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Breathless with excitement, I asked my sister to note the phone number. We entered the main building through the chapel. Dark and dank, a large room with an immense hearth opened impressively at the opposite end. I figured it to be the central place, the library, but no shelves existed. The rest of the building divided into small rooms. A row of broken toilets and some mosaic tiles with drains at the center at the farthest side from the hearth had been the bathroom. Stark and simple as expected from poverty embracing monks, its lack of anything made it more.Getting late, we headed back swiftly through the woods, joining the old flapper and making our way to the car on the other side of campus. I needed to head to the Inn to gather my films for the evening's screening. We stopped for bread and cheese and vegetables at a grocery. At the Inn the young poet waited. We had seen the Amazon's truck, much to her relief, so we tapped at his door. Waking from a nap, his eyes blurry, he greeted. The ginger bitch's expression beamed with immense and increasing pleasure as she worked the doomed male's cock toward his final milking. His face, which was gagged but otherwise unmasked, grimaced in a blend of ecstasy, pain, and terror; the guard who stood behind him on the pole on her own little platform, smiled wickedly with equal satisfaction as she slowly rotated a handle behind his neck; a humiliating castration was the least of his worries, he was to be garrotted.The male would hear two eruptions of applause from the eager horde of female onlookers, but was unlikely to hear the third delirious crescendo.Overcome by the wicked attentions of the smiling redheaded dominatrix and the sweet promise of death from the haughty bitch behind him, who rubbed herself and allowed him a sniff of her arousal from elegant fingers, the male's tortured balls tingled with a final, fatal ecstasy as the bolt began to bite his neck and he witnessed the willing anticipation of the eager watching.
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