Like the careless waves of the ocean holograms she had been so entranced by in her youth, the ground swayed back and forth beneath her dangling toes. ...lowly, she raised her head and stretched her neck. Tension stung in her back and shoulders. Her biceps seared. Her wrists burned. Gritting through the dull pain that seemed hours old, she craned back her neck and swore. Above her head, bolted into the wooden ceiling beam were shackles clamped around her wrists. Taped crudely to each metal shackle. Sharon was still shagged out after her earlier fuck against the toilet cubicle door at the night club they’d just been to. She still had traces of urine streaks down her legs from when her drunk lover had somehow confused pissing with fucking. Tracey had eagerly tugged up her tight boob tube and the folds of her cunt throbbed with the same eagerness as the veins of her host’s penis. She wedged her arse on the seat of the ragged armchair and curled her legs on either side of the armrests. The. More

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