My throat was extended in a corkscrew, as I worked to push myself up on my hands. Clumsily, I tried, but found that supporting myself was damn near impossible. I began to weep quietly at my own ineptitude; I suddenly appreciated the solitude of my hood.
My right knee slipped off of the edge of the bench seat, and hit the carpet hard. I splayed on my belly, half-on, half-over the edge. The ropes on my ankles were rough, and the fibers pierced my flesh like tiny needles. Humiliated, I struggled; with my hands bound and beneath me, there was little I could do.
He tightened his fist in my hair, and I felt my face contort in the blackness. "Bitch, can't you do anything right?!" he yelled with fervent exasperation. His face was almost directly in front of mine. I could feel spittle through the veil, and my ears rang as he shouted.
He pulled my head up and forward, positioning me cruelly. My upper torso was largely unsupported by the way he held me. I pushed up on my constrained wrists. My back arched, though with warped elongation. My flesh stretched and muscles burned.
He shoved his cock past my lips, and pressed his left palm on the side of my face. He circled his fingers around my ear, like a basket handle. He drilled his cock as far back in as my outstretched throat would take him. When I thought he could go no further, he pushed forward some more.
My stomach heaved. Drool erupted onto my chin and his balls slapped into it. He groaned. I gagged, audibly. He moaned, drew back, and plunged in again. As he rocked his hips forward, he directed my head; soon, he was slamming my face down on his dick, as my saliva pooled in his pubic hair. I choked, he grunted, and pressed deeper. I writhed as he reveled.
"Enough, cow." he said through gritted teeth. He withdrew, and pushed my face aside. I dropped over the edge of the seat, and onto the floor completely; I was so exhausted, I didn't even try to hold myself up.
The door at my feet opened. I drew in a quick breath. Terror engulfed me. He was not alone.
