The coyotes will have a feast; her valiva runs thick and copiously.
I am beside myself with this damsel. She cringes at my attentions yet her flesh pulses, reaching out for more. This is the harsh state and the final betrayal. Her mind and sense of self have hopelessly failed.
I readied her with a tight clam bind and placed her in the middle of the mattress. Implements of penetration surround the altar. Letting her stew for a couple hours will afford her the opportunity to amuse herself by imagining how they all will be used.
It was time for the trail. Blindfolded and guided by the rope cleaving her vagina she is yanked up the hill. Every step is a fright and her soles are jabbed by stubble and shale. Arriving at the grotto I chain her to a tree. Her skull hole is stuffed with two shop rags and sealed with packing tape. For added measure her jaw is sealed shut with a wrap over the top of her head. Her screams will barely be audible over the caw of the crows.
The crows are announcing a new arrival; the feast is at hand. Lets begin with some crimson life essence drawn as the whine of the mosquito fades in an out about her head
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