inverted position.
?Not just pliers,? Mack grins as if he has a big secret he is dying to share. He holds Terry by the nipples until she is nearly horizontal with the floor and delirious with pain.
?No,? he continues, maintaining his grip. ?These aren’t just pliers. They’re locking pliers!?
Mack squeezes the tools until they lock, crushing Terry’s nipples flat in the jaws. Only then does he release his grip, allowing her to swing away with the heavy tools now dangling from her nipples, tugging her breasts painfully toward the floor.
Terry’s screams ring loudly into the booth. Even from above I can hear her lose her breath, find it, choke, then scream again. Mack is at her side, watching her thrash like a fish on a hook, a fish out of water. The coed dances madly from the chain in the center of the room, completely unaware that we are watching from the booth where and thoroughly enjoying her suffering.
Mack is sitting in the chair chain smoking his cigarettes. Terry hangs before him from the chain, moaning and sobbing in fits. She tries to twist, to lift herself up, but she cannot find the strength and she falls back down, unable to free herself from this nightmare.
?My little lamb,? Mack grins, blowing smoke. ?My sweet little lamb. If only you could free your hands and rub away the pain. I’m so very sorry you can’t.?
Terry tries to wrench her arms from behind her. Her fingers curl for the heavy pliers crushing her nipples and pulling on her breasts. But the tools remain beyond her reach and her tits stretch unnaturally toward the floor.
Twenty minutes pass. Thirty minutes. An hour. We drink more brandy in the booth, listening to the woman’s cries grow louder, even as her struggles slow. Her pain is intensifying, her frustration growing. Her face is red and her nipples must be numb. If it were not for the tape and gag, I am certain she would be screaming for release, making promises she would not normally consider.
But even this is not possible.
Mack has returned to the cabinet for a ball of twine. He brushes Terry’s hair, then forces her eyelids open until her tears have dried and her eyes blink wildly. He shows her the twine and laughs when she shakes her head, frantically, as if begging him no! Please do not do it!
But Mack only stands and cuts two long strands. He fixes one end to the pliers and the other to a ringbolt placed in the concrete floor below his hanging toy. Moving to the wall he turns the crank and the ratchet clicks.
Slowly the chain pulls Terry higher into the room. She howls and twists with wild desperation until the twine pulls taught and the pliers tug on her nipples. The ratchet clicks, turns. Up she goes, her breasts stretching, her nipples burning.
Terry is strung rigid in mid air, pulled from opposite ends as if on a rack. But instead of her arms, she is held fast by her nipples. She only sobs, begging behind the gag, looking out at Mack’s boots between her stretched and aching breasts.
He is behind her now, and she cannot see the rod in his hand. Made of bamboo, it measures four feet and twitches fiendishly at its tip. He swishes it once, pleased with the sound it makes—pleased with Terry’s frantic reaction and the desperation the sound stirs in her.
?My little lamb,? Mack says, circling the woman he paid so much to hurt. ?The fire has arrived.?
The first blow lands across the back of Terry’s creamy thighs, striking a line upon her white flesh. Before she can react the rod cuts into the rise of her ass. Terry sucks in deeply, gulping through her nose for air and erupts with a scream.
?Now that’s cruel,? says one of the men in the booth. ?But I like it! Beat that bitch!?
Down below, Terry thrashes on the chain and the clamps tear into her nipples. The tools twist and stretch her breasts. The soft skin creases when she lurches and spins. She is sobbing and sweating as Mack circles her again, strikes her belly and laughing at her inevitable response.
?Your cries do not deter me,? Mack says, raising the rod. ?They only inspire me. You may be wondering when this will end. That is entirely up to you, as the games will last as long as you do. I’ve paid handsomely to hear you scream, and I plan to get my money’s worth.?
He holds the rod high and brings it down, striking the exposed lips of Terry upturned cunt. Her panties remain twisted between her lips, just as Mack has left them, exposing her pussy to the bamboo. The lips swell under the attack, which moves to her hips until they are thrashed and burning. He works down her rips and across her chest until he finds the exposed undersides of her breasts.
Stretched as they are, they provide an easy target. Terry cannot cover herself, though she certainly tries. Her arms tremble in bondage, flexing and twisting. Her fingers curl and the strap connecting her elbows has darkened with sweat.
The rod whistles through the air and tears into the soft flesh of the coed’s large breasts. Mack works the stretched targets with a masterful precision, striking them with sadistic intent. He shows no mercy and remains undeterred by Terry’s frantic screams.
Within minutes, the creamy white bags of Terry’s breasts are crossed with searing red marks. The striations cover the undersides her breasts. Her heavy tits swell into fiery red masses of quaking flesh.
Only then, with her tits slashed to ribbons, the skin ready to rupture, does Mack set down the rod. Terry is on the verge of unconsciousness but she cannot reach it. A spray of icy cold water brings her back around, the chill steeling her breath and forcing her to wheeze through her nose.
She has been hanging upside down for nearly three hours now, but Mack could give a shit and we certainly will not interfere. He smokes three more cigarettes before he cuts the twine, releasing Terry’s breasts from the savage tension.
When he removes the pliers, the blood rushes painfully back into Terry’s crushed nipples. It is a pain that nearly sends her over the top, and, to our delight, it ensures that she is fully present in the moment.
?Don’t be so foolish as to think our game has come to an end,? Mack says, dropping a thin coil of rope on the floor. It is more wire than rope. ?The fire will return very soon. Only then will you know what it’s like to truly suffer.?
Terry responds desperately to the threat of more suffering, but there is nothing she can do other than imagine it. Mack coils the thin rope around the base of her dangling left breast, listening to her bawl as he works, promising more torture. He is a master with his knots and he ties the breast off tightly, binding it strangely as Terry shakes her head, still believing she can reason him to stop with her wild protests.
In no apparent rush, Mack works slowly and repeats the process on Terry’s right breast. He then binds her tits sharply together until they bulge sickly off her chest. The ringbolt comes in handy once again. Ignoring her sobs, which are increasing in tenor, Mack ties the rope to the floor and returns to the crank.
Shrieking, the veins popping in her neck, Terry is drawn higher upon the chain. She seems to know what will happen next. Anchored to the floor, the rope around her tits draws tight, then tighter still. It tugs wickedly on her bound breasts, constricting the tender orbs without mercy or release.
Within minutes she is racked between the floor and the ceiling, stretched like a rubber band by her ankles and her tits. With her hands locked behind her back, Terry cannot reach the knots. With the gag stuffed tightly in place she cannot ask for release. And with Mack’s hands still on the crank, she cannot stop the slow racking of her body.
Her screams now ring without ending. One cry melts into another. She is frantic, wholly and completely. Agony has consumed her, flashing in her bloodshot eyes and falling in her tears. She wants to twist to adjust her position, to ease the tension, but this is impossible.
The tension, the strain, it continues to grow as the ropes pull tighter. Her tits are drawn into hard balls of flesh the size of cantaloupes. Once milky white, they have turned bright red, the blood constricted in the bondage. Mack locks the crank, leaving his victim drawn painfully tight. One more turn of the crank and I am certain the woman’s breasts would have torn from her body. But to Mack’s credit, he stops just short of this disaster and allows time to pass. It becomes Terry’s enemy, and as Mack watches, he asks if the throbbing has begun to pound in her chest.
?Can you feel it, my little lamb,? he smiles, kneeling down at Terry’s head. ?If your tits weren’t so fucking big, this torture would be impossible. But as it turns out, you are quite suited to suffer this way. And suffer you will, over and over.?
Terry howls, screaming through the gag for mercy. It does not come. She is staring out at the floor of the room, barely able to see over her bulging breasts. Dark blue veins circle her tits. The growing pressure pushes her nipples into fat, long protrusions.
Twenty minutes. An hour. Mack smokes his cigarettes, trying to name the colors that flash in Terry’s breasts. He stares directly at her, knowing she can only see his feet. Her tits have turned scarlet, almost a deep purple. The areolas have doubled in size, spreading across the entire surface of her round and darkening tits.
Mack presents the bamboo rod, an instrument he has taken a liking to. Terry sees it at the last second and manages a single scream before Mack begins to slash her bound breasts. They nearly burst like overfilled balloons, and her screams are nearly deafening.
He lands ten, twenty, thirty blows. Before he reaches fifty, Terry loses consciousness. She awakens minutes later, still drawn on the ropes, only to be whipped again. The beating goes on until she faints again, then reawakens as Mack removes his mask and steps to the crank.
?My little lamb,? he begins, turning the crank once, twice. ?Such big tits.?
The tension draws the chain. The rope squeezes Terry’s damaged breasts, strangling them until the skin breaks and the coed emits one last scream.
?I’m so very sorry to end it this way,? he says, still turning the crank. ?You were such wonderful fun. Such a sweet little lamb!?
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