Excerpt:
Two clown grooms drag me to a silver apparatus that comprises of two horizontal bars - one above the other. Greg is being similarly brought toward us.
"Greg!" I cry in relief.
"Thank God you're OK," he says as soon as he approaches, breaking out into a wide smile. His shining eyes hold complicated emotions. Emotions I'm not ready to acknowledge or face . . . as yet.
Mansk says, "Is this one your boyfriend?"
I say, "No, it's the other one. The blond. Max."
Mansk nods to the clowns and says something in Urskan. Then he turns to me. "Everything is correct. String them both up."
He moves away without as much as a backward glance.
At first, I am bewildered. The grooms/clowns/whatever grab my arms and upend me as if I'm a ragdoll. My balance is completely disrupted. My hair shivers and trails to the floor like seaweed. Rough hands grab the flesh of my thighs, my legs, brushing against my pussy and buttocks interminably. The groom before me squeezes them. His painted face leers very close to mine - so close that I can smell the fruity, chemical paste of his gaudy makeup.
Hands grab my ankles and tie them with ropes to one of the horizontal bars. I'm in a precarious position - wrong side up and secured to the flimsy bar by only my feet at either end of the silver rod. My arms are left free.
Someone pinches my clit, and a spool of cream unearths from the recesses of my pussy. Because I am upside down, it pools at the mouth of my cervix.
My grooms are certainly taking liberties with my body, unlike so many of the grooms who have attended to me back in America - including Greg. Fingers prize open my pussy lips, stroke my clit, worm themselves 'accidentally' into my holes. Pincer grips tweak my nipples. Hands slide into my clefts. My juices begin to pool and pool, because I am excited despite my apprehension . . . or maybe because of it.
I desperately long to be fucked. I can sense it - this hollowness permeating my vagina, spreading all the way to my anus. I long to be fucked in both holes - invaded and penetrated so wonderfully and deeply that I can almost feel the towers of flesh inside me right now.
What is happening to me? Am I turning into a nymphomaniac in any circumstance - even one fraught with uncertainty and danger?
When they have finished with me, I feel like an acrobat. A bound acrobat. My pussy is a pink flower - just begging to be played with and despoiled.
