Sticky Fingers From India hindi porn

I relish the screaming heat radiating from my hands as they’re plunged into a vat of boiling oil, cooking flesh that still lives. I shudder to the singing pain in my arms and legs, sometimes my stomach, as a sharp blade descends over and over, slicing and stabbing until the red of blood is flowing freely. All of these emotions, these visions build one on top of the other, until I am so overwhelmed in them that I wail with desire for some single, sharp, real pain to push me over the edge of what feels like dark orgasmic bliss. I don’t think about, I don’t desire, anything else, and sometimes I hold myself in this aching place for hours. Then he comes to me. He is the hero of my mind’s eye, tall and strong – sometimes thick and solid as an oak tree, sometimes lean and spry – always older and wiser, and always so strong. He doesn’t speak much but his voice is deep and slightly rough, his hair is wild, dark and curly – his eyes, always blue or gray or green, bore into my sole and read. After 5 minutes, master appeared and giving me a hug and kiss the two guys realised this must be my friend and said “great chatting with you” and like gentlemen they disappeared. We finished our drinks and headed out for a taxi. In the taxi master asked if I would want to fuck another guy like he had asked at the bar. The drivers ears pricked up as I replied that if he wanted me to and if Andy was happy with it happening then I would but I would have to be safe. The taxi didn’t take too long and we were soon at my masters. Once inside he had me strip for him losing the vibe but not the plug and fitting me with my collar securing it as usual. He then told me it was time for a bit of pain and pleasure and I was about to get both at the same time. We headed upstairs to his play room where I was stood in the centre. He stood in front of me and attached nipple clamps to both breasts which were tighter than usual and he then fit a spreader bar to my ankles so my feet were about 18.
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