They had done it before. They were a team, after all, and tonight he would be Captain, and control her with a wink and a nod. Moki, always impatient, knew how to push her along. Like a Centurion prodding a captive his incessant bumping kept goosing his little slave onward. Down in the arroyo, after they had crossed over a dry stream marked Cocytus on the grid map, he halted the girl and allowed her one look back at her loving, fading purple Ship Rock. Her work was done, and he must have known Susan would blowjob not pass this way again. Did he know that the pride of her heart had deceived her, she who had dwelt in the clefts of the rock, whose habituation had been high; that she had said in her heart, "Who shall bring me down to the ground?" Did she even know it herself? Up and out of the gloomy well he nuzzled her, and then he pulled on the backpack once, twice, three times. As on command his chattel revealed her collar, a simple device of restraint, which she presented to him as skinny reverently as a chalice, as a grail. She raised it to her neck, and snapped it into place. It had no adornment except a "D" ring on a strap which hung down her breastplate, but it held in it the universal meaning of submission. He owned her. Moki never wore a collar of course, but in sex she must. He knew his bitch never doubted it. He divined she never had to: they were a team, after all, so well trained that even short of camp, little more than, really, a beat up sleeping bag and a cooler perched on a rise, he could bump her to a stop, sniff her to her back, force her legs apart, and as he had done often when they had been a-froggin' back East, roll in her carp to conceal his own scent. He would be quick though, with his perfuming ritual, brief this evening, because tonight not even this unhallowed choreographer could defy time and night itself. He had obligations too. He was as ed as instinct, without the choices his co-star may have had just this morning. His dark little film noir had a Hardcore firm play date and it was plotted under a starless proscenium, so he nipped her up and onward toward that stinky old sleeping bag, her ill-lit stage. He pranced her along, salivating less boy with intelligence than with the Pavlovian anticipations of the specticle to come. Could he visualize this child's comedic shakings as petite a mockery of a girl shivering to death, or did he predict the future in the way the soulless always seem to do? He had come to expect her infantile moans, those faminiar delightful soliloquies of icy suffering, but in the end it did not matter, neither to him, nor to the unhearing umber universe above, nor any longer to the Great Rock, near but forgotten. -- -- And the award goes to... well done. Bravo! Encore! -- -- Good boy. Nice puppy. The Sun was dying over the edge of the world, so it was less than night and less than day in camp. Red was black; white was gray. Against creation's last glow Moki observed his little bitch puff into the static evening air checking to see her breath, judging the temperature thereby. The buildings were well maintained with gleaming paint even on a day that was gloomy at best. The lust had my body completely, and the masochistic whore it compelled to the surface almost had the keys to the Hardcore driver’s seat. “But she has palace guards waiting in the wing, and they hear the commotion.” Elena said, taking me in her arms. We had planned it out. He laughed as he entered his room, nothing had been changed since he left. Rubbing her clitoris against a hard corner petite blowjob of a shelf or gliding her fingers across her breasts when she reached for something while shopping were two of the innovations she developed. She must have brought half of her wardrobe and had spent the day getting clothes ready. I barely consider how skinny boy it’s a sound I’ve never heard her make before. With one hand, I lowered the front of my joggers, the other delved inside, down into my panties, until I could feel my heat. The sounds of shooting brought me out of my sleep.