Sleep is fitful and only possible after the exhaustion of constant shifting around and adjusting the stones that are my bed. It feels like my body has been covered in blows - the rocks are bruising me. Its getting colder. The sun is lower; It beams through a window and illuminates the details of what hovers above me. I am one of those web bound carcasses. As it darkens, the chirps and squishes begin -- shadowy flutters of darting fantoms swirl above me. They seem to be attracted by my presence -- often diving at me and bombing me with their droppings.
The smell grows fouler by the day; my toilet is my bed. In the beginning he would come and stand over me; staring, pissing, playing with himself. Today, when he brought me the slop, he was wearing a gas mask.
The everyday chores of the grounds are much more interesting as I allow my mind to wander to that creature entombed in my barn. It is less distracting of late because of the stink, and I now must face the task of cleaning it. I have prepared a platform based on the designs I have seen at the county fair; A grooming table that holds her wrist and ankles so she is on all fours.
For days I have been content with just knowing that it was stored there. To compensate and motivate the chore of cleaning it, I want to take it to another level.
I am going to bifurcate her -- two for one. At the head I will have her do makeup. The cock sucking will have a classier feel. At the tail, a machine will soften and swell her gash for my cock.
Something is up; he’s standing over me holding the black head bag and that terrible pole that locks around my neck. He orders me to role over onto my stomach -- I know this drill, so I put my hands behind my back immediately. (Reaching through the grate he locks the shackles together.) He slides the bag on my head, yanks the chain tight and locks it.
I hear the muffled sound of the grate scraping on the concrete. He yanks me out of the hole by my neck. The concrete scraps my skin as I struggle to gain my footing. This is the worst -- he pushes me forward by that pole. It is a stifling fright -- I cannot see where I am stepping. He seems to delight in letting me trip or briskly walking me into obstacles.
I’m now on all fours locked at the wrist and ankles. It must be a table or platform of some kind. He pulls the hood off my head -- the purpose of this position is suddenly clear. A bucket of soapy water and a hose are lying on the floor. Im sure he will make what is to come as horrible as possible. I can’t help but sigh with great relief as this vile stench is about to be washed from me.