Down in the dungeon.
That’s where Caroline goes every Friday.
Her hands, bound to the tile walls.
Her ankles, shackled to the floor.
A ballgag in her mouth.
Hot candle wax on her skin.
And a rubber plug in her ass.
No tears. No whimpers.
Sometimes, they whip her.
Other times, they spray her with the fire hose.
Then there’s the times they make microwave popcorn where she can hear it and smell it and can’t do anything about it.
And then they whip her some more.
When it’s all over, they give her the bill.
That’s when she screams.
Down in the dungeon.
That’s where Caroline goes every Friday to play.
Binding the customer’s hands to the tile on the walls.
Shackling her ankles to the floor.
Popping a ballgag into her mouth.
Dripping a candle on to her skin.
Stuffing a rubber plug in her ass.
She listens… no crying, no whimpering.
So, she whips the girl.
Sprays her with the fire hose.
Nothing.
She takes a break, and makes microwave popcorn. Lets the girl smell it, and gives her nothing.
Finally, she tallies up the evening’s bill, and shows it to the girl.
That’s when she screams.