"Two big men grabbed Caleb's arms and 'moved' him to the designated sandy area. Caleb wasn't a small man, but he wasn't allowed to walk. They had been ordered to move him, and that is what they did. He was deposited on his knees in the sandy area, and one rifle barrel was again pressed against his head and the other against the back of his neck. Well, they hadn't been ordered not to point guns at him."Cross your ankles," one of his captors ordered.Caleb decided to comply. The position wasn't comfortable to his sore ankle, but he didn't think irritating guys that were pointing rifles at him was a good idea.The man that Caleb thought had been giving orders was standing about thirty feet away, with a little group of figures clustered around him. He seemed to be giving more orders because every few moments one of the figures would rush off on some errand, and another would join his group, returning with information.Caleb's legs were starting to cramp, when the figure giving orders looked. The single tail strikes with ruthless accuracy, slicing herflesh. It leaves long, angry red lines on her tortured tits andthighs. They are cutting her now.They flog her a bit more, but only a bit: the crop and the single tailare in charge now, as the torture builds. They whip her until hernipples bleed. They whip her belly, and she feels something breakinside her. And then (dear Lord, no!) the crop artist spreads open thehood of her clit, exposing her sweet tender love button. He brings hisinstrument down hard, right on target, once, twice, a third time, andshe knows at last what hell is.They take her again, trading off, the two who masturbated before usingher throat and cunt this time. They are rougher now, more violent.They've had their pleasure already. This is about hurting her. The**** is savage; it lasts and lasts and lasts, immense cocks thrustinginto her broken bleeding body as she twists and suffers on the table.Once more they paint her with their come. Her face is drenched.
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